You've seen me downhearted and out of sorts for this last half-year; but I don't suppose you've troubled yourself much about it, except to worry me with silly questions sometimes, when I've not been in the humour to be talked to.

Things have been going wrong with me ever since hay-harvest, and I haven't sent Sir David sixpence yet for last year's crops.

I've put him off with one excuse after another from month to month.

He's a careless master enough at most times, and never over-sharp with my accounts.

But the time has come when I can't put him off any longer.