--when I've sold the hay, an'
corn, an' all the live things, an' paid the debts, an' put the money out
to use, I shall have hardly enough to keep our souls an' bodies together.
An' how can I rear my boys and put 'em 'prentice? They must go for
dey-labourers, an' their father a man wi' as good belongings as any on
your honour's estate, an' niver threshed his wheat afore it was well i'
the rick, nor sold the straw off his farm, nor nothin'. Ask all the
farmers round if there was a stiddier, soberer man than my husband as
attended Ripstone market. An' he says, "Bessie," says he--them was his
last words--"you'll mek a shift to manage the farm, if Sir Christifer
'ull let you stay on."'

'Pooh, pooh!' said Sir Christopher, Mrs. Hartopp's sobs having
interrupted her pleadings, 'now listen to me, and try to understand a
little common sense. You are about as able to manage the farm as your
best milch cow. You'll be obliged to have some managing man, who will
either cheat you out of your money or wheedle you into marrying him.'

'O, your honour, I was never that sort o' woman, an' nobody has known it
on me.'

'Very likely not, because you were never a widow before. A woman's always
silly enough, but she's never quite as great a fool as she can be until
she puts on a widow's cap. Now, just ask yourself how much the better you
will be for staying on your farm at the end of four years, when you've
got through your money, and let your farm run down, and are in arrears
for half your rent; or, perhaps, have got some great hulky fellow for a
husband, who swears at you and kicks your children.'

'Indeed, Sir Christifer, I know a deal o' farmin,' an' was brought up i'
the thick on it, as you may say. An' there was my husband's great-aunt
managed a farm for twenty year, an' left legacies to all her nephys an'
nieces, an' even to my husband, as was then a babe unborn.'

'Psha! a woman six feet high, with a squint and sharp elbows, I
daresay--a man in petticoats. Not a rosy-cheeked widow like you, Mrs.
Hartopp.'

'Indeed, your honour, I never heard of her squintin', an' they said as
she might ha' been married o'er and o'er again, to people as had no call
to hanker after her money.'

'Ay, ay, that's what you all think. Every man that looks at you wants to
marry you, and would like you the better the more children you have and
the less money. But it is useless to talk and cry. I have good reasons
for my plans, and never alter them. Wha