"And what does the shop bring in a year since your husband died?"

"You had best judge for yourself. Will you look at the book, and take
a peep at the land and apple-trees? But they's been neglected since
my goodman died."

In another minute the heir of the Chillinglys was seated in a neat
little back parlour, with a pretty though confined view of the orchard
and grass slope behind it, and bending over Mrs. Bawtrey's ledger.

Some customers for cheese and bacon coming now into the shop, the old
woman left him to his studies. Though they were not of a nature
familiar to him, he brought to them, at least, that general clearness
of head and quick seizure of important points which are common to most
men who have gone through some disciplined training of intellect, and
been accustomed to extract the pith and marrow out of many books on
many subjects. The result of his examination was satisfactory; there
appeared to him a clear balance of gain from the shop alone of
somewhat over L40 a year, taking the average of the last three years.
Closing the book, he then let himself out of the window into the
orchard, and thence into the neighbouring grass field. Both were,
indeed, much neglected; the trees wanted pruning, the field manure.
But the soil was evidently of rich loam, and the fruit-trees were
abundant and of ripe age, generally looking healthy in spite of
neglect. With the quick intuition of a man born and bred in the
country, and picking up scraps of rural knowledge unconsciously,
Kenelm convinced himself that the land, properly managed, would far
more than cover the rent, rates, tithes, and all incidental outgoings,
leaving the profits of the shop as the clear income of the occupiers.
And no doubt with clever young people to manage the shop, its profits