"It's a' owre wi' us noo, guidwife," said William Waterstone, throwing himself down in an arm-chair that stood by his own kitchen fireside, and at the same time laying aside his staff and bonnet; for William had just returned from a journey of ten or twelve miles, on which he had set out that morning--"it's a' owre wi' us noo, guidwife," he said, in a voice and with a look and manner of the deepest despair. "He'll no listen to ony terms," he went on, "or to ony delay, but insists on haein the money doun on the nail, and to the last farthin, or he says he'll roup us to the door, and that within fourteen days." But what misfortune was this that threatened William Waterstone? And who was he? Why, we will tell you, good reader, beginning with your last query first. William Waterstone was a small farmer in Teviotdale, and one of the most honest, laborious, and worthy men in that part of the country. But all his industry, prudence, economy, and integrity had not enabled him, as, indeed, they could not, to cope with the disadvantages of falling markets and a poor and over-rented farm; and he fell into arrears with his landlord. It was in vain that poor William, who was now getting up in years, being close upon sixty, toiled late and early, assisted by his wife and daughter (his whole household), to reduce or keep down the debt that was growing up against him. It was in vain that he and they denied themselves every comfort to attain this desirable end. The arrears, in place of diminishing, went on increasing; for the farm, with all this toil and privation, could scarcely pay the current expenses, let alone enabling its occupant to liquidate an extra debt. But this state of matters with William, though sad enough, and such as must, in any circumstances, have made him unhappy, would not have ended in his utter ruin, as it now threatened to do, had the property which he rented remained in the hands of his old landlord; for that person knew his excellent character, respected his worth, and, perfectly aware that he was doing all that man could do to discharge the claims he had on him, showed him every lenity and indulgence; and would, in all probability (indeed he had actually said as much), have forgiven him his arrears altogether. Unfortunately for William, however, his generous landlord just about this time died; and the property fell into other and very different hands. The first step of the new proprietor, or rather of his factor, though of course done with the former's consent, was to ferret out all outstanding debts; the next, to enforce their payment, without distinction of persons or consideration of circumstances, by the most summary measures which the law allowed. On this black list, and amongst the foremost, stood the name of William Waterstone.