LAWYER QUEST

The day following that of the conversation just described was one of
those glorious autumn mornings which sometimes come as a faint
compensation for the utter vileness and bitter disappointment of the
season that in this country we dignify by the name of summer.
Notwithstanding his vigils and melancholy of the night before, the
Squire was up early, and Ida, who between one thing and another had
not had the best of nights, heard his loud cheery voice shouting about
the place for "George."

Looking out of her bedroom window, she soon perceived that functionary
himself, a long, lean, powerful-looking man with a melancholy face and
a twinkle in his little grey eyes, hanging about the front steps.
Presently her father emerged in a brilliant but ancient dressing gown,
his white locks waving on the breeze.

"Here, George, where are you, George?"

"Here I be, sir."

"Ah, yes; then why didn't you say so? I have been shouting myself
hoarse for you."

"Yis, Squire," replied the imperturbable George, "I hev been
a-standing here for the last ten minutes, and I heard you."

"You heard me, then why the dickens didn't you answer?"

"Because I didn't think as you wanted me, sir. I saw that you hadn't
finished your letter."

"Well, then, you ought to. You know very well that my chest is weak,
and yet I have to go hallooing all over the place after you. Now look
here, have you got that fat pony of yours in the yard?"

"Yis, Squire, the pony is here, and if so be as it is fat it bean't
for the want of movement."

"Very well, then, take this letter," and he handed him an epistle
sealed with a tremendous seal, "take this letter to Mr. Quest at
Boisingham, and wait for an answer. And look here, mind you are about
the place at eleven o'clock, for I expect Mr. Quest to see me about
the Moat Farm."

"Yis, Squire."

"I suppose that you have heard nothing more from Janter, have you?"

"No, Squire, nawthing. He means to git the place at his own price or
chuck it."

"And what is his price?"

"Five shillings an acre. You see, sir, it's this way. That army gent,
Major Boston, as is agent for all the College lands down the valley,
he be a poor weak fule, and when all these tinants come to him and say
that they must either hev the land at five shillings an acre or go, he
gits scared, he du, and down goes the rent of some of the best meadow
land in the country from thirty-five shillings to