The two Ralphs breakfasted together, not having met each other since they were children, and having even then scarcely known each other. Ralph the heir had been brought up a boy at the parsonage of Newton Peele, but the other Ralph had never been taken to Newton till after his grandfather's death. The late parson had died within twelve months of his father,--a wretched year, during which the Squire and the parson had always squabbled,--and then Ralph who was the heir had been transferred to the guardianship of Sir Thomas Underwood. It was only during the holidays of that one year that the two Ralphs had been together. The "Dear Sir" will probably be understood by the discerning reader. The Squire's son had never allowed himself to call even Gregory his cousin. Ralph the heir in writing back had addressed him as "Dear Ralph." The Squire's son thought that that was very well, but chose that any such term of familiarity should come first from him who was in truth a Newton. He felt his condition, though he was accustomed to make so light of it to his father. The two young men shook hands together cordially, and were soon at work upon their eggs and kidneys. They immediately began about Gregory and the parsonage and the church, and the big house. The heir to the property, though he had not been at Newton for fourteen years, remembered well its slopes, and lawns, and knolls, and little valleys. He asked after this tree and that, of this old man and that old woman, of the game, and the river fishery, and the fox coverts, and the otters of which three or four were reputed to be left when he was there. Otters it seems were gone, but the foxes were there in plenty. "My father would be half mad if they drew the place blank," said the Squire's son. "Does my uncle hunt much?" "Every Monday and Saturday, and very often on the Wednesday." "And you?" "I call myself a three-day man, but I often make a fourth. Garth must be very far off if he don't see me. I don't do much with any other pack." "Does my uncle ride?" "Yes; he goes pretty well;--he says he don't. If he gets well away I think he rides as hard as ever he did. He don't like a stern chace." "No more do I," said Ralph the heir. "But I'm often driven to make it. What can a fellow do? An old chap turns round and goes home, and doesn't feel ashamed of himself; but we can't do that. That's the time when one ruins his horses." Then he told all about the Moonbeam and the B. & B., and his own stud. The morning was half gone, and not a word had been said about business. The Squire's son felt that it was so, and rushed at the subject all in a hurry. "I told you what I have come up to town about." "Oh, yes; I understand." "I suppose I may speak plainly," said the Squire's son. "Why not?" said Ralph the heir. "Well; I don't know. Of course it's best. You wrote to Carey, you know." "Yes; I wrote the very moment I had made up my mind." "You had made up your mind, then?"