On entering the sitting-room Harry leaned his gun against the wall in the angle between it and the bureau, from which action alone it might have been known that he was a bachelor, and that there were no children about the house to get into danger with fire-arms.  His elderly aunt, who acted as housekeeper, was already at table waiting for him.  It was spread with a snow-white cloth, and almost equally snow-white platter for bread—­so much and so well was it cleaned.  They ate home-baked bread; they were so many miles from a town or baker that it was difficult to get served regularly, a circumstance which preserved that wholesome institution.  There was a chine of bacon, small ale, and a plentiful supply of good potatoes.  The farmer did full justice to the sweet picking off the chine, and then lingered over an old cheese.  Very few words were spoken.

Then, after his dinner, he sat in his arm-chair—­the same that he had used for many years—­and took a book.  For Harry rather enjoyed a book, provided it was not too new.  He read works of science, thirty years old, solid and correct, but somewhat behind the age; he read histories, such as were current in the early part of the present century, but none of a later date than the end of the wars of the First Napoleon.  The only thing modern he cared for in literature was a ‘society’ journal, sent weekly from London.  These publications are widely read in the better class of farmsteads now.  Harry knew something of most things, even of geology.  He could show you the huge vertebrae of some extinct saurian, found while draining was being done.  He knew enough of archaeology to be able to tell any enthusiastic student who chanced to come along where to find the tumuli and the earthworks on the Downs.  He had several Roman coins, and a fine bronze spearhead, which had been found upon the farm.  These were kept with care, and produced to visitors with pride.  Harry really did possess a wide fund of solid, if quiet, knowledge.  Presently, after reading a chapter or two, he would drop off into a siesta, till some message came from the men or the bailiff, asking for instructions.

The farmstead was, in fact, a mansion of large size, an old manor-house, and had it been situate near a fashionable suburb and been placed in repair would have been worth to let as much per annum as the rent of a small farm.  But it stood in a singularly lonely and outlying position, far from any village of size, much less a town, and the very highway even was so distant that you could only hear the horse’s hoofs when the current of air came from that direction.  This was his aunt’s—­the housekeeper’s—­great complaint, the distance to the highway.  She grumbled because she could not see the carriers’ carts and the teams go by; she wanted to know what was going on.