The Salamanca Corpus: Yeoman Fleetwood (1900 ... - Gredos

The Salamanca Corpus: Yeoman Fleetwood (1900)
Had the family, indeed, sunk so low as this? Why, the Charnocks might as well be
farmers at once. To have ploughed land within a stone's throw, as one might say, of the
windows of the Hall; to permit the gardens and shrubberies, so carefully laid out, to
open on such a prospect as a field of turnips or potatoes! It was not to be borne; her
father must certainly be unaware of it, else the cheerfulness which had been restored to
him during the last few days would assuredly have taken wing once more. The stupid
old steward had evidently made some grievous blunder, and it behoved Rachel to see
that the mistake was rectified without delay.
While these thoughts were flitting through her brain, she was hastening with all speed in
the direction of the nearest ploughman; and as soon as she was within earshot she raised
her voice peremptorily, “Stop! stop!"
The man stared but continued to advance; and it was not until she had repeatedly
admonished him that, uttering the monosyllable “Haw!” in a stentorian voice, he
brought his horses to a standstill. To Rachel's surprise the face which the old fellow
turned upon her, was
[198]
perfectly unknown to her: it belonged, indeed, to no less a person than Bill Lupton,
Simon Fleetwood's head-man. "What are you doing?" cried Rachel breathlessly. Bill
first pointed with his horny forefinger at the furrow in front of him, and then jerked his
thumb over his shoulder.
“We're agate o' ploughing up this here bit o' land," he replied mildly.
Rachel flushed with anger. That Charnleigh Park, the object of reverence not only to
herself, but to all the country round, should be stigmatised as “a bit o' land!" She
positively stamped her foot as she returned:—
"Nay, but such a thing is not to be thought of. There must be some mistake. Who are
you, to begin with? I do not know your face. Who told you to come here with your
plough?"
Bill gazed at her, momentarily overpowered by the torrent of questions; then he took off
his battered hat, scratched his head thoughtfully, and put it on again. Finally he decided