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Updated: June 2, 2025
James Shorto-Champernowne, Vicar of Chagford, made an appointment to discuss the position with Mr. Lyddon and his daughter. A sportsman of the old type, and a cleric of rare reputation for good sense and fairness to high and low, was Mr. Shorto-Champernowne, but it happened that his more tender emotions had been buried with a young wife these forty years, and children he had none.
"She must wait for a man who is a man, somebody of good sense and good standing, with property to his name." Miller Lyddon noted with surprise and satisfaction John Grimbal's warmth of manner upon this question; he observed also the stout, hearty body of him, and the handsome face that crowned it.
She had expected some delay; she had believed that her father would impose stern restrictions of time and make a variety of conditions with her sweetheart; she had even hoped that Miller Lyddon might command lengthened patience for the sake of her headstrong, erratic Will's temper and character; but that he was to be banished in this crushing and summary fashion overwhelmed Phoebe, and that utterly.
"Fust thing morning send a lad riding to Newtake," ordered Mr. Lyddon. "Theer's no sleep for me to-night, no, nor any more at all till I hear tell the dear tibby-lamb's well again. 'Pon my soul, I wonder that headstrong man doan't doctor the cheel hisself." "Maybe he will. Ban't nothin 's beyond him." "I'll go silly now. If awnly Mrs. Blanchard was up theer wi' Phoebe."
So I've comed just to say theer's no call for longer waitin'. 'T was a sportsmanlike thing in you, Miller Lyddon, to bide same as you did; and now, if you'd set the law movin' an' get the job out o' hand, I'd thank you kindly. You see, if they put me in for two year, 't will leave mighty li'l time to get a home ready for Phoebe against the day she comes of age."
"Ess fay, else I shouldn't be here. And this tremendous matter in hand?" "I thought you'd guess what 't was. I be weary o' waitin' for 'e. An' as I comed of age last month, I'm a man in law so well as larnin', and I'm gwaine to speak to Miller Lyddon this very night." Phoebe looked blank. There was a moment's silence while Will picked and ate the wood-strawberries in his sweetheart's dress.
"Why didn't they send soldiers for un? That's what he reckoned on," said Mr. Lyddon. "'T is my job fust." "I'm sorry you've come in this high spirit. You knaw the man and ought to taake his word he'd go quiet and my guarantee for it." "I knaw my duty, an' doan't want no teachin' from you." "You're a fule!" said Miller, in some anger.
"I be come to talk to Miller, not you." "Nay, nay, Billy can stay and see I'm not tu hard 'pon 'e," declared Mr. Lyddon. "He axed a proper question. What's put by to goody in the savings' bank, Will?" "Well five pounds; and 't will be rose to ten by Christmas, I assure 'e." "Fi' puns! an' how far 's that gwaine?" "So far as us can make it, in coourse."
For the present, however, Miller Lyddon refused his daughter permission even to visit the farm; and she obeyed, despite her husband's indignant protests. Thus matters stood while the sun shone brightly from summer skies.
Phoebe Lyddon and John Grimbal still stood at the farm-gate, and they watched, as a boy and an aged man came forward with buckets and stools. Then, to the muffled thud of the water-wheel and the drone and murmur of the river, was added a purr of milk, foaming into tin pails, and sharp, thin monitions from the ancient, as he called the cows by their names and bid them be still.
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