This strip was wretched land,
and the owner, unable to raise any wheat crop on it, had planted it
with larches.
Sir Charles had made him a liberal offer for "Splatchett's" about six
years ago; but he had refused point-blank, being then in good
circumstances.
Sir Charles now received a hint from one of his own gamekeepers that
the old farmer was in a bad way, and talked of selling. So Sir Charles
called on him, and asked him if he would sell "Splatchett's" now. "Why,
I can't sell it twice," said the old man, testily. "You ha' got it,
han't ye?" It turned out that Richard Bassett had been beforehand. The
bank had pressed for their money, and threatened foreclosure; then
Bassett had stepped in with a good price; and although the conveyance
was not signed, a stamped agreement was, and neither vender nor
purchaser could go back. What made it more galling, the proprietor was
not aware of the feud between the Bassetts, and had thought to please
Sir Charles by selling to one of his name.
Sir Charles Bassett went home seriously vexed. He did not mean to tell
his wife; but love's eye read his face, love's arm went round his neck,
and love's soft voice and wistful eyes soon coaxed it out of him. "Dear
Charles," said she, "never mind. It is mortifying; but think how much
you have, and how little that wicked man has.
Pages:
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114