Inheritance

Inheritance

Inheritance

Inheritance

Excerpt

He meant to see Mary that morning, reflected Will Oldroyd as his father rode away up the frozen lane with a last shouted instruction, and he was not going to be put off by any nonsense about frames. Not that he meant to neglect the frames, of course, not likely! But he would see to them in his own time and in his own way; he knew his own mind and intended to follow it. The Oldroyds, he mused, leading his chestnut mare cheerfully down the slippery lane in the opposite direction from that his father had desired him to take, had always been determined, wilful men; no doubt that was why they had risen up so steadily in the world, each generation advancing upon the last. His great-grandfather had dressed other weavers' cloth with his own hands, his grandfather had put cloth out to weave and dressed it with the help of apprentices in the house by the strongly-flowing Ire, his father had first increased both the weaving and the dressing business, so that the house had to be enlarged and the cobbled yard rang with the hoofs of the pack-horses, and now he had built the big mill further down the valley to house these fine new cropping-frames, run by water-power, which Will was supposed to be seeing Enoch Smith about this morning. Oh! the consequence of the Oldroyds was increasing, without a doubt; they were always going up; in this present year of 1812 they were among the most considerable manufacturers in the Ire Valley, and Will should take good care they went up still further in his time. Now the Bamforths had not gone up in the world, they had stayed just where they were, had remained weavers all through the centuries--until they reached Mary's brother, young Joe . . .

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