First, the "reformer" pulled down his father's low cottage, and engaged a swaggering builder to erect a tall four-storied house of brick, with a slated roof, on the same spot, taking in the little spot that had glowed so delightfully for many a year with roses, and pansies, and marigolds. True, the purse of two hundred spade-aces, left by his economical parent, did not suffice to finish the house in the style he had devised; so he warned the bricklayer to stop at three stories, and to leave out some of the fantastic stone ornaments he had procured at Louth. He sold the ornaments and some of the other extra materials which had already been brought upon his premises; but he permitted a tradesman to take them on credit, and was never paid for them. Then, finding the house was likely to remain unroofed for lack of money, he was constrained to go a-borrowing; but the errand and the reception he met reminded him strongly of one of his old father's sayings, which he used to think very simple when the old man was alive,—"He that goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing!"—but young Davy did not think the proverb quite so simple, now. The farmers shook their heads at him, wherever he went, and said "No;" without a syllable of preface or addenda. And as for the monied men at Louth, they had all taken their gauge of young Davy Lidgitt, as well as the Wise Man of Welton; and the "man of improvements" could only borrow on a hard mortgage. "And who are you to put into this new house when it is finished, _Mister_ Lidgitt?" asked Grumley, the grocer, of Louth, very politely, one day, as he was riding past, and saw young Davy standing by to look at the builders. Young Davy looked foolish at the question; for, having neither father nor mother, brother nor sister, in the world, he could only answer that he had no one to put into it but himself. The grocer earnestly begged his company to dinner, when he next came to Louth; and young Davy felt so much flattered by so unusual an invitation, that he instantly accepted it. And young Davy found Mr. Grumley very cordial, and Mrs. Grumley exceedingly kind,—but, above all, the _Misses_ Grumley were the most interesting creatures he had ever seen! The eldest, especially, won his respect,—or, he did not exactly know what to call it,—for he had thought more about improvements in horses, and carts, and stables, and houses, than aught else, all his life. But the eldest Miss—_the_ Miss Grumley, by emphasis of courtesy—talked so sensibly about the clever improvements that young Mr. Brown had made in his farm-house, at Raithby, now his father was dead; and how he had married Miss Green, the chandler's daughter, and had bought such a nice gig! To tell the reader at once, what he plainly sees is about coming to pass, young _Mister_ Davy Lidgitt married _Miss_ Grumley; and he also bought a nice gig—but it was bought on credit!