"A man who has ten pounds to spare for another must be well to pass, Mr. Brewer. Fifty pounds for the King will be no burdensome demand." A murmur went round the room, for the farmer had lost heavily in the flood, and everybody knew that he had never prospered greatly. Something to this effect, Brewer began to plead, but was cut short. "I am not here to argue, my man, but to collect money. If you are obstinate, I have the means at hand to persuade you feelingly. Bring the sixty pounds by three o'clock, or you will learn what they are. Corporal, pass this man out." So things went on, man after man being bullied and threatened, and sent off to scrape money according to the commissioner's assessment. The proceedings were exciting enough at the time, but they would be wearisome to narrate. They were interrupted by Daft Jack's return, in less than the hour allotted, with the squire's portmanteau, which he dumped down with a bang just inside the room, saying as he sat down on the floor with his back against the door, mopping his face, "I can't carry it a step furder; take it to his honour, one of you." At a nod from the corporal, one of his men went forward with it, and placed it on the table. The clerk opened it for the inspection of his chief, when with a humming and buzzing noise which filled the room, a swarm of angry wasps rushed out. What happened then I cannot describe. I saw the commissioner and his clerk striking, dancing, in a frenzy, through a darting haze of furious insects.