A sour, cross, old man was Jasper Crabbe, living all by himself, and seeing little of his neighbours, and not at all liking their children,--so, at least, our Yateshull boys said,--and his coat was of such an old-fashioned cut, and his waistcoat and breecees were so patched and darned, and all his clothes hung so loose about his thin, withered limbs, that he looked more like a scarecrow than a man. He came to Yateshull from a distance, and everybody wondered why he took that little farm on the edge of the Common, for it was quite a ruinous tumble-down place: though, to be sure, when the neighbours saw him, they said that he and his farm were well suited to each other. By and by, when they f…
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