"Also, the fire burns bright, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that it is made of dry oak from your Sticksley Wood." "How know you that, Jeffrey ?" asked Sir John.
"By the grain of it, master--by the grain of it.

I have hewn too many a timber there not to know.

There's that in the Sticksley clays which makes the rings grow wavy and darker at the heart.

See there." Sir John looked, and swore an angry oath.
"You are right, man; and now I come to think of it, when I was a little lad my old grandsire bade me note this very thing about the Sticksley oaks.

These cursed monks waste my woods beneath my nose.