among his beeches, and he didn't like it. So he built 'em out. Well, on that strip o' sandy land I am going to put up a soap factory. There's plenty o' wool mills round, and soap is a sure thing, and though he can build lads and lasses out, he can't build a smell out."
Jonathan burst into a hearty laugh. "You'll be indicted for a nuisance," he said.
"Ay, I will. I'll like that. I'm out of a lawsuit of any kind now. I hev had twenty-four, my lad, and won them all! T' tenants in them cottages are mostly my tenants. I can make t' rents that comfortable they wouldn't smell a brimstone factory, and, ta knows, they are well used to bad smells with t' boiling wood in t' mills. Bashpoole will swear it's a nuisance; varry good, there's fifty o' my tenants, closer to t' nuisance than he is, will swear it isn't. Bashpoole is a varry parnickaty, fussy old gentleman. That soap factory will bring him to his senses, if anything will. I'll teach him to meddle wi' my bonny grandniece, and to hev his high-flying, fox-hunting daughter travelling round t' world w' my niece's husband. He'll hev to come and see me in t' end about that soap-boiling, and then I'll tell him plainly, 'Tit
