Biting the top of his quill pen, and stamping his foot, when the figures were too much for his patience, the farmer had just travelled nearly up a long column, when a loud knock was heard at his door.
At first he only grunted impatiently, for he knew that if he let go his calculation for an instant, he was a lost man, and would have to add it all up again. But almost immediately the knock was loudly repeated.
“Come in,” he shouted, flinging down his pen and turning angrily towards the door. His gaze was directed to the height of a full-grown person, and he lowered it hastily to the level of Dennis’s small round head, and said in a softer tone: “Oh, it’s you, is it, my boy.”
Dennis marched straight in at once, and stood at the farmer’s elbow. He was not a bit afraid of Mr Solace, and had prepared just what he meant to say, so he began without a pause.
“I’ve come to ask you a favour, please.”
“And I wish you’d come at any other time,” said Mr Solace good-naturedly; “but as you’re here, out with it.”
Dennis’s favours were usually connected with jackdaws, or rabbits, or puppies, and no doubt this would be something of the same kind.
“It’s a bigger one than ever I’ve asked before,” continued Dennis, “and I want it more than anything I’ve wanted before.”
“Fire away!” said the farmer; “only make haste about it, because I’m busy.”
“I want you,” said Dennis, speaking slowly and solemnly, as he drew up closer, “to let Tuvvy stop.”