"Why not buy 'Layton' and settle down on the land? It will give you something to do, and lengthen your own and Mrs. Quirk's life," the priest wrote.
Samuel Quirk read the letter to his wife, commenting unfavourably on it the while.
"Buy a farm? What would I be doing on a farm?" he asked.
"Why not go down to Grey Town and see the place for yourself?" suggested Mrs. Quirk.
After a prolonged argument, the old man again accepted her advice. It was something of an adventure to him to journey so far by train, and to spend a night away from home. But it was far worse for the old woman, as he always termed her, to be alone in the shop for thirty-six hours. She missed her husband's rough voice, the heavy shuffling tread, above all the rare endearments that she valued for their infrequency. When Samuel Quirk returned he was received as if his absence had lasted twelve months.
"Well? Are we to go?" she asked.
"It's done. The place is bought and sold, and it's mine—and yours," he answered.
"Is it a grand place?" she questioned.
"It's as grand as the Governor's house," replied the old man. "I couldn't count the rooms, and the gardens are amazing."
A sigh came from her lips as she cast her eyes around the small sitting-room where every object was familiar.