Of course, no one, knowing Mr. Roland Yorke, could be surprised at his starting to the station to meet Lord Carrick, instead of to the office to do his work. He had gone home at one o’clock that day, as usual. Not that there was any necessity for his doing so, for the dinner hour was postponed until later, and it would have furthered the business of the office had he remained for once at his post. Had any one suggested to Roland to do so, he would have thought he was going to be worked to death. About twenty minutes past three he came clattering in. “I say, Jenkins, I want a holiday this afternoon.” Jenkins, albeit the most accommodating spirit in the world, looked dubious, and cast a glance at the papers on Roland’s desk. “Yes, sir. But what is to be done about the Uphill farm leases?” “Now, Jenkins, it’s not a bit of good for you to begin to croak! If I gave in to you, you’d get as bad as Galloway. When I have my mind off work, I can’t settle to it again, and it’s of no use trying. Those Uphill deeds are not wanted before to-morrow.” “But they are wanted by eleven o’clock, sir, so that they must be finished, or nearly finished, to-night. You know, sir, there has been a fuss about them, and early to-morrow, is the very latest time they must be sent in.” “I’ll get up, and be here in good time and finish them,” said Roland. “Just put it to yourself, Jenkins, if you had an uncle that you’d not seen for seventeen ages, whether you’d like to leave him the minute he puts his foot over the door-sill.” “I dare say I should not, sir,” said good-natured Jenkins, turning about in his mind how he could make time to do Roland’s work. “His lordship is come, then, Mr. Roland?” “His lordship’s come, bag and baggage,” returned Roland. “I say, Jenkins, what a thousand shames it is that he’s not rich! He is the best-natured fellow alive, and would do anything in the world for us, if he only had the tin.” “Is he not rich, sir?” “Why, of course he’s not,” confidentially returned Roland. “Every one knows the embarrassments of Lord Carrick. When he came into the estates, they had been mortgaged three deep by the last peer, my grandfather--an old guy in a velvet skull-cap, I remember, who took snuff incessantly--and my uncle, on his part, had mortgaged them three deep again, which made six. How Carrick manages to live nobody knows. Sometimes he’s in Ireland, in the tumble-down old homestead, with just a couple of servants to wait upon him; and sometimes he’s on the Continent, _en garçon_--if you know what that means. Now and then he gets a windfall when any of his tenants can be brought to pay up; but he is the easiest-going coach in life, and won’t press them. Wouldn’t I!” “Some of those Irish tenants are very poor, sir, I have heard.” “Poor be hanged! What is a man’s own, ought to be his own. Carrick says there are some years that he does not draw two thousand pounds, all told.” “Indeed, sir! That is not much for a peer.”