Cash to pay the haymakers idling about in the sheds out of the rain; cash to pay the men who manage the milk; cash to pay the woman who makes the cheese out of the surplus milk; cash to pay the blacksmith for continually re-shoeing the milk cart nags and for mending machines; cash to pay the brewer and the butcher and the baker, neither of whom took a sovereign here when he was a lad, for his father ate his own bacon, brewed his own beer, and baked his own bread; cash to pay for the education of the cottagers' children; cash, a great deal of cash, to pay the landlord.
Mr.George, having had enough of his accounts, rises and goes to the window.

A rain cloud sweeping along the distant hills has hidden them from sight, and the rack hurries overhead driven before the stormy wind.

There comes a knock at the door.

It is the collector calling the second time for the poor rates, which have grown heavier of late.
But, however delayed, the haymaking is finished at last, and by-and-by, when the leaves have fallen and the hunting commences, a good run drives away for the time at least the memory of so unpropitious a season.

Then Mr.George some mild morning forms one of a little group of well-mounted farmers waiting at a quiet corner while the hounds draw a great wood.