It was Randal's habitual policy to make use of every advantage proffered to him, and he accepted the proposal frankly enough to please the honest farmer. "A nice day, sir," said the latter, as Randal sat by his side. "Have you come far?" "From Rood Hall." "Oh, you be young Squire Leslie," said the farmer, more respectfully, and lifting his hat. "Yes, my name is Leslie. You know Rood, then?" "I was brought up on your father's land, sir. You may have heard of Farmer Bruce?" RANDAL.--"I remember, when I was a little boy, a Mr. Bruce, who rented, I believe, the best part of our land, and who used to bring us cakes when he called to see my father. He is a relation of yours?" 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!" 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." "I am going to Hazeldean," said Randal, rousing himself from a reverie. "Don't let me take you out of your way." "Oh, Hawleigh Farm is on the other side of the village, so it be quite my way, sir." The farmer then, who was really a smart young fellow--one of that race which the application of capital to land has produced, and which in point of education and refinement, are at least on a par with the squires of a former generation--began to talk about his handsome horse, about horses in general, about hunting and coursing: he handled all these subjects with spirit, yet with modesty. Randal pulled his hat still lower down over his brows, and did not interrupt him till past the Casino, when, struck by the classic air of the place, and catching a scent from the orange-trees, the boy asked, abruptly, "Whose house is that?" "Oh, it belongs to Squire Hazeldean, but it is let or lent to a foreign Mounseer. They say he is quite the gentleman, but uncommonly poor."