"I am very glad to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Leslie. You know, I hope, that you have good Hazeldean blood in your veins?"
Randal (smilingly).—"I am not likely to forget that; it is the boast of our pedigree."
Squire (heartily).—"Shake hands again on it, my boy. You don't want a friend, since my grandee of a half-brother has taken you up; but if ever you should, Hazeldean is not very far from Rood. Can't get on with your father at all, my lad—more's the pity, for I think I could have given him a hint or two as to the improvement of his property. If he would plant those ugly commons—larch and fir soon come into profit, sir; and there are some low lands about Rood that would take mighty kindly to draining."
Randal.—"My poor father lives a life so retired, and you can not wonder at it. Fallen trees lie still, and so do fallen families."
Squire.—"Fallen families can get up again, which fallen trees can't."
Randal.—"Ah, sir, it often takes the energy of generations to repair the thriftlessness and extravagance of a single owner."
Squire (his brow lowering).—"That's very true. Frank is d——d extravagant; treats me very coolly, too—not coming, near three o'clock. By-the-by, I suppose he told you where I was, otherwise how did you find me out?"
Randal (reluctantly).—"Sir, he did; and, to speak frankly, I am not surprised that he has not yet appeared."
Squire.—"Eh?"
Randal.—"We have grown very intimate."