Farmer Bruce.—"He was my uncle. He is dead now, poor man."
Randal.—"Dead! I am grieved to hear it. He was very kind to us children. But it is long since he left my father's farm."
Farmer Bruce, apologetically.—"I am sure he was very sorry to go. But, you see, he had an unexpected legacy—"
Randal.—"And retired from business?"
Farmer Bruce.—"No. But, having capital, he could afford to pay a good rent for a real good farm."
Randal, bitterly.—"All capital seems to fly from the lands of Rood. And whose farm did he take?"
Farmer Bruce.—"He took Hawleigh, under Squire Hazeldean. I rent it now. We've laid out a power o' money on it. But I don't complain. It pays well."
Randal.—"Would the money have paid as well, sunk on my father's land?"
Farmer Bruce.—"Perhaps it might, in the long run. But then, sir, we wanted new premises—barns and cattle-sheds, and a deal more—which the landlord should do; but it is not every landlord as can afford that. Squire Hazeldean's a rich man."
Randal.—"Ay!"