The land requires some rain, does it not?
Still I trust it will not rain till I am home, for my plume's sake," tossing his head.

"Allow me," and as he passed he offered Oliver a couple of cigars.

"One each," he added; "the best Devon." Oliver took the cigars mechanically, holding them as if they had been vipers, at arm's length, till the courtier had left the garden, and the hedge interposed.

Then he threw them into the water-carrier.

The best tobacco, indeed the only real tobacco, came from the warm Devon land, but little of it reached so far, on account of the distance, the difficulties of intercourse, the rare occasions on which the merchant succeeded in escaping the vexatious interference, the downright robbery of the way.