I wouldn't say
I was proud of him, and yet I knew he went straight and done his duty to
the best of his poor powers. His wife was such another--the salt of the
earth in a manner of speaking, if rightly understood, but no knack of
making her mark in the world--in fact a very godly, unnoticeable, unlucky
fashion of woman. I knew they'd be rewarded hereafter, where brains be
dust in the balance, but meantime I'd sometimes turn to mark Rupert
flourishing like the green bay tree and making money and putting it away
and biding single and keeping his secrets close as the grave.
I never saw none of his earnings and more didn't his father. He was
under-keeper to Tudor Manor and very well thought on; but a miser of
speech, as well as cash, and none knew what was in his heart. He lived at
the north lodge of the big place and woke a lot of curiosity, as secrecy
will; but at eight-and-twenty years of age he was granted to be a man very
skilled in his business, and the head-keeper, Mr. Vallance, thought a lot
of him, and the two men under him went in fear. So also did the poachers,
for he was terrible skilled in their habits, and only his bringing up and
a patient father and mother had turned the balance and made him the
protector of game instead of a robber himself. So there it was: my eldest
had a heart of gold and no intellects, as often happens, while Rupert
hadn't no heart at all, but the Lord willed him wits above ordinary.
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