be well horsed was to be in better spirits about Long-Ash Lane than
poor pedestrians could attain to during its passage. 

But the farmer did not talk much to his friend as he rode along.
The enterprise which had brought him there filled his mind; for in
truth it was important.  Not altogether so important was it,
perhaps, when estimated by its value to society at large; but if the
true measure of a deed be proportionate to the space it occupies in
the heart of him who undertakes it, Farmer Charles Darton's business
to-night could hold its own with the business of kings. 

He was a large farmer.  His turnover, as it is called, was probably
thirty thousand pounds a year.  He had a great many draught horses,
a great many milch cows, and of sheep a multitude.  This comfortable
position was, however, none of his own making.  It had been created
by his father, a man of a very different stamp from the present
representative of the line. 

Darton, the father, had been a one-idea'd character, with a
buttoned-up pocket and a chink-like eye brimming with commercial