"I must both speak of it and think of it," he said. "My poor boy's death has been a great shock to me, and shocks at my age are not easily thrown off. I wish to feel to you, and treat you now as my heir, and I wish you to be quite open to me as regards your affairs. Like most young men I suppose you have debts?" "No," smiled John, "I have none." "I am glad to hear it," answered the squire, "though I was quite prepared to pay them if you had. I also propose to allow you one thousand a year out of the property, and I hope you will look on this house in the future as your home." "You are most kind and generous, uncle." "I am simply just; this house, you know, and the Woodlea property are entailed on you. I have other property which came to me through my first poor wife." And here the squire sighed. "But why speak of things which must be distressing to you so soon?" "Things of this kind are always best settled--life is so uncertain--look at my dear boy." "That was a very exceptional case." "No doubt, but still I wish everything to be arranged between you and me. I am sorry we have not seen more of each other, but it is not too late. For the present you will stay on here, at least for a time?" "If you wish it, yes." "I do wish it;" then the squire went into further business details, and John Temple knew that he would be a richer man some day than he had ever dreamed of. The squire had saved out of his large rental, and he had not been communicative to his wife's family as to the real extent of his income. He disliked Mrs. Layton exceedingly, and was barely civil to her for his wife's sake. If she had known the extent of his wealth her encroachments would have been even greater than they were, and Mr. Temple considered he had quite enough of Mrs. Layton as it was. During this conversation the uncle and nephew were mutually pleased with each other. And after it was over John Temple went out for a stroll, and with a smile at his own folly, turned his footsteps in the direction of the country lane where he had met "the Mayflower." But no pretty girl was to be seen. The lane somehow looked very empty to John, though the roses were still blooming on the hedge-rows, and the meadow-sweet scenting the air. He therefore walked on and on. He saw a belt of trees in the distance, and he determined to walk until he reached them. He found when he did so a wooded hillside with a gurgling streamlet at its foot. A rustic narrow bridge spanned the rivulet, and ferns grew on either side of it in great luxuriance. It was a pretty shady spot, with a winding dell on one side of the little bridge. Along this John Temple had proceeded a few yards when he caught a glimpse of something white beneath one of the trees. He looked again and saw it was a girl sitting on a camp-stool reading. He drew nearer; the girl heard his approaching footsteps, even on the mossy turf. She looked up. It was the Mayflower, and John Temple felt he had not had his walk in vain!