less noisy in their play, checked by the grave faces of their
parents--the very dogs seemed to know that something had occurred
which altered the aspect of ordinary daily things. The last of the
famous Jocelyns was no more! It seemed incredible. And Briar Farm?
What would become of Briar Farm?

"There ain't none o' th' owd folk left now" said one man, lighting
his pipe slowly--"It's all over an' done wi'. Mister Clifford,
he's good enow--but he ain't a Jocelyn, though a Jocelyn were his
mother. 'Tis the male side as tells. An' he's young, an' he'll
want change an' rovin' about like all young men nowadays, an' the
place'll be broke up, an' the timber felled, an' th' owd oak'll be
sold to a dealer, an' Merrikans'll come an' buy the pewter an' the
glass an' the linen, an' by-an'-bye we won't know there ever was
such a farm at all--"

"That's your style o' thinkin', is it?" put in another man
standing by, with a round straw hat set back upon his head in a,
fashion which gave him the appearance of a village idiot--"Well,
it's not mine! No, by no means! There'll be a Will,--an' Mister
Robin he'll find a Way! Briar Farm'll allus be Briar Farm
accordin' to MY mind!"

"YOUR mind ain't much," growled the first speaker--"so don't ye go
settin' store by it. Lord, Lord! to think o' Farmer Jocelyn bein'
gone! Seems as if a right 'and 'ad bin cut off! Onny yesterday I
met 'im drivin' along the road at a tearin' pace, with Ned Landon
sittin' beside 'im--an' drivin' fine too, for the mare's a tricky
one with a mouth as 'ard as iron--but 'e held 'er firm--that 'e
did!--no weakness about 'im--an' 'e was talkin' away to Landon