“Yes. I know all about it, as much as if I were standing on it this moment; and I am sick of this work—of being turned out just when I had made the most of a place, and got attached to it. I’ll make a sure thing of it this time, and not have such a pull at my heartstrings again. And the land will be cheaper now than later; and we shall go to work upon it with such heart, if it is our own! Eh?” “Certainly, if we find, after seeing it, that we like it as well as we expect. I would just wait till then.” “As well as we expect! Why, bless my soul! don’t we know all about it? It is not any land-agent or interested person, that has described it to us; but our own daughter and her husband; and do not they know what we want? The quantity at my own choice; the aspect capital; plenty of water (only too much, indeed); the soil anything but poor, and sand and marl within reach to reduce the stiffness; and manure at command, all along the railway, from half-a-dozen towns; and osier beds at hand (within my own bounds if I like) giving all manner of convenience for fencing, and binding, and covering! Why, what would you have?” “It sounds very pleasant, certainly.” “Then, how can you make objections? I can’t think where you look, to find any objections?” “I see none now, and I only want to be sure that we shall find none when we arrive.” “Well! I do call that unreasonable! To expect to find any place on earth altogether unobjectionable! I wonder what objection could be so great as being turned out of one after another, just as we have got them into order. Here comes our girl. Well, Becky, I see how you like the news! Now, would not you like it better still if we were going to a place of our own, where we should not be under any landlord’s whims? We should have to work, you know, one and all. But we would get the land properly manured, and have a cottage of our own in time; would not we? Will you undertake the pigs, Becky?” “Yes, father; and there are many things I can do in the garden too. I am old and strong, now; and I can do much more than I have ever done here.” “Aye; if the land was our own,” said Woodruffe, with a glance at his wife. She said no more, but was presently upstairs putting Moss to bed. She knew, from long experience, how matters would go. After a restless night, Woodruffe spoke no more of buying the land without seeing it; and he twice said, in a meditative, rather than a communicative, way, that he believed it would take as much capital as he had to remove his family, and get his new land into fit condition for spring crops. CHAPTER THE SECOND.