as
true, and that George knew it was true, although he did not know where
the light of truth came from, and as he looked half the load fell from
his heart.

"Hullo, George, are you turning prophet in addition to your other
occupations?" he said cheerfully, and as he did so Edward Cossey's
splendid bay horse pulled up at the door and the bell rang.

"Well," he added as soon as he saw who his visitor was, "unless I am
much mistaken, we shall soon know how much truth there is in your
prophecies, for here comes Mr. Cossey himself."

Before George could sufficiently recover from his recent agitation to
make any reply, Edward Cossey, looking particularly handsome and
rather overpowering, was shown into the room.

The Squire shook hands with him this time, though coldly enough, and
George touched his forelock and said, "Sarvant, sir," in the approved
fashion. Thereon his master told him that he might retire, though he
was to be sure not to go out of hearing, as he should want him again
presently.

"Very well, sir," answered George, "I'll just step up to the Poplars.
I told a man to be round there to-day, as I want to see if I can come
to an understanding with him about this year's fell in the big wood."

"There," said the Squire with an expression of infinite disgust,
"there, that's just like your way, your horrid cadging way; the idea
of telling a man to be 'round about the Poplars' sometime or other
to-day, because you wanted to speak to him about a fell. Why didn't
you write him a letter like an ordinary Christian and make an offer,
instead of dodging him round a farm for half a day like a wild Indian?
Besides, the Poplars is half a mile off, if it's a yard."

"Lord, sir," said George as he retired, "that ain't the way that folks
in these parts like to do business, that ain't. Letter writing is all
very well for Londoners and other furriners, but it don't do here.
Besides, sir, I shall hear you well enough up there. Sarvant, sir!"
this to Edward Cossey, and he was gone.

Edward burst out laughing, and the Squire looked after his retainer
with a comical air.

"No wonder that the place has got into a mess with such a fellow as
that to manage it," he said aloud. "The idea of hunting a man round
the Poplars Farm like--like an Indian squaw! He's a regular cadger,
that's what he is, and that's all he's fit for. However, it's his way
of doing business and I shan't alter him. Well, Mr. Cossey," he went
on, "this is a ve