e which he sends to market.
He is a man of substance, and should I ever become Mrs
Cheesacre, I have reason to think that I shall not be left
in want. We went up to his place on a visit the other day.
Oileymead is the name of my future home;--not so pretty
as Nethercoats, is it? And we had such a time there! We
reached the place at ten and left it at four, and he
managed to give us three meals. I'm sure we had before our
eyes at different times every bit of china, delf, glass,
and plate in the establishment. He made us go into the
cellar, and told us how much wine he had got there, and
how much beer. "It's all paid for, Mrs Greenow, every
bottle of it," he said, turning round to my aunt, with a
pathetic earnestness, for which I had hardly given him
credit. "Everything in this house is my own; it's all paid
for. I don't call anything a man's own till it's paid for.
Now that jacket that Bellfield swells about with on the
sands at Yarmouth,--that's not his own,--and it's not
like to be either." And then he winked his eye as though
bidding my aunt to think of that before she encouraged
such a lover as Bellfield. He took us into every bedroom,
and disclosed to us all the glories of his upper chambers.
It would have done you good to see him lifting the
counterpanes, and bidding my aunt feel the texture of
the blankets! And then to see her turn round to me and
say:--"Kate, it's simply the best-furnished house I ever
went over in my life!"--"It does seem very comfortable,"
said I. "Comfortable!" said he. "Yes, I don't think
there's anybody can say that Oileymead isn't comfortable."
I did so think of you and Nethercoats. The attractions
are the same;--only in the one place you would have a god
for your keeper, and in the other a brute. For myself, if
ever I'm to have a keeper at all, I shall prefer a man.
But when we got to the farmyard his eloquence reached the
highest pitch. "Mrs Greenow," said he, "look at that," and
he pointed to heaps of manure raised like the streets of a
little city. "Look at that!" "There's a great deal," said
my aunt. "I believe you," said he. "I've more muck upon
this place here than any farmer in Norfolk, gentle or
simple; I don't care who the other is." Only fancy, Alice;
it may all be mine; the blankets, the wine, the muck, and
the rest of it. So my aunt assured me when we g