the deed is not ready,’ and down goes his head again.  ‘A main bit o’ bother about this yer margidge’ (mortgage), the labourer remarks, as he turns to go out, not without a complacent smile on his features for the law’s delays seem to him grand, and he feels important.  He has a little property—­a cottage and garden—­upon which he is raising a small sum for some purpose, and this ‘margidge’ is one of the great events of his life.  He talked about it for two or three years before he ventured to begin it; he has been weeks making up his mind exactly what to do after his first interview with the solicitor—­he would have been months had not the solicitor at last made it plain that he could waste no more time—­and when it is finally completed he will talk about it again to the end of his days.  He will be in and out asking for ‘he’ all day long at intervals, and when the interview takes place it will be only for the purpose of having everything already settled explained over to him for the fiftieth time.  His heavy shoes drag slowly down the passage—­he will go to the street corner and talk with the carters who come in, and the old women, with their baskets, a-shopping, about ‘this yer law job.’

There is a swifter step on the lead-covered staircase, and a clerk appears, coming from the upper rooms.  He has a telegram and a letter in one hand, and a bundle of papers in the other.  He shows the telegram and the letter to his fellow clerks—­even the grave senior just glances at the contents silently, elevates his eyebrows, and returns to his work.  After a few minutes’ talk and a jest or two the clerk rushes upstairs again.

Another caller comes.  It is a stout, florid man, a young farmer or farmer’s son, riding-whip in hand, who produces a red-bound rate-book from a pocket in his coat made on purpose to hold the unwieldy volume.  He is a rate-collector for his parish, and has called about some technicalities.  The grave senior clerk examines the book, but cannot solve the difficulties pointed out by the collector, and, placing it on one side, recommends the inquirer to call in two hours’ time.  Steps again on the stairs, and another clerk comes down leisurely, and after him still another.  Their only business is to exchange a few words with their friends, for pastime, and they go up again.

As the morning draws on, the callers become more numerous, and it is easy to tell the positions they occupy by the degree of attention they receive from the clerks.  A tradesman calls three or four times, with short intervals between—­he runs over from his shop; the two juniors do not trouble to so much as look over the screen, and barely take the trouble to answer the anxious inquiry if the principal is yet disengaged.  They know, perhaps, too much about his bills and the state of his credit.  A builder looks in—­the juniors are tolerably civil and explain to him that it is no use calling for yet another hour at least.  The builder consults his