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Wood, Henry, Mrs., 1814-1887

"The Channings"

Had any one suggested to
Roland to do so, he would have thought he was going to be worked to
death. About twenty minutes past three he came clattering in.
"I say, Jenkins, I want a holiday this afternoon."
Jenkins, albeit the most accommodating spirit in the world, looked
dubious, and cast a glance at the papers on Roland's desk. "Yes, sir.
But what is to be done about the Uphill farm leases?"
"Now, Jenkins, it's not a bit of good for you to begin to croak! If I
gave in to you, you'd get as bad as Galloway. When I have my mind off
work, I can't settle to it again, and it's of no use trying. Those
Uphill deeds are not wanted before to-morrow."
"But they are wanted by eleven o'clock, sir, so that they must be
finished, or nearly finished, to-night. You know, sir, there has been a
fuss about them, and early to-morrow, is the very latest time they must
be sent in."
"I'll get up, and be here in good time and finish them," said Roland.
"Just put it to yourself, Jenkins, if you had an uncle that you'd not
seen for seventeen ages, whether you'd like to leave him the minute he
puts his foot over the door-sill."
"I dare say I should not, sir," said good-natured Jenkins, turning
about in his mind how he could make time to do Roland's work. "His
lordship is come, then, Mr. Roland?"
"His lordship's come, bag and baggage," returned Roland. "I say,
Jenkins, what a thousand shames it is that he's not rich! He is the
best-natured fellow alive, and would do anything in the world for us,
if he only had the tin.


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