Harry with his shadow, Horace, not only dined at twelve, sometimes in the fields in close proximity to his workers, and supped at seven, he made his own hay, whether the sun shone or the rain fell—not to the benefit of the hay in the latter instance, drove his own carts, galloping the cart-horses to the injury of these sober-minded animals, and led the hoers among beans and turnips with an impartial energy which threatened to demolish alike crops and weeds. He laid aside the civilised encumbrance of a morning coat, as if he were engaged in perpetual cricketing and rowing matches. He walked with a pitchfork over his shoulder as some squires carry a spud, when the tool was quite unnecessary. And he did what no yeoman within a radius of many miles of Friarton had thought of doing within the memory of the oldest inhabitant—he came into the town in character, in his shirt-sleeves, riding a bare-backed horse, as he had been taking it to water, when it had flashed across his mind that he might be in time to intercept the post letters—not that Harry’s letters were of any particular consequence, either to himself or other people—or that he ought to look after a job which was in progress for him at the saddler’s or the smith’s. He actually astounded the assembled Friarton market, he did not scandalise it—nothing which Harry could do did scandalise his neighbours—by entering it in such primitive guise. He had made up his mind, to begin with, that to be a yeoman at Copley Grange Farm was the same as being a colonist, and the more he brought his establishment and personal practice to what Harry conceived to be the colonial level, the more refreshingly novel the play was, and the more he enjoyed it. Horace did not adopt all Harry’s new customs, for the sufficient reason that Horry was a sickly fellow, unable to cope with Harry in braving fatigue and exposure to the weather. But Horace not only found no fault with his chosen champion in his antics, the brother liked the changed life, and was the better for it in body and mind, because Harry, while he was still tasting its essence, and skimming its cream, enjoyed it with the lad’s naturally huge omnivorous appetite for enjoyment, and Harry’s enjoyment was always more or less infectious where his nearest friend was concerned.