Parson Dale and Squire Hazeldean parted company; the latter to inspect
his sheep, the former to visit some of his parishioners, including Lenny
Fairfield, whom the donkey had defrauded of his apple.

Lenny Fairfield was sure to be in the way, for his mother rented a few
acres of grass-land from the squire, and it was now hay-time. And
Leonard, commonly called Lenny, was an only son, and his mother a widow.
The cottage stood apart, and somewhat remote, in one of the many nooks of
the long, green village lane. And a thoroughly English cottage it was,
three centuries old at least; with walls of rubble let into oak frames,
and duly whitewashed every summer, a thatched roof, small panes of glass,
an old doorway raised from the ground by two steps. There was about this
little dwelling all the homely rustic elegance which peasant life admits
of; a honeysuckle was trained over the door; a few flower-pots were
placed on the window-sills; the small plot of ground in front of the
house was kept with great neatness, and even taste; some large rough
stones on either side the little path having been formed into a sort of
rockwork, with creepers that were now in flower; and the potato-ground
was screened from the eye by sweet peas and lupine. Simple elegance, all
this, it is true; but how well it speaks for peasant and landlord, when
you see that the peasant is fond of his home, and has some spare time and
heart to bestow upon mere embellishment! Such a peasant is sure to be a
bad customer to the alehouse, and a safe neighbour to the squire's
preserves. All honour and praise to him, except a small tax upon both,
which is due to the landlord!

Such sights were as pleasant to the parson as the most beautiful
landscapes of Italy can be to the dilettante. He paused a moment at the
wicket to look around him, and distended his nostrils voluptuously to
inhale the smell of the sweet peas, mixed with that of the new-mown hay