The skirt was brought down, and the horses, that were beginning to fret, dashed off.  A smart little groom rode behind, and on reaching the farm they found another with two saddle-horses, one of them, a small, gentle Arab gelding, had a side-saddle.  They rode all over the farm, and inspected the buildings, which were in excellent repair, thanks to Walter’s supervision.  Bartley inquired the number of acres and the rent demanded.  Walter told him.  Bartley said it seemed to him a fair rent; still, he should like to know why the present tenant declined.

“Perhaps you had better ask him,” said Walter.  “I should wish you to hear both sides.”

“That is like you,” said Bartley; “but where does the shoe pinch, in your opinion?”

“Well, he tells me, in sober earnest, that he loses money by it as it is; but when he is drunk he tells his boon companions he has made seven thousand pounds here.  He has one or two grass fields that want draining, but I offer him the pipes; he has only got to lay them and cut the drains.  My opinion is that he is the slave of habit; he is so used to make an unfair profit out of these acres that he can not break himself of it and be content with a fair one.”

“I dare say you have hit it,” said Bartley.  “Well, I am fond of farming; but I don’t live by it, and a moderate profit would content me.”

Walter said nothing.  The truth is, he did not want to let the farm to Bartley.

Bartley saw this, and drew Mary aside.

“Should not you like to come here, my child?”

“Yes, papa, if you wish it; and you know it’s dear Mr. Hope’s birth-place.”

“Well, then, tell this young fellow so.  I will give you an opportunity.”

That was easily managed, and then Mary said, timidly, “Cousin Walter, we should all three be so glad if we might have the farm.”

“Three?” said he.  “Who is the third?”

“Oh, somebody that everybody likes and I love.  It is Mr. Hope.  Such a duck!  I am sure you would like him.”

“Hope!  Is his name William?”

“Yes, it is.  Do you know him?” asked Mary, eagerly.

“I have reason to know him:  he did me a good turn once, and I shall never forget it.”

“Just like him!” cried Mary.  “He is always doing people good turns.  He is the best, the truest, the cleverest, the dearest darling dear that ever stepped, and a second father to me; and, cousin, this village is his birth-place, and he didn’t say much, but it was he who told us of this farm, and he would be so pleased if I could write and say, ’We are to have the farm—­Cousin Walter says so.’”

She turned her lovely eyes, brimming with tenderness, toward her cousin Walter, and he was done for.

“Of course you shall have it,” he said, warmly.  “Only you will not be angry with me if I insist on the increased rent.  You know, cousin, I have a father, too, and I must be just to him.”