ed not to be among so many men.
But her father would not have her triumphed over.

"Speak for yourself, good wife," he said. "I know what you have got
behind, as well as rooks know plough-tail. Captain, you never heard me
say that the lass were any booty, but the very same as God hath made
her, and thankful for straight legs and eyes. Howsoever, there might be
worse-favored maidens, without running out of the Riding."

"You may ride all the way to the city of London," the captain exclaimed,
with a clinch of his fist, "or even to Portsmouth, where my wife came
from, and never find a maid fit to hold a candle for Mary to curl her
hair by."

The farmer was so pleased that he whispered something; but Carroway put
his hand before his mouth, and said, "Never, no, never in the morning!"
But in spite of that, Master Anerley felt in his pocket for a key, and
departed.

"Wicked, wicked, is the word I use," protested Mrs. Anerley, "for all
this fribble about rooks and looks, and holding of candles, and curling
of hair. When I was Mary's age--oh dear! It may not be so for your
daughters, captain; but evil for mine was the day that invented those
proud swinging-glasses."

"That you may pronounce, ma'am, and I will say Amen. Why, my eldest
daughter, in her tenth year now--"

"Come, Captain Carroway," broke in the farmer, returning softly with a
square old bottle, "how goes the fighting with the Crappos now? Put your
legs up, and light your pipe, and tell us all the news."

"Cadman, and Ellis, and Dick Hackerbody," the lieutenant of the
coast-guard shouted, "you have fed well. Be off, men; no more neglect of
duty! Place an outpost at fork of the Sewerby road, and strictly observe
the enemy, while I hold a council of war with my brother officer,
Captain Anerley. Half a crown for you, if you catch the rogue, half
a crown each, and promotion of twopence. Attention, eyes right, make
yourselves scarce! Well, now the rogues are gone, let us make ourselves
at home. Anerley, your question is a dry one. A dry one; but this is
uncommonly fine stuff! How the devil has it slipped through our fingers?
Never mind that, inter amicos--Sir, I was at school at Shrewsbury--but
as to the war, Sir, the service is going to the devil, for the want of
pure principle."

The farmer nodded; and his looks declared that to some extent he felt
it. He had got the worst side of some bargains that week; but his wife
had another way of thinking.

"Why, Cap