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"
It
is
mine
,
"
said
she
,
and
,
from
a
sense
of
proportion
,
kept
down
to
a
small
smile
an
inclination
to
laugh
distinctly
:
"
it
flew
away
last
night
.
"
"
One
o
’
clock
this
morning
?
"
"
Well
—
it
was
.
"
She
was
surprised
.
"
How
did
you
know
?
"
she
said
.
"
I
was
here
.
"
"
You
are
Farmer
Oak
,
are
you
not
?
"
"
That
or
thereabouts
.
I
’
m
lately
come
to
this
place
.
"
"
A
large
farm
?
"
she
inquired
,
casting
her
eyes
round
,
and
swinging
back
her
hair
,
which
was
black
in
the
shaded
hollows
of
its
mass
;
but
it
being
now
an
hour
past
sunrise
the
rays
touched
its
prominent
curves
with
a
colour
of
their
own
.
"
No
;
not
large
.
About
a
hundred
.
"
(
In
speaking
of
farms
the
word
"
acres
"
is
omitted
by
the
natives
,
by
analogy
to
such
old
expressions
as
"
a
stag
of
ten
.
"
)
"
I
wanted
my
hat
this
morning
,
"
she
went
on
.
"
I
had
to
ride
to
Tewnell
Mill
.
"
