As Randal entered the drawing-room, the squire, shaking hands with him, looked towards the door as if expecting some one else; and his honest face assumed a blank expression of disappointment, when the door closed, and he found that Randal was unaccompanied.
“Well,” said he, bluntly, “I thought your old schoolfellow, Frank, might have been with you.”
“Have you not seen him yet, sir?”
“No, I came to town this morning; travelled outside the mail; sent to his barracks, but the young gentleman does not sleep there, has an apartment of his own; he never told me that. We are a plain family, the Hazeldeans, young sir; and I hate being kept in the dark,—by my own son, too.”
Randal made no answer, but looked sorrowful. The squire, who had never before seen his kinsman, had a vague idea that it was not polite to entertain a stranger, though a connection to himself, with his family troubles, and so resumed good-naturedly, “I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Leslie. You know, I hope, that you have good Hazeldean blood in your veins?”
RANDAL (smiling).—“I am not likely to forget that; it is the boast of our pedigree.”
SQUIRE (heartily).—“Shake hands again on it, my boy. You don’t want a friend, since my grandee of a half-brother has taken you up; but if ever you should, Hazeldean is not very far from Rood. Can’t get on with your father at all, my lad,—more ‘s the pity, for I think I could have given him a hint or two as to the improvement of his property. If he would plant those ugly commons—larch and fir soon come into profit, sir; and there are some low lands about Rood that would take mighty kindly to draining.”
RANDAL.—“My poor father lives a life so retired—and you cannot wonder at it. Fallen trees lie still, and so do fallen families.”
SQUIRE.—“Fallen families can get up again, which fallen trees can’t.”
RANDAL.—“Ah, sir, it often takes the energy of generations to repair the thriftlessness and extravagance of a single owner.”