"How would he like it himself?
Seventy years, boy and man, have I sat here, like my father before me.

I've seen yon elm grow from a stick to what she is now.

I've buried all my kith and kin bar them two lassies." "Of course, I know you're very old.

But why are you crying ?" demanded Rosalind.
"Crying! Wouldn't you cry, Missy, if you was to be turned neck and crop into the road at threescore years and ten ?" "Nonsense.

What do you mean ?" "Come Tuesday," sobbed the old man, "me and the lassies will be trespassers in this here very place." "What!" exclaimed Miss Rosalind, "do you mean you're to be turned out?
Who dares to do such a thing ?" "You go and ask Mr Pottinger, if you doubt it," blubbered the old man.
"He ought to know." Without another word, Miss Rosalind flung herself from the cottage and marched straight for the lawyer's, pale, with bosom heaving and a light in her eyes, that Armstrong, had he been there to see it, would have shivered at.
"Mr Pottinger," said she, breaking unceremoniously into the lawyer's private room, "what is this I hear! How dare you frighten old Hodder by talking about his leaving his farm ?" The lawyer stared at this beautiful apparition, not knowing whether to be amused or angry.