While waiting for his horse the agent occupied the time in giving the new overseer some general information about the situation. He told Palmer that the Wilderness Manor had always been in the possession of the Elphine family; but that the last male descendant of the race had suddenly left the house on the marriage of his cousin, many, many years before, and had lived abroad; that very lately he had died in Paris, unmarried and intestate, and the manor had fallen to the only daughter of that cousin whose marriage he had taken in such high dudgeon. He went on to say that this lady—whose confidential agent he, Peter Carmichael, was—had come in person to visit her new inheritance, and finding the old manor-house going to ruin from neglect, she had directed him to find a suitable family to take charge of it; and that he had advertised and found the present family, with whom, he added, he was very well “pleased-pleased-pleased.” He concluded by saying that he was a lawyer by profession and a bachelor by choice, and that he lived at the Red Deer Hotel in the town of Greyrock, about thirty miles down the river, and that he rode up weekly to look after the estate, always changing horses when he went back. Then, as he saw the stable boy, Seth, coming up the narrow path and leading Saladin, he arose to take leave, requesting John Palmer to bid good-by to the family for him, and promising to ride over again on the ensuing Saturday. “It’ll be ten o’clock before Mr. Comical gets home, and he’ll have to ride fast to do that,” said John as he stepped into the large hall, which he found put in order for the night, with all the pallets spread. “Has that funny old fellow gone?” inquired Susan as she arose from putting the last smoothing touches on the children’s bed. “Yes, and he asked me to bid you all good-by for him.” “Well, now all is done here, we’ll go out and sit under the trees, and I hope this is the very last night we shall have to sleep in the hall. It is a perfectly savage way of living!” “Oh! I think it’s just _nice_!” “It’s real jolly!” “It’s first-rate fun!” “I’d rather live this way than any way!” Such was the chorus of exclamations from the children that answered their mother’s remarks. “Difference of opinion; but ‘sich is life,’” said John. “_Do_ hush your noise, Palmer! You distract me with your clatter!” scolded Susan as she hurried the children out of the house. “I wasn’t making the least bit. She and the young uns was making it all, and I get the blame: ‘sich is life,’” said John as he followed them out. But there was no malice in Susan Palmer’s hasty speeches, and her husband knew it well. All was harmony in the family circle as they sat under the trees, John smoking his white clay pipe, and the children amusing themselves with picking the grass-flowers that grew thickly around them.