"Cunningham," he said, "if you want to remain on the estate as my steward, you'll have to alter the state of things here. My father, you know, muddled along in a happy-go-lucky sort of way. As long as his pigs took the first prize at the county shows he was happy. That was his ambition. Now, Cunningham, you'll have to make the place pay. There are a lot of old servants, old pensioners and old horses, all eating their heads off here, and doing no work. You'll have to make a clean sweep of the lot. Were I to attempt to do it myself they'd worry my life out. Now I want you to act as a buffer. From your decisions there is to be no appeal. They are to look to you, and not to me. As I said, the place must be made to pay, that's the first point; the second is, that I am not to be bothered. It used to amuse my father to sit in his justice-room every morning and to be perpetually receiving and answering letters from all sorts of people about the place. That sort of thing won't suit me. You know as well as I do that my father got nothing out of the place." "Sir----" began the Scotchman. "Wait till I have done, Cunningham, and you will see that you have nothing to say. I know what you are going to tell me. That it is my duty to come and live in this place, with these yokels, to have the ague at least twice a year, as my father did before me, and to ask my friends down in September to shoot my partridges. Those were my father's views, they're not mine. As to the house, I shall let it, and I shall do the same with the shooting. With regard to the property, if you can get an income out of it for me, well and good; if you can't, I don't suppose anybody can; and in that case I intend to be shot of the whole bag of tricks." "Ye wud'na think of pairting with the property, sir," said the astonished steward; "it's been your fathers' before you for centuries." "It must pay me three per cent., Cunningham, or I shall assuredly sell it. Of course any legal liability I have I must fulfil; but there's been a good deal too much sentiment lately in the management of the place. My father was fond of pigs and paupers; I can't say I care for either. You will grant no new leases except at their full value. If Dick can't get a living out of a farm, that's no reason for letting him have it rent free. The estate must be improved, Cunningham--as a property. You understand me, I take it?" "I could'na fail to do that, Mr. Reginald." The steward carried out his instructions. It is needless to say that Reginald Haggard became unpopular. Ash Priory was let; the old servants, those few who had any work left in them, got new and harder places at less wages; those who were past work went into the poor-house. The Haggard estate actually returned three per cent on its market value, and everybody in the neighbourhood of the Priory agreed that Mr. Cunningham the steward was an exceedingly hard man.