"No, it belongs to Mr. Pratt, up along at the house."
"You don't say so! I dare say you'll be surprised to hear it, but it wouldn't be fair to you to keep it a secret; Mr. Pratt is my uncle."
"Do 'ee tell me that, now?"
"But I hope you won't think any the worse of me. It's not my fault--I'm sure you'll admit that."
"Think the worse of 'ee! I reckon 'tis t'other way about. He be my landlord, and a rare good 'un; never raised my rent all the thirty years I've knowed 'un. We thinks a rare lot of 'un in village."
"I say, do you mean that?"
"What for not? He never gives us no trouble, and if you can say that of the landlord as owns best part o' the village, you may reckon there ain't much wrong with 'un. Not but what he've a bit of a temper, and can't abide being put upon; but treat him fair, and he'll treat you fair. Ay, and more. That there hut, now. It do belong to him, but I doubt he's never been richer for any rent paid him for't."
"Who rents it, then?"
"Uses it, I'd say. Nick Rush never paid no rent, that I'd swear."
"Siren Rush again, Phil," said Pratt, in an undertone, to Warrender. "I thought Rush was a poacher," he added, to the fisherman.