"Well, anyhow, father won't have it much longer, sound or unsound, unless things take a different turn," continued I, with a grim sense of satisfaction in hurting the squire for having hurt Harrod's case with father.
"Why, what's up?" asked he.
"They have had a quarrel," explained I, carelessly. "Mr. Harrod wanted father to reduce the men's wages, and to make them work as long hours as they do for the other farmers hereabouts, and of course father wasn't going to do that, because he thinks it unjust."
"I knew it would come—bound to come," muttered the squire beneath his breath.
"And then he wanted him to buy mowing-machines for the haymaking," continued I, "and you know what father thinks of machines. So he refused, and then Mr. Harrod said that if he couldn't manage the farm his own way he must leave."
"Dear! dear!" sighed good Mr. Broderick. And dear me, how little I realized at the time all that it meant, his taking our affairs to heart as he did! "This must be set straight."
"I tried my best," concluded I. "It's no good talking to father; but Mr. Harrod promised me that he would take back his word about leaving if father asked him to."
The squire looked at me sharply. "Harrod promised you that?" he asked.
"Yes," repeated I, looking at him simply, "he promised me that."