erican to be content to be a
rich man's son. You aren't blaming me for that?"

"Oh, no. Only it was a very businesslike honeymoon. How far are you
along with the deal, George?"

"I can mail the deposit on the purchase money to-morrow morning, and we
can have the thing completed in a fortnight or three weeks--if you say
so."

"Friars Pardon--Friars Pardon!" Sophie chanted rapturously, her dark
gray eyes big with delight. "All the farms? Gale Anstey, Burnt House,
Rocketts, the Home Farm, and Griffons? Sure you've got 'em all?"

"Sure." He smiled.

"And the woods? High Pardons Wood, Lower Pardons, Suttons, Dutton's
Shaw, Reuben's Ghyll, Maxey's Ghyll, and both the Oak Hangers? Sure
you've got 'em all?"

"Every last stick. Why, you know them as well as I do." He laughed.
"They say there's five thousand--a thousand pounds' worth of
lumber--timber they call it--in the Hangers alone."

"Mrs. Cloke's oven must be mended first thing, and the kitchen roof. I
think I'll have all this whitewashed," Sophie broke in, pointing to
the ceiling. "The whole place is a scandal. Lady Conant is quite right.
George, when did you begin to fall in love with the house? In the
greenroom that first day? I did."

"I'm not in love with it. One must do something to mark time till one's
fit for work."

"Or when we stood under the oaks, and the door opened? Oh! Ought I to go
to poor Iggulden's funeral?" She sighed with utter happiness.

"Wouldn't they call it a liberty now?" said he.

"But I liked him."

"But you didn't own him at the date of his death."

"That wouldn't keep me away. Only, they made such a fuss about the
watching"--she caught her breath--"it might be ostentatious from that
point of view, too. Oh, George"--she reached for his hand--"we're two
little orphans moving in worlds not realized, and we shall make some bad
breaks. But we're going to have the time of our lives."

"We'll run up to London to-morrow, and see if we can hurry those English
law solicitors. I want to get to work."

They went. They suffered many things ere they returned across the fields
in a fly one Saturday night, nursing a two by two-and-a-half box of
deeds and maps--lawful owners of Friars Pardon and the five decayed
farms therewith.

"I do most sincerely 'ope and trust you'll be 'appy, Madam," Mrs. Cloke
gasped, when she was told the news by the kitchen fire.

"Goodness! It isn't a marriage!" Sophie exclaimed, a little awed; for to
them the jo