Boisingham, because I want my answer."

"So he means to borrow the money if he can get it," said Ida to
herself as she sat, an invisible auditor, doing her hair by the open
window. "George can do more with him in five minutes than I can do in
a week, and I know that he hates Janter. I believe Janter threw up the
farm because of his quarrelling with George. Well, I suppose we must
take our chance."

Meanwhile George had mounted his cart and departed upon the road to
Boisingham, urging his fat pony along as though he meant to be there
in twenty minutes. But so soon as he was well out of reach of the
Squire's shouts and sight of the Castle gates, he deliberately turned
up a bye lane and jogged along for a mile or more to a farm, where he
had a long confabulation with a man about thatching some ricks. Thence
he quietly made his way to his own little place, where he proceeded to
comfortably get his breakfast, remarking to his wife that he was of
opinion that there was no hurry about the Squire's letter, as the
"lawyers" wasn't in the habit of coming to office at eight in the
morning.

Breakfast over, the philosophic George got into his cart, the fat pony
having been tied up outside, and leisurely drove into the picturesque
old town which lay at the head of the valley. All along the main
street he met many acquaintances, and with each he found it necessary
to stop and have a talk, indeed with two he had a modest half-pint. At
length, however, his labour o'er, he arrived at Mr. Quest's office,
that, as all the Boisingham world knows, was just opposite the church,
of which Mr. Quest was one of the churchwardens, and which but two
years before was beautifully restored, mainly owing to his efforts and