Occasionally noises of the street penetrate; the rumble of loaded waggons, the tramp of nailed shoes, or the sharp quick sound of a trotting horse's hoofs.

Then the junior jumps up and gazes through the peephole.

The directors are a very long time upstairs.

What can their business be?
Why are there directors at all in little country towns?
Presently there are heavy footsteps in the passage, the door slowly opens, and an elderly labourer, hat in hand, peers in.

No one takes the least notice of him.