“Good heavens! no wonder the place is going to ruin, when you deal with men who have a fancy to transact their business up a tree. Well, never mind that, I have settled the matter about the mortgages. Of course somebody, a client of Mr. Quest’s, has been found without the least difficulty to take them up at four per cent. and advance the other five thousand too, so that there be no more anxiety about that.” “Well that’s a good job at any rate,” answered George with a sigh of relief. “A good job? Of course it’s a good job, but it is no more than I expected. It wasn’t likely that such an eligible investment, as they say in the advertisements, would be allowed to go begging for long. But that’s just the way with you; the moment there’s a hitch you come with your long face and your uneducated sort of way, and swear that we are all ruined and that the country is breaking up, and that there’s nothing before us but the workhouse, and nobody knows what.” George reflected that the Squire had forgotten that not an hour before he himself had been vowing that they were ruined, while he, George, had stoutly sworn that something would turn up to help them. But his back was accustomed to those vicarious burdens, nor to tell the truth did they go nigh to the breaking of it. “Well, it’s a good job anyway, and I thank God Almighty for it,” said he, “and more especial since there’ll be the money to take over the Moat Farm and give that varmint Janter the boot.” “Give him _what?_” “Why, kick him out, sir, for good and all, begging your pardon, sir.” “Oh, I see. I do wish that you would respect the Queen’s English a little more, George, and the name of the Creator too. By the way the parson was speaking to me again yesterday about your continued absence from church. It really is disgraceful; you are a most confirmed Sabbath-breaker. And now you mustn’t waste my time here any longer. Go and look after your affairs. Stop a minute, would you like a glass of port?” “Well, thank you, sir,” said George reflectively, “we hev had a lot of talk and I don’t mind if I do, and as for that there parson, begging his pardon, I wish he would mind his own affairs and leave me to mind mine.” CHAPTER XIII. ABOUT ART