It was now the fifth year after old Mr. Pearson’s death. Wright was at this time the richest of the three nephews; for the money that he had laid out in draining Holland fen began to bring him in twenty per cent. As to Marvel, he had exchanged some of his finest acres for the warren of silver sprigs, the common full of thistles, and the marsh full of reeds: he had lost many guineas by his sheep and their jackets, and many more by his ill-fenced plantations: so that counting all the losses from the failure of his schemes and the waste of his time, he was a thousand pounds poorer than when he first came into possession of Clover-hill. Goodenough was not, according to the most accurate calculations, one shilling richer or poorer than when he first began the world. “Slow and sure,” said his friends: “fair and softly goes far in a day. What he has he’ll hold fast; that’s more than Marvel ever did, and may be more than Wright will do in the end. He dabbles a little in _experiments_, as he calls them: this he has learned from his friend Marvel; and this will come to no good.” About this time there was some appearance of a scarcity in England; and many farmers set an unusual quantity of potatoes, in hopes that they would bear a high price the ensuing season. Goodenough, who feared and hated every thing that was called a speculation, declared that, for his part, he would not set a drill more than he used to do. What had always done for him and his should do for him still. With this resolution, he began to set his potatoes: Marvel said to him, whilst he was at work, “Cousin Goodenough, I would advise you not to set the shoots that are at the bottom of these potatoes; for, if you do, they won’t be good for any thing. This is a secret I learned last harvest home, from one of my Irish haymakers. I made the experiment last year, and found the poor fellow was quite right. I have given him a guinea for his information; and it will be worth a great deal more to me and my neighbours.” “May be so,” said Goodenough; “but I shall set my own potatoes my own way, I thank you, cousin Marvel; for I take it the old way’s best, and I’ll never follow any other.” Marvel saw that it was in vain to attempt to convince Goodenough: therefore he left him to his old ways. The consequence was, that Goodenongh and his family ate the worst potatoes in the whole country this year; and Marvel cleared _above two hundred pounds_ by twenty acres of potatoes, set according to his friend the Irishman’s directions.