Dad did n't understand.
The Sheriff's officer drew a document from his inside breast-pocket and proceeded to read:
"To Mister James Williams, my bailiff. Greeting: By virtue of Her Majesty's writ of fieri facias, to me directed, I command you that of the goods and chattels, money, banknote or notes or other property of Murtagh Joseph Rudd, of Shingle Hut, in my bailiwick, you cause to be made the sum of £40 10s., with interest thereon," &c.
Dad understood.
Then the bailiff's man rounded up the cows and the horses, and Dad and the lot of us leant against the fence and in sadness watched Polly and old Poley and the rest for the last time pass out the slip-rails.
"That puts an end to the land business!" Dave said gloomily.
But Dad never spoke.
