The first news reached Farmer Jenkins in a letter from Sir John. It was brief and to the point:—
"I have this day sold the freehold of Hillside Farm. Your new landlord will no doubt communicate with you shortly.—Yours truly,
"John Hamblyn."
Farmer Jenkins stared at the letter for a considerable time after he had mastered its contents.
"So-ho!" he said to himself at length. "Now I understand why he wanted the matter of reduction of rent to stand over. 'Cute dog is Sir John. If he's sold the place on the basis of present rental he's swindled somebody. I wonder who the fool is who bought it. Anyhow, I won't stay here after Lady Day." And he pushed the letter into his pocket, pulled a weather-beaten wideawake hat over his bald pate, and started out in the direction of St. Goram.
William Menire was standing behind his desk when Jenkins stumbled into his shop. He laid down his pen at once, and prepared himself to execute the farmer's order.
It was not a large order by any means—something that had been forgotten on the previous day—and when the farmer had stuffed it into one of his big pockets he looked up suddenly and said—
"You ain't heard no news, I expect?"
"What sort of news?" William questioned.
"Oh, any sort."
"Well, no. There doesn't seem to be much stirring at the present time."