"Who'd think that this was the richer place?" asked Jacob.
On one side of the way spread the farm, with fields round about; on the other stood Owley Cot, a pretty dwelling bowered in climbing roses with two great red firs springing beside it. Margery praised the cottage.
"I always think that the dinkiest little home I ever saw," she said. "But Mr. Elvin's mother ain't too contented for all that."
"Your home is nought if your heart's heavy," answered Jacob. "She knows that Joe is not particular happy, and he gets his cranky nature from her. Yet I'll be sorry if he's got to go."
"He pays his rent of course?"
"Oh, yes; but it drags a bit sometimes. He's had a good year, however; and his corn is above average as he admits himself, so it must be wonderful."
They entered, and Joe Elvin—a tall, thin man with a long nose, a black beard and a discontented face—himself answered Bullstone's knock.
They shook hands and Jacob explained that he had called on pleasure, not business.
The farmer welcomed them and took them into the kitchen, where his wife was making pastry, and two little boys played in a corner with the dried knuckle bones of sheep.
"Just want to introduce Mrs. Bullstone to be," said Jacob.