It was the owner of the blue bag returning from a ride over the estate, and his authority would certainly be trustworthy in such a matter.
"Good evening, friends." said he pleasantly. "This is a pretty spot, this Falcon Range; some fine timber left yet; rich meadows, quite justifying the description given of it."
The landlord could never resist a cheery voice, or a civil speech, so he felt bound to speak.
"True, sir; more's the pity that it's got to change hands. I suppose nobody's offered yet—it would take all the county by surprise."
"It is a pity, and I'm very sorry for the family," said the stranger, rising instantaneously in the estimation of at least one of his hearers; "but if we get Mr. Hazelwood here, there will be nothing to regret in the matter of the landlord."
"Mr. Hazelwood! Squire Hazelwood of Hazel Copse! You don't say so!" said Timothy.
"Yes I do; he is anxious to purchase, seeing that the lease of Hazel Copse is running out, and he can't agree to terms of renewal."
"Well, he's a fine man, they do say. I've heard of him many a time, for I've a friend as come from his parts."
The sexton began to feel impatient of this praise of a purchaser of the Falcon Range, and put in a word.
"Whoever and whatever he be, sir, it's a shame to blot out a good old family from their neighbourhood and inheritance. So Squire Hazelwood, if he was my lord mayor himself, needn't think to come in triumphant here. Money won't buy no hearts in Falcon Range."