seventeen. In fact, you can say about 'em, that a woman's always a woman,
so long as the breath bides in her body; and my sister, Mary, weren't any
exception to the rule. You see, there was only us two, and when my parents
died, I married, and took on Brownberry Farm and my sister, who shared and
shared alike with me, took over our other farm, by the name of Little
Sherberton, t'other side the Dart. A very good farmer, too, she was--knew
as much as I did about things, by which I mean sheep and cattle; while she
was still cleverer at crops, and I never rose oats like she did at Little
Sherberton, nor lifted such heavy turnips as what she did.

Mary explained it very simply.

"You'm just so clever as me," she said, "but you'm not so generous. You
ain't got my powers of looking forward, and you hate to part with money in
your pocket for the sake of money that's to be there. In a word, you're
narrow-minded, and don't spend enough on manure, Rupert; and till you put
it on thicker and ban't feared of paying for lime, you'll never get a root
fit to put before a decent sheep."

There was truth in it I do believe, for I was always a bit prone, like my
father before me, to starve the land, against my reason. You'd think that
was absurd, and yet you'll hardly find a man, even among the upper
educated people, who haven't got his little weak spots like that, and
don't do some things that he knows be silly, even while he's doing 'em.
They cast him down at the moment; and he'll even make resolves to be more
open-handed, or more close-fisted, as the case may be, but the weakness
lies in your nature, and you could no more cure me from being small-minded
with my manure than you could have cured Mary from shivering to her spine
every time she saw a single magpie, or spilled the salt.