"To take on another farm!" repeated I.
"Yes," said he; "but he doesn't take to it. I think he must have something else in his head. But the matter must be decided at once, for I hear there's another man after it."
"Where is it?" I asked, a secret glow of satisfaction at my heart to think he should come and tell me of this as he did.
"It's 'The Elms,'" he answered, "below the mill on the slope yonder."
I stood up and stopped my gardening to show I took an interest in what he was saying. "I know 'The Elms' well enough," I said, "but I didn't know it was to let."
"Yes," he replied. "Old Searle left his affairs in a dreadful mess when he died, and the executors have decided to sell the crops at a valuation, and let the place at once without waiting till the usual term."
"Dear me, what an odd thing!" said I. "I thought farms were never let excepting at Michaelmas."
"Never is a long word," smiled Mr. Harrod. "It is unusual. But I suppose the executors don't care for the expense of putting in a bailiff till October. Anyhow, they appear to want to realize at once; and it's a good chance for us."
"It's all hop-gardens at 'The Elms,' isn't it?' asked I.