“What is the treasure-trove?” said Mr. Farebrother.

“I’m going to be agent for two estates, Freshitt and Tipton; and perhaps for a pretty little bit of land in Lowick besides: it’s all the same family connection, and employment spreads like water if it’s once set going. It makes me very happy, Mr. Farebrother”⁠—here Caleb threw back his head a little, and spread his arms on the elbows of his chair⁠—“that I’ve got an opportunity again with the letting of the land, and carrying out a notion or two with improvements. It’s a most uncommonly cramping thing, as I’ve often told Susan, to sit on horseback and look over the hedges at the wrong thing, and not be able to put your hand to it to make it right. What people do who go into politics I can’t think: it drives me almost mad to see mismanagement over only a few hundred acres.”

It was seldom that Caleb volunteered so long a speech, but his happiness had the effect of mountain air: his eyes were bright, and the words came without effort.