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 compact group on the seat, and, after looking at them meditatively a moment went to interview Hugh.

When he returned to the orchard Edmund was half asleep, but he roused himself and asked, "Everything all right?"

"Oh, yes!" said Derek, sitting down beside him. "Hugh is getting on well. He is a good man. The only good man I have now. Snailem is a fool. Old Peek and the boys from Mistwell are makeshifts. Next spring I must try to get plenty of competent help. It means success, and the lack of it failure."

Edmund turned to him suddenly. "Have you heard that Mr. Jerrold is in difficulties? That he is having a sale on the twelfth?"

"He has a sale of surplus stock twice a year."

"This is a sale of everything—stock, implements, house, furniture, the whole farm. Had you heard nothing?"

Derek looked at him aghast. "I hadn't heard a word about it. Who told you?"

"Grace, yesterday. She's fearfully cut up, naturally. But plucky, you know."

Derek sat in silence a moment, then he asked, "Are they going to move?"

"No; they are keeping a gardener's cottage, and they will have a cow, and a horse, and their dogs, of course. But what a change!"

"I have been swallowed up by my own little tempest lately, and so I've known nothing of the storm and stress my neighbours are passing through. I am very sorry. I like him tremendously—and she"—he turned suddenly to Edmund—"How is it between you two?" he asked. "May I know?"

"Oh, nothing is settled. But it must be soon. While