"I dare say you have hit it," said Bartley. "Well, I am fond of farming; but I don't live by it, and a moderate profit would content me."
Walter said nothing. The truth is, he did not want to let the farm to Bartley.
Bartley saw this, and drew Mary aside.
"Should not you like to come here, my child?"
"Yes, papa, if you wish it; and you know it's dear Mr. Hope's birth-place."
"Well, then, tell this young fellow so. I will give you an opportunity."
That was easily managed, and then Mary said, timidly, "Cousin Walter, we should all three be so glad if we might have the farm."
"Three?" said he. "Who is the third?"
"Oh, somebody that everybody likes and I love. It is Mr. Hope. Such a duck! I am sure you would like him."
"Hope! Is his name William?"