From generation to generation, man, and beast, and house, and land, have
gone on in succession here, replacing, following, renewing, repairing
and being repaired, demanding and getting more support, with such
judicious give-and-take, and thoroughly good understanding, that now in
the August of this year, when Scargate Hall is full of care, and afraid
to cart a load of dung, Anerley farm is quite at ease, and in the very
best of heart, man, and horse, and land, and crops, and the cock that
crows the time of day. Nevertheless, no acre yet in Yorkshire, or in the
whole wide world, has ever been so farmed or fenced as to exclude the
step of change.

From father to son the good lands had passed, without even a will to
disturb them, except at distant intervals; and the present owner was
Stephen Anerley, a thrifty and well-to-do Yorkshire farmer of the olden
type. Master Anerley was turned quite lately of his fifty-second year,
and hopeful (if so pleased the Lord) to turn a good many more years yet,
as a strong horse works his furrow. For he was strong and of a cheerful
face, ruddy, square, and steadfast, built up also with firm body to a
wholesome stature, and able to show the best man on the farm the way to
swing a pitchfork. Yet might he be seen, upon every Lord's day, as
clean as a new-shelled chestnut; neither at any time of the week was he
dirtier than need be. Happy alike in the place of his birth, his lot in
life, and the wisdom of the powers appointed over him, he looked up with
a substantial faith, yet a solid reserve of judgment, to the Church, the
Justices of the Peace, spiritual lords and temporal, and above all His
Majesty George the Third. Without any reserve of judgmemt, which could
not deal with such low subjects, he looked down upon every Dissenter,
every pork-dealer, and every Frenchman. What he was brought up to, that
he would abide by; and the sin beyond repentance, to his mind, was the
sin of the turncoat.