"May I know all about it too?" I said.

"Well, I will try and tell you what Ambrose told me. But you must
promise me one thing first, sir. Promise you won't go away and leave us
when you know the whole truth. Shake hands on it, Mr. Lefrank; come,
shake hands on it."

There was no resisting her fearless frankness. I shook hands on it.
Naomi entered on her narrative the moment I had given her my pledge,
without wasting a word by way of preface.

"When you are shown over the farm here," she began, "you will see that
it is really two farms in one. On this side of it, as we look from
under this tree, they raise crops: on the other side--on much the
larger half of the land, mind--they raise cattle. When Mr. Meadowcroft
got too old and too sick to look after his farm himself, the boys (I
mean Ambrose and Silas) divided the work between them. Ambrose looked
after the crops, and Silas after the cattle. Things didn't go well,
somehow, under their management. I can't tell you why. I am only sure
Ambrose was not in fault. The old man got more and more dissatisfied,
especially about his beasts. His pride is in his beasts. Without saying
a word to the boys, he looked about privately (_I_ think he was wrong
in that, sir; don't you?)--he looked about privately for help; and, in
an evil hour, he heard of John Jago. Do you like John Jago, Mr.
Lefrank?"

"So far, no. I don't like him."

"Just my sentiments, sir. But I don't know: it's likely we may be
wrong. There's nothing against John Jago, except that he is so odd in