"
Mark caught the words which he was not intended to.
"Eh? Sir, do you belong to these parts?"
"My family, I believe, lived in the neighbourhood of Whitbury, at a
place called Stangrave-end."
"To be sure! Old farm-house now; fine old oak carving in it, though;
fine old family it must have been; church full of their monuments.
Hum,--ha! Well! that's pleasant, now! I've often heard there were good
old families away there in New England; never thought that there were
Whitbury people among them. Hum--well! the world's not so big as
people think, after all. And you spoke of the Lavingtons? They are
great folks here--or were--" He was going to rattle on: but he saw a
pained expression on both the travellers' faces, and Stangrave stopped
him, somewhat drily--
"I know nothing of them, I assure you, or they of me. Your country
here is certainly charming, and shows little of those signs of decay
which some people in America impute to it."
"Decay!" Mark went off at score. "Decay be hanged? There's life in the
old dog yet, sir! and dead pigs are looking up since free trade and
emigration. Cheap bread and high wages now: and instead of lands
going out of cultivation, as they threatened--bosh! there's a greater
breadth down in wheat in the vale now than there ever was; and look
at the roots. Farmers must farm now, or sink; and by George! they are
farming, like sensible fellows: and a fig for that old turnip ghost of
Protection! There was a fellow came down from the Carlton--you know
what that is!" Stangrave bowed, and smiled assent.
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