"You don't know much 'bout West Jersey, or I guess you 'd
have heard of her," surmised Bagby. "'T is n't every girl brings
her husband a pot of money and nigh thirty thousand acres of
land. Folks tell that before the squire got her, the men was about
her like--" the speaker used a simile too coarse for repetition.

"So ho!" said the traveller. "Byllynge, heigh? Now I
begin to understand. A daughter--or granddaughter--of one
of the patentees?"

"Just so. In the old man's day they held the lands all along
this side of the Raritan, nigh up to Baskinridge, but they sold a
lot in the forties."

"Then perhaps this is the place to bargain about a bit?
The land looked rich and warm as I rode along this afternoon."

"'T ain't no use tryin' ter buy of the new squire," remarked
one man. "He won't do nothin' but lease. He don't want no
freemen 'bout here."

"Yer might buy o' Squire Hennion. He sells now an' agin,"
suggested the innkeeper."

"Who's he?" demanded Evatt.

"Another of the monopolisers who got a grant in the early
days, before the land was good for anything," explained Bagby.
"His property is further down."