wondrous liking for him--and he said he was her godfather, but God knows
how he could have been, unless they confirmed him precociously--away he
went, and young Winnie's sides shone like a cherry by candlelight.

Now I feel that of those boyish days I have little more to tell, because
everything went quietly, as the world for the most part does with us. I
began to work at the farm in earnest, and tried to help my mother, and
when I remembered Lorna Doone, it seemed no more than the thought of a
dream, which I could hardly call to mind. Now who cares to know how many
bushels of wheat we grew to the acre, or how the cattle milched till we
ate them, or what the turn of the seasons was? But my stupid self seemed
like to be the biggest of all the cattle; for having much to look after
the sheep, and being always in kind appetite, I grew four inches longer
in every year of my farming, and a matter of two inches wider; until
there was no man of my size to be seen elsewhere upon Exmoor. Let that
pass: what odds to any how tall or wide I be? There is no Doone's door
at Plover's Barrows and if there were I could never go through it. They
vexed me so much about my size, long before I had completed it, girding
at me with paltry jokes whose wit was good only to stay at home, that
I grew shame-faced about the matter, and feared to encounter a
looking-glass. But mother was very proud, and said she never could have
too much of me.

The worst of all to make me ashamed of bearing my head so high--a thing
I saw no way to help, for I never could hang my chin down, and my back
was like a gatepost whenever I tried to bend it--the worst of all was
our little Eliza, who never could come to a size herself, though she had
the wine from the Sacrament at Easter and Allhallowmas, only to be small
and skinny, sharp, and clever crookedly. Not that her body was out of
the straight (being too small for that perhaps), but that her wit was