It is by small savings that a farm thrives, and Miss Betty's farm
throve.
Everybody worked with more alacrity. Annie the lass said the butter came
in a way that made it a pleasure to churn.
The neighbours knew even more than those on the spot. They said--That
since Lob came back to Lingborough the hens laid eggs as large as
turkeys' eggs, and the turkeys' eggs were--oh, you wouldn't believe the
size!
That the cows gave nothing but cream, and that Thomasina skimmed butter
off it as less lucky folk skim cream from milk.
That her cheeses were as rich as butter.
That she sold all she made, for Lob took the fairy butter from the old
trees in the avenue, and made it up into pats for Miss Betty's table.
That if you bought Lingborough turnips, you might feed your cows on them
all the winter and the milk would be as sweet as new-mown hay.
That horses foddered on Lingborough hay would have thrice the strength
of others, and that sheep who cropped Lingborough pastures would grow
three times as fat.
That for as good a watchdog as it was, the sheep dog never barked at
Lob, a plain proof that he was more than human.
That for all its good luck it was not safe to loiter near the place
after dark, if you wished to keep your senses. And if you took so much
as a fallen apple belonging to Miss Betty, you might look out for palsy
or St.
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