"Squire Paget, eh? Is he the squire of the place?"
"Yes, sir."
"Rules it pretty well, I suppose, if he's rich," and Martin laughed in a style that had little of reality in it.
"I don't know what you mean by that," returned Ralph, in perplexity. "He is squire, that is all. He owns quite a deal of property and he lives on the rent money."
"Pretty nice town," put in Toglet. "I wouldn't mind owning a place there myself. Do you own a place?" he went on, with assumed indifference, while he listened eagerly for the reply.
"Yes, we own a small place close to the Eastport bridge."
"Oh, yes. That's a valuable spot."
"We own more of the land, from the bridge up, but we can't prove our right to it," added Ralph.
"That's too bad." Toglet and Martin exchanged glances. "What seems to be the trouble?" went on the former.
"The papers my father had are missing, and we can do nothing without them."