pushing out their small swelling buds; and grasses and mosses
springing forth in every variety of brown and green. Here we are at
the corner where four lanes meet, or rather where a passable road of
stones and gravel crosses an impassable one of beautiful but
treacherous turf, and where the small white farmhouse, scarcely
larger than a cottage, and the well-stocked rick-yard behind, tell
of comfort and order, but leave all unguessed the great riches of
the master. How he became so rich is almost a puzzle; for, though
the farm be his own, it is not large; and though prudent and frugal
on ordinary occasions, Farmer Barnard is no miser. His horses,
dogs, and pigs are the best kept in the parish,--May herself,
although her beauty be injured by her fatness, half envies the
plight of his bitch Fly: his wife's gowns and shawls cost as much
again as any shawls or gowns in the village; his dinner parties (to
be sure they are not frequent) display twice the ordinary quantity
of good things--two couples of ducks, two dishes of green peas, two
turkey poults, two gammons of bacon, two plum-puddings; moreover, he
keeps a single-horse chaise, and has built and endowed a Methodist
chapel. Yet is he the richest man in these parts. Everything
prospers with him. Money drifts about him like snow. He looks like
a rich man. There is a sturdy squareness of face and figure; a
good-humoured obstinacy; a civil importance. He never boasts of his
wealth, or gives himself undue airs; but nobody can meet him at
market or vestry without finding out immediately that he is the
richest man there. They have no child to all this money; but there
is an adopted nephew, a fine spirited lad, who may, perhaps, some
day or other, play the part of a fountain to the reservoir.

Now turn up the wide road till we come to the open common, with its
park-like trees, its beautiful stream, wandering and twisting along,