“Who is he?” “What, don't you know? He is the eldest son of the Islip blacksmith, and a man that will make his mark. He casts every Thursday night. He is the only village blacksmith in all the county who _casts._ You know that, I suppose.” “No, I had not the honor.” “Well, he is, then: and I thought you would consent, because you are so good: and so I thought there could be no harm in sounding Tom Wilder. He offers to take the whole contract, if squire's agreeable; bore the well; brick it fifty yards down: he says that ought to be done, if she is to have justice. 'She' is the well: and he will also construct the gear; he says there must be two iron chains and two buckets going together; so then the empty bucket descending will help the man or woman at the windlass to draw the full bucket up. 315 pounds: one week's income, your Majesty.” “She has inspected our rent-roll, now,” said Vizard, pathetically: “and knows nothing about the matter.” “Except that it is a mere flea-bite to you to bore through a hill for water. For all that, I hope you will leave me to battle it with Tom Wilder. Then you won't be cheated, for once. _You always are,_ and it is abominable. It would have been five hundred if you had opened the business.” “I am sure that is true,” said Zoe. She added this would please Mrs. Judge: she was full of the superiority of Islip to Hillstoke. “Stop a bit,” said Vizard. “Miss Gale has not reported on Islip yet.” “No, dear; but she has looked into everything, for Mrs. Judge told me. You have been into the cottages?” “Yes.” “Into Marks's?” “Yes, I have been into Marks's.” She did not seem inclined to be very communicative; so Fanny, out of mischief, said, pertly, “And what did you see there, with your Argus eye?” “I saw--three generations.” “Ha! ha! La! did you now? And what were they all doing?” “They were all living together, night and day, in one room.” This conveyed no very distinct idea to the ladies; but Vizard, for the first time, turned red at this revelation before Uxmoor, improver of cottage life. “Confound the brutes!” said he. “Why, I built them a new room; a larger one: didn't you see it?” “Yes. They stack their potatoes in it.” “Just like my people,” said Uxmoor. “That is the worst of it: they resist their own improvement.”