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!"
The road now became pretty good, and the farmer put his horse into a brisk trot.
"But which way be you going, sir? I don't care for a few miles more or less, if I can be of service."