Randal pulled his hat still lower down over his brows, and did not interrupt him till they passed the Casino, when, struck by the classic air of the place, and catching a scent from the orange-trees, the boy asked abruptly, "Whose house is that ?" "Oh, it belongs to Squire Hazeldean, but it is let or lent to a foreign mounseer.

They say he is quite the gentleman, but uncommonly poor." "Poor," said Randal, turning back to gaze on the trim garden, the neat terrace, the pretty belvidere, and (the door of the house being open) catching a glimpse of the painted hall within,--"poor?
The place seems well kept.

What do you call poor, Mr.Bruce ?" The farmer laughed.

"Well, that's a home question, sir.

But I believe the mounseer is as poor as a man can be who makes no debts and does not actually starve." "As poor as my father ?" asked Randal, openly and abruptly.
"Lord, sir! your father be a very rich man compared to him." Randal continued to gaze, and his mind's eye conjured up the contrast of his slovenly shabby home, with all its neglected appurtenances.