“Why not?”

“He does not like us.  He is a poor sneaking creature, and my brother George he caught Crawley selling up some poor fellow or other, and they had words; leastways it went beyond words, I fancy.  I don’t know the rights of it, but George was a little rough with him by all accounts.”

“And what has that to do with this?” said the man of business coolly.

“Why, I am George’s brother.”

“And if you were George himself and he saw his way to make a shilling out of you he would do it, wouldn’t he?  There, you go to Crawley and ask him to lend you one hundred pounds, and he will lend it you, only he will make you pay heavy interest, heavier than I should, you know, if I could manage it myself.”

“Oh, I don’t care,” said simple William; “thank you kindly, Mr. Meadows,” and off he went to Crawley.

He found that worthy in his office.  Crawley, who instantly guessed his errand, and had no instructions from Meadows, promised himself the satisfaction of refusing the young man.  He asked, with a cringing manner and a treacherous smile, “What security, sir?”

Poor William higgled and hammered, and offered first one thing, which was blandly declined for this reason; then another, which was blandly declined for that, Crawley drinking deep draughts of mean vengeance all the while from the young man’s shame and mortification, when the door opened, a man walked in, and gave Crawley a note and vanished.  Crawley opened the note; it contained a check drawn by Meadows, and these words:  “Lend W. F. the money at ten per cent on his acceptance of your draft at two months.”

Crawley put the note and check in his pocket.

“Well, sir,” said he to William, “you stay here, and I will see if I have got a loose hundred in the bank to spare.”  He went over to the bank, cashed the check, drew a bill of exchange at two months’ date, deducted the interest and stamp, and William accepted it, and Crawley bowed him out cringing, smiling, and secretly shooting poisoned arrows out of his venomous eye in the direction of William’s heels.

William thanked him warmly.

This loan made him feel happy.

He had paid his brother’s debt to the landlord by sacrificing a large portion of his grain at a time the price was low; and now he was so cramped he had much ado to pay his labor when this loan came.  The very next day he bought several hogs—­hogs, as George had sarcastically observed, were William Fielding’s hobby; he had I confidence in that animal.  Potatoes and pigs versus sheep and turnips was the theory of William Fielding.

Now the good understanding between William and Meadows was not to last long.  William, though he was too wise to visit Grassmere Farm much, was mindful of his promise to George, and used to make occasional inquiries after Susan.  He heard that Meadows called at the farm twice a week, and he thought it a little odd.  He pondered on it, but did not quite go the length of suspecting anything, still less of suspecting Susan.  Still, he thought it odd; but he thought it odder, when, one market-day, old Isaac Levi said to him: