"Old Mester Quethiock es dead, es dead, es dead," said Eli, in his funny, grunting kind of voice.
"How do 'ee knaw, Eli?" asked his mother.
"I knaw, I knaw," grunted Eli, and then he laughed in his funny way, but he would tell nothing more.
"What ought I to do?" I asked, for I felt a great fear come into my heart, although my father had told me that my Grandfather Quethiock meant to give me the Barton.
"Go and zee, go and zee," said Betsey.
So I went back home and saddled my mare and rode to Falmouth. When I got into Falmouth town I saw an ironmonger whom I knew, and he looked as though he would speak, so I stopped my horse.
"Well, and so yer poor gran'father is gone," he said.
"Is he?" I replied; "I did not know till now."
"Iss, he's gone, and a good man he wos, too. His two sons, yer uncles, 'ave been waitin' a long time to git into his shoes. Ah, there'll be a change now! Th' ould man was the soul of generosity; but the sons, Peter and Paul, nobody'll be able to rob one to pay the other of they two. But I 'ear as 'ow you'm safe, Maaster Jasper. The Barton es yours, I'm told."