The squire was at his wits' end for money, and the tenants one and all had so heard.
Rents had been raised on them; timber had fallen fast; the lawyer on the estate was growing rich; tradesmen in Barchester, nay, in Greshamsbury itself, were beginning to mutter; and the squire himself would not be merry.

Under such circumstances the throats of a tenantry will still swallow, but their beards will not wag.
"I minds well," said Farmer Oaklerath to his neighbour, "when the squoire hisself comed of age.

Lord love 'ee! There was fun going that day.

There was more yale drank then than's been brewed at the big house these two years.

T'old squoire was a one'er." "And I minds when squoire was borned; minds it well," said an old farmer sitting opposite.