Farmer Jones had insolently refused to send his wagon twenty miles for
coals. Mr. Giles, the butcher, requesting the payment of his bill, had
stated that the custom at Rood was too small for him to allow credit.
Squire Thornhill, who was the present owner of the fairest slice of the
old Leslie domains, had taken the liberty to ask permission to shoot over
Mr. Leslie's land, since Mr. Leslie did not preserve. Lady Spratt (new
people from the city, who hired a neighbouring country-seat) had taken a
discharged servant of Mrs. Leslie's without applying for the character.
The Lord-Lieutenant had given a ball, and had not invited the Leslies.
Mr. Leslie's tenants had voted against their landlord's wish at the
recent election. More than all, Squire Hazeldean and his Harry had
called at Rood, and though Mrs. Leslie had screamed out to Jenny, "Not at
home," she had been seen at the window, and the squire had actually
forced his way in, and caught the whole family "in a state not fit to be
seen." That was a trifle, but the squire had presumed to instruct Mr.
Leslie how to manage his property, and Mrs. Hazeldean had actually told
Juliet to hold up her head, and tie up her hair, "as if we were her
cottagers!" said Mrs. Leslie, with the pride of a Montfydget.

All these, and various other annoyances, though Randal was too sensible
not to perceive their insignificance, still galled and mortified the
listening heir of Rood. They showed, at least, even to the well-meant
officiousness of the Hazeldeans, the small account in which the fallen
family was held. As he sat still on the moss-grown pales, gloomy and
taciturn, his mother standing beside him, with her cap awry, Mr. Leslie
shamblingly sauntered up, and said in a pensive, dolorous whine,

"I wish we had a good sum of money, Randal, boy!"

To do Mr. Leslie justice, he seldom gave vent to any wish that savoured