The next morning, "Cobbler" Horn, having invested his young secretary with full powers in regard to his correspondence, during his absence, set off by an early train for Daisy Lane, en route for London. He had but a vague idea as to the village of which he was the chief proprietor. He was aware, however, that his property there, including the old hall itself, was, to quote Mr. Ball, "somewhat out of repair"; and he rejoiced in the prospect of the opportunity its dilapidation might present of turning to good account some considerable portion of his immense wealth. It was almost noon when the train stopped at the small station at which he was to alight. He was the only passenger who left the train at that station; and, almost before his feet had touched the platform, he was greeted by a plain, middle-aged man, of medium height and broad of build, whose hair was reddish-brown and his whiskers brownish-red, while his tanned and glowing face bore ample evidence of an out-door life. He had the appearance of a good-natured, intelligent, and trustworthy man. This was John Gray, the agent of the property; and "Cobbler" Horn liked him from the first. "It's only a mile and a half to the village sir," said the man, as they mounted the trap which was waiting outside the station; "and we shall soon run along." The trap was a nondescript and dilapidated vehicle, and the horse was by no means a thoroughbred. But the whole turn-out was faultlessly clean. "It's rather a crazy concern, sir," said Mr. Gray candidly. "But you needn't be afraid. It will hold together for this time, I think." "Cobbler" Horn smiled somewhat sadly, as he mounted to his seat. Here was probably an instalment of much with which he was destined to meet that day. "Wake up, Jack!" said Mr. Gray, shaking the reins. The appearance of the animal indicated that it was necessary for him to take his master's injunction in a literal sense. He awoke with a start, and set off at a walking pace, from which, by dint of much persuasion on the part of his driver, he was induced to pass into a gentle trot. "He never goes any faster than that," said the agent. "Ah!" ejaculated "Cobbler" Horn. "But we must try to get you something better to drive about in than this, Mr. Gray." "Thank you, sir. It will be a good thing." As they slowly progressed along the pleasant country road, the agent gave his new employer sundry particulars concerning the property of which he had become possessed. "Nearly all the village belongs to you, sir. There's only the church and vicarage, and one farm-house, with a couple of cottages attached, that are not yours. But you'll find your property in an awful state. I've done what I could to patch it up; but what can you do without money?" "I hope, Mr. Gray," said the new proprietor, "that we shall soon rectify all that." "Of course you will, sir," said the candid agent. "It's very painful," he added, "to hear the complaints the people make."