As they were about to rise, William observed two men in the farmyard who were strangers to him--the men seemed to be inspecting the hogs. It struck him as rather cool; but apparently the pig is an animal which to be prized needs but to be known, for all connoisseurs of him are also enthusiastic amateurs. When I say the pig I mean the four-legged one. William Fielding, partly from curiosity to hear these strangers' remarks, partly hoping to find customers in them, strolled into the farmyard before his companions rose from the table. The others, looking carelessly out of the window, saw William join the two men and enter into conversation with them; but their attention was almost immediately diverted from that group by the entrance of Meadows. He came in radiant; his face was a remarkable contrast to the rest of the party. Susan could not help noticing it. “Why, Mr. Meadows,” cried she, “you look as bright as a May morning; it is quite refreshing to see you; we are all rather down here this morning.” Meadows said nothing, and did not seem at his ease under this remark. George rose from the table; so did Susan; Robinson merely pushed back his chair and gave a comfortable little sigh, but the next moment he cried “Hallo!” They looked up, and there was William's face close against the window. William's face was remarkably pale, and first he tried to attract George's attention without speaking, but finding himself observed by the whole party, he spoke out. “George, will you speak a word?” said he. George rose and went out; but Susan's curiosity was wakened, and she followed him, accompanied by Meadows. “None but you, George,” said William, with a voice half stern, half quivering. George looked at his brother. “Out with it,” cried he, “it is some deadly ill-luck; I have felt it coming all day, but out with it; what can't I bear after the words I have borne this morning?” William hung his head. “George, there is a distress upon the farm for the rent.” George did not speak at first, he literally staggered under these words; his proud spirit writhed in his countenance, and with a groan, he turned his back abruptly upon them all and hid his face against the corner of his own house, the cold hard bricks. Meadows, by strong self-command, contrived not to move a muscle of his face. Up to this day and hour, Susan Merton had always seemed cool, compared with her lover; she used to treat him a little _de haut en bas_. But when she saw his shame and despair, she was much distressed. “George, George!” she cried, “don't do so. Can nothing be done? Where is my father?--they told me he was here. He is rich, he shall help you.” She darted from them in search of Merton; ere she could turn the angle of the house he met her. “You had better go home, my girl,” said he gravely. “Oh, no, no! I have been too unkind to George already,” and she turned toward him like a pitying angel with hands extended as if they would bring balm to a hurt soul.