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diff --git a/40603-8.txt b/40603-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 840c3e9..0000000 --- a/40603-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8635 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Root of All Evil, by J. S. Fletcher - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Root of All Evil - -Author: J. S. Fletcher - -Release Date: August 28, 2012 [EBook #40603] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL *** - - - - -Produced by D Alexander, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL - - BY J. S. FLETCHER - - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - TO - SIR WILLIAM ROBERTSON NICOLL - WITH MUCH GRATITUDE - - - - - -CONTENTS - - - Part the First: RISE - - I APPLECROFT 11 - - II THE TIGHT LIP 23 - - III THE BROKEN MAN 35 - - IV THE DIPLOMATIC FATHER 47 - - V THE SHAKESPEARE LINE 59 - - VI THE GLOVES OFF 71 - - VII THE GOLDEN TEAPOT 83 - - VIII THE BATTLE BEGINS 95 - - IX THE IRON ROD 107 - - X THE ETERNAL FEMININE 119 - - XI HUMBLE PIE 131 - - XII THE TRIPLE CHANCE 142 - - XIII DEAD MEN'S SHOES 153 - - - Part the Second: FALL - - I AVARICE 165 - - II THE BIT OF BAD LAND 177 - - III COAL 189 - - IV BIRDS OF A FEATHER 201 - - V THE YORKSHIRE WAY 213 - - VI OBSESSION 225 - - VII THE LAST THROW 237 - - VIII THE COMMINATION SERVICE 248 - - IX THE BELL RINGS 260 - - X BLACK DEPTHS 271 - - XI THE SENTENCE 283 - - XII THE SECOND EXODUS 294 - - XIII THE LUSTRE JUG 307 - - - - -_Part the First: RISE_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -_Applecroft_ - - -Half-way along the one straggling street of Savilestowe a narrow lane -suddenly opened out between the cottages and turned abruptly towards the -uplands which rose on the northern edge of the village. Its first course -lay between high grey walls, overhung with ivy and snapdragon. When it -emerged from their cool shadowings the church came in view on one hand -and the school on the other, each set on its own green knoll and -standing high above the meadows. Once past these it became narrower and -more tortuous; the banks on either side rose steeply, and were crowned -by ancient oaks and elms. In the proper season of the year these banks -were thick with celandine and anemone, and the scent of hedge violets -rose from the moss among the spreading roots of the trees. Here the ruts -of the lane were deep, as if no man had any particular business to -repair them. The lane was, in fact, a mere occupation road, and led to -nothing but an out-of-the-way farmstead, which stood, isolated and -forlorn, half a mile from the village. It bore a picturesque -name--Applecroft--and an artist, straying by chance up the lane and -coming suddenly upon it would have rejoiced in its queer gables, its -twisted chimneys, in the beeches and chestnuts that towered above it, -and in the old-world garden and orchard which flanked one side of its -brick walls, mellowed by time to the colour of claret. But had such a -pilgrim looked closer he would have seen that here were all the marks of -ill-fortune and coming ruin--evident, at any rate, to practical eyes in -the neglected gates and fences, in the empty fold, in the hingeless, -tumble-down doors, in the lack of that stitch in time which by -anticipation would have prevented nine more. He would have seen, in -short, that this was one of those places, of which there are so many in -rural England, whereat a feckless man, short of money, was vainly -endeavouring to do what no man can do without brains and capital. - -Nevertheless--so powerfully will Nature assert her own wealth in the -face of human poverty--the place looked bright and attractive enough on -a certain morning, when, it then being May, the trees around it were in -the first glory of their leafage, and the orchard was red and white with -blossom of apple and plum and cherry. There was a scent of sweetbriar -and mignonette around the broken wicket gate which admitted to the -garden, and in the garden itself, ill-kept and neglected, a hundred -flowers and weeds, growing together unchecked, made patches of vivid -colour against the prevalent green. There were other patches of colour, -of a different sort, about the place, too. Beyond the garden, and a -little to the right of the house, a level sward, open to the full light -of the sun, made an excellent drying ground for the family washing, and -here, busily hanging out various garments on lines of cord, stretched -between rough posts, were two young women, the daughters of William -Farnish, the shiftless farmer, whose hold on his house and land was -daily becoming increasingly feeble. If any shrewd observer able to -render himself invisible had looked all round Applecroft--inside house -and hedge, through granary and stable--he would have gone away saying -with emphasis, that he had seen nothing worth having there, save the two -girls whose print gowns fluttered about their shapely limbs as they -raised their bare arms and full bosoms to the cords on which they were -pegging out the wet linen. - -Farnish's wife had been dead some years, and since her death his two -daughters had not only done all the work of the house, but much of what -their father managed to carry out on his hundred acres of land. They -bore strange names--selected by Farnish and his wife, after much -searching and reflection, from the pages of the family Bible. The elder -was named Jecholiah; the younger Jerusha. As time had gone on Jecholiah -had become Jeckie; Jerusha had been shortened to Rushie. Everybody in -the parish and the neighbourhood knew Jeckie and Rushie Farnish. They -had always been inseparable, these sisters, yet it needed little -particular observation to see that there was a difference of character -and temperament between them. Jeckie, at twenty-five, was a tall, -handsome, finely-developed young woman, generous in proportion, with a -flashing, determined eye, and a mouth and chin which denoted purpose and -obstinacy; she was the sort of woman that could love like fire, but whom -it would be dangerous to cross in love. Already many of the young men of -the district, catching one flash of her hawk-like eyes, had felt -themselves warned, and it had been a matter of astonishment to some -discerning folk when it became known that she was going to marry Albert -Grice, the only son of old George Grice, the village grocer, a somewhat -colourless, tame young man whose vices were non-existent and his virtues -commonplace, and who had nothing to recommend him but a good-humoured, -weak amiability and a rather good-looking, boyish face. Some said that -Jeckie was thinking of Old Grice's money-bags, but the vicar's wife, who -studied psychology in purely amateur fashion, said that Jeckie Farnish -had taken up Albert Grice in precisely the same spirit which makes a -child love a legless and faceless doll, and an old maid a miserable -mongrel--just in response to the mothering instinct; whether Jeckie -loved him, they said, nobody would ever know, for Jeckie, with her -proud, scornful lips and eyes full of sombre passion, was not the sort -to tell her heart's secrets to anybody. Not so, however, with her -sister Rushie, a soft, pretty, lovable, kissable, cuddlesome slip of a -girl, who was all for love, and would have been run after by every lad -in the village and half the shop-boys in the neighbouring market town, -if it had not been that Jeckie's mothering and grandmothering eye had -always been on her. Rushie represented one thing in femininity; her -sister typified its very opposite. Rushie was of the tribe of Venus, but -Jeckie of the daughters of Minerva. - -Something of the circumstances and character of this family might have -been gathered from the quality of the garments which the sisters were -industriously hanging out to dry in the sun and wind. Most of them were -their own, and in the bulk there was nothing of the frill and lace of -the fine lady, but rather plain linen and calico. An expert housewife, -fingering whatever there was, would have said that each separate article -had been worn to thinness. Thus, too, were the sheets and pillow-cases -and towels; and of such coarse stuff as belonged to Farnish himself--all -represented the underwear and appointments of poor folk. But while there -was patching and darning in plenty, there were no rags. If her father -allowed a gate to fall off its posts rather than hunt up an old hinge -and a few nails, Jeckie took good care that her needle and thread came -out on the first sign of a rent; it was harder to replace than to -repair, in her experience. And now, as she put the last peg in the last -scrap of damp linen, it was with the proud consciousness that if the -whole show was poverty-stricken it was at least whole and clean. - -"That's the lot, Rushie!" she said, turning to her sister as she picked -up the empty linen basket. "A good drying wind, too. We'll be able to -get to mangling and ironing by tea-time." - -Rushie, who had no such love of labour as her sister, made no answer. -She followed Jeckie across the drying-ground and into the house; it was -indicative of her nature that she immediately dropped into the nearest -chair. The washing had been going on since a very early hour in the -morning, broken only by a hastily-snatched breakfast; on the table in -the one living-room the dirty cups and plates still lay spread about in -confusion. And Jeckie, who had eyes all round her head, glanced at them, -and at the old clock in the corner, and at her sister, sitting down, all -at once. - -"Nay, child!" she exclaimed. "It's over soon for that game! Eleven -already, and naught done for dinner. Get those pots washed up, Rushie, -and then see to the potatoes. Father'll none be so long before he's -home; and there'll be Doadie Bartle and him for their dinners at twelve -o'clock. Come on, now!" - -"I'm tired," said Rushie, as she slowly rose, and began to clear up the -untidy table. "We've never done in this house!" - -"So'm I," retorted Jeckie. "But what's that to do with it when there's -things to be done? Hurry up now, while I look after those fowls; they've -never been seen to this morning." - -She caught up a sieve as she spoke, filled it with waste stuff from a -tub in the scullery, and, going out through the back of the house, -walked into the fold behind, calling as she went to the cocks and hens -which were endeavouring to find something for themselves amongst its -boulders. None knew better than Jeckie the importance and value of that -feathered brood. For three years she had kept things going with her -poultry and eggs, and with the milk and butter which she got from the -four cows that formed Farnish's chief property. The money that she made -in this fashion had found the family in food and clothing, and gone some -way towards paying the rent. And as she stood there throwing handfuls of -food to the fowls, scurring and snatching about her feet, she had a -curious sense that outside them and the cows feeding in the adjacent -meadow there was literally nothing about the whole farmstead but -poverty. The fold was destitute of manure; half a stack of straw stood -desolate in the adjoining stack-garth; there was no hay in the loft nor -corn in the granary; whatever produce he raised Farnish was always -obliged to sell at once. The few pigs which he possessed were at that -moment rooting in the lane for something to swell out their lank sides; -his one horse was standing disconsolate by the trough near the well, -mournfully regarding its emptiness. And Jeckie, as she threw away the -last contents of her sieve and went over to the pump, had a vision of -what other possibilities there were on the farm--certain acres of wheat -and barley, of potatoes and turnips, the welfare of which, to be sure, -depended upon the weather. She had a pretty keen idea of what they would -bring in that coming autumn in the way of money; she had an equally good -one of what Farnish would have to do with it. - -The horse, a fairly decent animal, drank greedily when Jeckie had pumped -water into the trough, and as soon as he had taken his fill of this -cheap commodity she opened the gate of the fold and let him out into the -lane to pick up whatever he could get--that was an equally cheap way of -feeding stock. Then, always with an eye to snatching up the -potentialities of profit, she began to go round the farm buildings, -looking for eggs. Hens, as all hen-wives know, are aggravating -creatures, and will lay their eggs in any nook or corner. Jeckie knew -where eggs were to be found--in beds of nettles, or under the stick-cast -in the orchard, or behind the worn-out implements in the barn. Twice a -day she or Rushie searched the precincts of Applecroft high and low -rather than lose one of the precious things which went to make up so -many dozen for market every Saturday, and when they had finished their -labours it was always with the uneasy feeling that some perverse Black -Spanish or Cochin China had successfully hidden away what would have -brought in at any rate a few pence. But a few pence meant much. Though -there were always eggs by the score in the wicker baskets in Jeckie's -dairy, none were ever eaten by the family nor used for cooking purposes. -That, indeed, would have been equivalent to eating money. Eggs meant -other things--beef, bread, rent. - -Jeckie's search after the morning's eggs took her up into the old -pigeon-cote of the farm--an octagon building on the roof of the -granary--wherein there had been no pigeons for a long time. Approached -by a narrow, much-worn stone stairway, set between the walls of barn and -granary, this cobwebbed and musty place was honeycombed from the broken -floor to the dilapidated roof by nests of pigeon-holes. There were -scores upon scores of them, and Jeckie never knew in which she might not -find an egg. Consequently, in order to make an exhaustive search, it was -necessary to climb all round the place, examining every row and every -separate chamber. In doing this she had to pass the broken window, long -destitute of the thick glass which had once been there. Looking through -it, she saw her father coming up the lane from the village. At this, -leaving her search to be resumed later, she went down to the fold again, -carefully carrying her eggs before her in her bunched-up apron; for -Jeckie knew that Farnish had been into Sicaster, the neighbouring -market-town, that morning on a question that had to do with money, and -whenever money was concerned her instincts were immediately aroused. - -Farnish was riding into the fold as she regained it, and he got off his -pony as she went towards him, and silently removing its saddle and -bridle, turned it loose in the lane, to keep the horse company and find -its dinner for itself. Carrying its furniture, he advanced in the -direction of his daughter--a tall, lank, shambling man, with a wisp of -yellowish-grey whisker on either side of a thin, weak face--and shook -his head as he turned into the stable, where Jeckie silently followed -him. He flung saddle and bridle into an empty manger, seated himself on -a corn-bin, and, swinging his long legs, shook his head again. - -"Well?" demanded Jeckie. - -Farnish, for a long time, had found it difficult to encounter his elder -daughter's steady and questioning gaze, and he did not meet it now. His -eyes wandered restlessly about the stable, as if wondering out of which -particular hole the next rat would look, and he made no show of speech. - -"You may as well out with it," said Jeckie. "What is it, now?" - -There was an emphasis on the last word that made Farnish look at his -daughter for a brief second; he looked away just as quickly, and began -to drum his fingers on his bony knees. - -"Aye, well, mi lass!" he answered, in a low tone. "As ye say--now! Ye -may as well hear now as later. It's just like this here. Things is about -at an end! That's the long and that's the short, as the saying goes." - -"You'll have to be plainer than that," retorted Jeckie. "What is it? -Money, of course! But--who's wanting it?" - -Farnish made as if he swallowed something with an effort, and he kept -his eyes steadily averted. - -"I didn't make ye acquainted wi' it at the time," he said, after a brief -silence. "But ye see, Jeckie, my lass, at t'last back-end I had to -borrow money fro' one o' them money-lendin' fellers at Clothford--them -'at advertises, like, i' t'newspapers. I were forced to it!--couldn't -ha' gone on, nohow, wi'out it at t'time. And so, course, why, its -owin'!" - -"How much?" demanded Jeckie. - -"It were a matter o' two hundred 'at I borrowed," replied Farnish. -"But--there's a bit o' interest, of course. It's that there -interest----" - -"What are they going to do?" asked Jeckie. Her whole instinct was to get -at the worst--to come to grips. "Let's be knowing!" she said -impatiently. "What's the use of keeping it back?" - -"They can sell me up," answered Farnish in a low tone. "They can sell -aught there is. I signed papers, d'ye see, mi lass. I had to. There were -no two ways about it." - -Jeckie made no answer. She saw the whole of Applecroft and its hundred -acres as in a vision. Sold up! There was, indeed, she thought, with -bitter and ironic contempt, a lot to sell! Household furniture, live -stock, dead stock, growing crops--was the whole lot worth two hundred -pounds? Perhaps; but, then there would be nothing left. Now, out of the -cows and the poultry a living could be scratched together, but.... - -"I been into Sicaster to see Mr. Burstlewick, th' bank manager," -continued Farnish. "I telled him all t'tale. He said he were very sorry, -and he couldn't do naught. Naught at all! So, you see, my lass, that's -where it is. An' it's a rare pity," he concluded, with a burst of -sentimental self-condolence, "for it's a good year for weather, and I -reckon 'at what we have on our land'll be worth three or four hundred -pound this back-end. And all for t'want of a hundred pounds, Jeckie, mi -lass!" - -"What do you mean by a hundred pound?" exclaimed Jeckie. "You said two!" - -"Aye, but ye don't understand, mi lass," answered Farnish. "If I could -give 'em half on it d'ye see, and sign a paper to pay t'other half when -harvest's been and gone--what?" - -"Would that satisfy 'em?" asked Jeckie suspiciously. - -"So they telled me, t'last time I saw 'em," replied Farnish in apparent -sincerity. "'Give us half on it, Mr. Farnish,' they said, 'and t'other -half and t'interest can run on.' So they said; but it's three weeks -since, is that." - -Jeckie meditated for a moment; then she suddenly turned, left the -stable, and, crossing the empty fold, got rid of her eggs. She went into -the kitchen; took something from its place in the delf-ledge, and, with -another admonition to Rushie to see to the dinner, walked out into the -garden, and set off down the lane outside. Farnish, from the fold, saw -her going, and as her print gown vanished he turned into the house with -a sigh of mingled relief and anticipation. But as he came in sight of -the delf-ledge the sigh changed to a groan. Jeckie, he saw, had carried -away the key of the beer barrel, and whereas he might have had a quart -in her certain absence he would now get nothing but a mere glass on her -problematical return. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -_The Tight Lip_ - - -Ever since her mother's death, ten years before the events of that -morning, Jeckie, as responsible manager of household affairs, had -cultivated an instinct which had been born in her--the instinct, if a -thing had to be done to do it there and then. As soon as Farnish -unburdened himself of his difficulty, his daughter's quick brain began -to revolve schemes of salvation. There was nothing new in her father's -situation; she had helped him out of similar ones more than once. More -than once, too, she had borrowed money for him--money to pay an -extra-pressing bill; money to make up the rent; money to satisfy the -taxes or rates--and she had always taken good care to see that what she -had borrowed was punctually repaid when harvest came round--a time of -the year when Farnish usually had something to sell. Accordingly, what -she had just heard in the stable did not particularly alarm her; she -took her father's story in all good faith, and believed that if he could -stave off the Clothford money-lender with a hundred pounds on account -all would go on in the old way until autumn, when money would be coming -in. And her sole idea in setting off to the village was to borrow the -necessary sum. Once borrowed, she would see to it that it was at once -forwarded to the importunate creditor; she would see to it, too, that it -was repaid to whomever it was that she got it from. As to that last -particular, she was canvassing certain possibilities as she walked -quickly down the lane. There was Mr. Stubley, the biggest farmer in the -place, who was also understeward for the estate. She had more than once -borrowed twenty or thirty pounds from him, and he had always had it -back. Then there was Mr. Merritt, almost as well-to-do as Mr. Stubley. -The same reflections applied to him, and he was a good natured man. And -there was old George Grice, Albert's father, who was as warm a man as -any tradesman of the neighbourhood. One or other of these three would -surely lend her a hundred pounds; she was, indeed, so certain of it that -she felt no doubt on the matter, and her only regret at the moment was -that her visit to the village might make her a little late for her -dinner--no unimportant matter to her, a healthy young woman of good -appetite, who had breakfasted scantily at six o'clock. Jeckie took a -short cut across the churchyard and down the church lane, and came out -upon the village street a little above the cross roads. There, talking -to the landlord of the "Coach-and-Four," who stood in his open doorway -holding a tray and a glass, she saw Mr. Stubley a comfortable man, who -spent all his mornings on a fat old pony, ambling about his land. -Stubley saw her coming along the street, and, with a nod to the -landlord, touched the pony with his ash-plant switch and steered him in -her direction. Jeckie, who had a spice of the sanguine in her -temperament, took this as a good omen; she had an idea that in five more -minutes she would be with this prosperous elderly farmer in his cozy -parlour, close by, watching him laboriously writing out a cheque. And -she smiled almost gaily as the pony and its burden came to the side of -the road along which she walked. - -"Now, mi lass!" said Mr. Stubley, looking her closely over out of his -sharp eyes. "What're you doing down town this time o' day? Going to -Grice's, I reckon? I were wanting a word or two wi' you," he went on, -before Jeckie could get in a word of her own. "A word or two i' private, -you understand. You're aware, of course, mi lass," he continued, bending -down from his saddle. "You're aware 'at t'rent day's none so far off? -What?" - -A sudden sense of fear sent the warm flush out of Jeckie's cheeks, and -left her pale. Her dark eyes grew darker as she looked at the man who -was regarding her so steadily and inquiringly. - -"What about the rent-day Mr. Stubley?" she asked. "What do you mean?" - -"I had a line from t'steward this morning," answered Stubley. "He just -mentioned a matter--'at he hoped Farnish 'ud be ready with the rent; and -t'last half-year's an' all. What?" - -The hot blood came back to Jeckie's cheeks in a fierce wave. She felt, -somehow, as if some man's hand had smitten her, right and left. - -"The last half-year's rent!" she repeated. "Do--do you mean that father -didn't pay it?" - -Stubley looked at her for an instant with speculation in his shrewd -eyes. Then he nodded his head. There was a world of meaning in the nod. - -"Paid nowt!" he answered. "Nowt at all. Not a penny piece, mi lass." - -Jeckie's hands fell limply to her sides. - -"I didn't know," she answered, helplessly. "He--he never told me. I'd no -idea of it; Mr. Stubley." - -"Dare say not, mi lass," said the farmer. "It 'ud be better for Farnish -if he'd to tell a young woman like you more nor what he does, seemin'ly. -But, now--is he going to be ready this time?" - -Jeckie made no answer. She stood looking up and down the street, seeing -all manner of things, real and unreal. And suddenly a look of sullen -anger came into her eyes and round her red lips. - -"How can I tell?" she said. "He--as you say--he doesn't tell me!" - -Stubley bent still lower, and, from sheer force of habit, glanced right -and left before he spoke. - -"Aye, well, Jeckie, mi lass!" he said in low tones. "Then I'll tell you -summat. Look to yourself--you an' yon sister o' yours! There's queer -talk about Farnish. I've heard it, time and again, at market and where -else. He'll none last so long, my lass--can't! It's my opinion there'll -be no rent for t'steward; nowt but excuses and begging off, and such -like; he's hard up, is your father! It 'ud be a deal better for him to -give up, Jeckie; he'll never carry on! Now, you're a sensible young -woman; what say you?" - -There was a strong, almost mulish sense of obstinacy in the Farnish -blood, and it was particularly developed in Farnish's elder daughter. -Jeckie stood for a moment staring across the road. She looked as if she -were gazing at the sign of the "Coach-and-Four," which had recently been -done up and embellished with a new frame. In reality she saw neither it -nor the ancient hostelry behind it. What she did see was a vision of her -own! - -"I don't know, Mr. Stubley," she answered suddenly. "My father's like -all little farmers--no capital and always short o' ready money. But -there's money to come in; come harvest and winter! And I know that if -I'd that farm on my hands, I'd make it pay. I could make it pay now if -I'd all my own way with it. But----" - -Then, just as suddenly as she had spoken, she moved off, and went -rapidly down the street in the direction of Grice's shop. The -conversation with Stubley had given a new turn to her thoughts. What was -the use of borrowing a hundred pounds to stave off a money-lender, when -the last half-year's rent was owing and another half-year's nearly due? -No; she would see if she could not do better than that! Now was the -moment; she would try to take things clean into her own hands. Farnish, -she knew, was afraid of her--afraid of her superior common sense, her -grasp of things, her almost masculine powers of contrivance and -management. She could put him on one side as easily as a child can push -aside the reeds on the river bank, and then she could have her own way, -and pull things round, and ... she paused at that point, remembering -that all this could only be done with money. - -Noon was just striking from the church clock as Jeckie came up to the -front of Grice's shop. She never looked at this establishment without -remembering how it had grown within her own recollection. When she was a -child of five, and had gone down the street to spend a Saturday penny on -sweets, Grice's shop had been housed in one of the rooms of the old -timber-fronted house from which the new stores now projected in -shameless disregard of the antiquities surrounding them. Nothing, -indeed, could be in greater contrast than Grice's shop and Grice's -house. The house had stood where it was since the time of Queen Anne; -the shop, built out from one corner of it, bore the date 1897, and on -its sign--a blue ground with gilt lettering--appeared the significant -announcement: "Diamond Jubilee Stores. George Grice & Son." There were -fine things about the house, within and without: old furniture in old -rooms, and trim hedges and gay flowers on the smooth, velvety lawns; a -mere glance at the high, sloping roof was sufficient to make one think -of Old England in its days of calm and leisure; but around the shop door -and in the shop itself there were the sights and sounds of buying and -selling; boxes and packing-cases from Chicago and San Francisco; the -scent of spices and of soap; it always seemed to Jeckie, who had highly -susceptible nostrils, that Albert Grice, however much he spruced and -scented himself on Sundays, was never free of the curious mingling -odours associated with a grocer's apron. - -Albert was in the shop when she marched in, busied in taking down an -order from Mrs. Aislabie, the curate's wife, who, seated in a chair at -the counter, was meditatively examining a price list and wondering how -to make thirty shillings go as far as forty. He glanced smilingly but -without surprise at Jeckie, and inclined his head and the pen behind his -large right ear towards a certain door at the back of the shop. Jeckie -knew precisely what he meant--which was that his father had just gone to -dinner. They had a custom there at Grice's--the old man went to dinner -at twelve; Albert at one; there was thus always one of them in the shop -to look after things in general and the assistant and two shop lads in -particular. And Albert, who knew that since Jeckie was there in her -morning gown and without headgear it must be because she wanted to see -his father, added a word or two to his signal. - -"Only just gone in," he said. "Go forward." - -Jeckie went down the shop to the door, tapped at the glass of the upper -panel, pushed aside a heavy curtain that hung behind, and entered upon -old Grice as he sat down to his dinner. He was a biggish, round-faced, -bald-headed man, bearded, save for his upper lip, which was very large -and very tight--folk who knew George Grice well, and went to him seeking -favours, watched that tight lip, and knew from it whether he was going -to accede or not. He was a prosperous-looking man, too; plump and -well-fed; and there was a fine round of cold beef and a bowl of smoking -potatoes before him, to say nothing of a freshly-cut salad, a big piece -of prime Cheddar and a tankard of foaming ale. The buxom servant-lass -who attended to the wants of the widowed father and the bachelor son, -was just going out of the room by one door as Jeckie entered by the -other. She glanced wonderingly at the visitor, but George Grice, picking -up the carving knife and fork, showed no surprise. He had long since -graduated in the school of life, and well knew the signs when man or -woman came wanting something. - -"Hallo!" he said in sharp, businesslike tones. "Queer time o' day to -come visiting, mi lass! What's in the wind, now?" - -Jeckie, uninvited, sat down in one of the two easy chairs which flanked -the hearth, and went straight to her subject. - -"Mr. Grice!" she said, having ascertained by a glance that the door -leading to the kitchen was safely closed. "I came down to see you. Now, -look here, Mr. Grice; you know me, and you know I'm going to marry your -Albert." - -"Humph!" muttered Grice, busied in carving thin slices of beef for -himself. "Aye, and what then?" - -"And you know I shall make him a rare good wife, too," continued Jeckie. -"The best wife he could find anywhere in these parts!" - -"When I were a lad," remarked Grice, with the ghost of a thin smile -about his top lip, "we used to write a certain saying in the -copybook--'Self-praise is no recommendation.' I'm not so certain of it -myself, though. Some folks knows the value of their own goods better -than anybody." - -"I know the value of mine!" asserted Jeckie solemnly. "You couldn't find -a better wife for Albert than I shall make him if you went all through -Yorkshire with a small-tooth comb! And you know it, Mr. Grice!" - -"Well, mi lass," said Grice, "and what then?" - -"I want you to do something for me," answered Jeckie. She pulled the -chair nearer to the table, and went on talking while the grocer steadily -ate and drank. "I'll be plain with you, Mr. Grice. There's nobody knows -I've come here, nor why. But it's this--I've come to the conclusion that -it's no use my father going on any longer. He isn't fit; he's no good. -I've found things out. He's been borrowing money from some, or one, o' -them money-lenders at Clothford. He owes half a year's rent, and there's -another nearly due. There's others wanting money. I think you want a -bit, yourself. Well, it's all got to stop. I'm going to stop it! And as -I'm going to be your daughter-in-law, I want you to help me!" - -Grice, carefully selecting the ripest of some conservatory-grown -tomatoes from the bowl in front of him, stuck a fork into it, and began -to peel it with a small silver knife which he picked up from beside his -plate. His tight lip pursed itself while he was engaged; it was not -until he had put the peeled tomato on his plate, and added the heart of -a lettuce to it, that he looked at his caller. - -"What d'ye want, mi lass?" he asked. - -"I want you to lend me--me!--five or six hundred pounds, just now," -replied Jeckie readily. "Me, mind, Mr. Grice--not him. Me!" - -"What for?" demanded Grice, stolidly and with no sign of surprise. "What -for, now?" - -"I'll tell you," answered Jeckie, gaining in courage. "I want to pay off -every penny he owes. Then I'll be master! I shall have him under my -thumb, and I'll make him do. I'll see to every penny that comes in and -goes out; and you mark my words, Mr. Grice, I can make that farm pay! If -you'll lend me what I want I'll pay you back in three years, and it'll -be then a good going concern. I know what I'm saying." - -"In less nor three years you and my son Albert'll be wed," remarked -Grice. - -"I can keep an eye on it, and on my father and Rushie when we are wed," -retorted Jeckie. - -"And there's another thing," said Grice. "When I gave my consent to your -weddin' my son, it were an agreed thing between me an' Farnish, a -bargain, that you should have five hundred pound from him as a portion. -Where's that?" - -Jeckie gave him a swift meaning look. - -"I might have yet, if I took hold o' things," she answered. "But it 'ud -be me 'at would find it, Mr. Grice. My father--Lord bless you--he'd -never find five hundred pence! But--trust me!" - -Grice carved himself some more cold beef, and as he seemed to be -considering her proposal, Jeckie resumed her arguments. - -"There'll be a good bit of money to come in this back-end," she said. -"And if we'd more cows, as I'd have, we should do better. And pigs--I'd -go in for pigs. Let me only clear off what debt he's got into, and----" - -Grice suddenly laughed quietly, and, seizing his tankard, looked -knowingly at her as he lifted it to his lips. - -"The question is, mi lass," he said, "the question is--how deep has he -got? You don't know that, you know!" - -"Most of it, at any rate," said Jeckie. "I'll lay four or five hundred -'ud clear it all off, Mr. Grice." - -"Five hundred pound," observed Grice, "is a big, a very big sum o' -money. It were a long time," he added reflectively, "before I could -truly say that I were worth it!" - -"You're worth a lot more now, anyway," remarked Jeckie. "And you'll be -doing a good deed if you help me. After all, I want to set things going -right; they're my own flesh and blood up yonder. Now, come, Mr. Grice!" - -Grice pushed away the remains of the more solid portion of his dinner, -and thoroughly dug into the prime old cheese. After eating a little and -nibbling at a radish he turned to his visitor. - -"I'll not say 'at I will, and I'll not say 'at I willn't," he announced. -"It's a matter to be considered about. But I'll say this here--I'll take -a ride up Applecroft way this afternoon, and just see how things -stands, like. And then----" - -He waved Jeckie towards the door, and she, knowing his moods and -temperament, took the hint, and with no more than a word of thanks, -hastened to leave him. In the shop Albert was still busily engaged with -Mrs. Aislabie, who found it hard to determine on Irish roll or -Wiltshire. With him Jeckie exchanged no more than a glance. She felt a -sense of relief when she got out into the street; and when, five minutes -later, she was crossing the churchyard she muttered to herself certain -words which showed that her conversation with Stubley was still in her -mind. - -"Yes, that's the only way--to clear him out altogether, and let me take -hold! I'll put things to rights if only George Grice'll find the money!" - -At that moment George Grice, having finished his dinner, was taking out -of a cupboard certain of his account books. Before he did anything for -anybody, he wanted to know precisely how much was owing to him at -Applecroft. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -_The Broken Man_ - - -While Jeckie was busied in the village and Farnish, sighing after the -key of the beer barrel, was aimlessly wandering about the farm -buildings, there came into the kitchen, where Rushie was making ready -the dinner, a tall, blue-eyed, broadly-built youngster, whose first -action was to glance inquiringly at the clock and whose second was to go -to the sink in the corner to wash his brown hands. This was Joe, or -Doadie Bartle, about whom nobody in those parts knew more than that he -had turned up as a lad of fifteen at Applecroft some six or seven years -previously; had been taken in by Farnish to do a bit of work for his -meat, drink and lodging, and had remained there ever since. According to -his own account, he was an orphan, from Lincolnshire, who had run away -from his last place and gone wandering about the country in search of a -better. Something in the atmosphere of Applecroft had suited him, and -there he had stayed, and was now, in fact, Farnish's sole help on the -farm outside the occasional assistance of the two girls. There were folk -in the village who said that Farnish got his labour for naught, but -Jeckie knew that he had had twenty pounds a year ever since he was -eighteen, and had regularly put by one-half of his wages under her -supervision. Doadie Bartle, chiefly conspicuous for his air of simple -good nature, had come to be a fixture. Without him and Jeckie the place -would have gone to wrack and ruin long since, for Farnish had a trick of -sitting down when he should have been afoot, and gossiping in -public-houses when his presence was wanted elsewhere. It was because of -this--a significant indication, had there been anyone to notice it--that -Doadie was always treated to a pint of ale at dinner and supper, while -his master was rigorously restricted to a glass. - -Doadie Bartle looked again at the clock as he finished wiping his hands -on the rough towel which hung from its roller behind the door. His -glance ended at Rushie, who was sticking a fork into the potatoes on the -hob. - -"By gow, it's a warm 'un, this mornin'!" he said. "Where's Jeckie, like? -I could do wi' my pint now better nor later." - -"You'll have to wait," answered Rushie, who had seen her father's -despairing glance at the delf-ledge. "She's gone out, and taken the key -with her." - -Doadie looked disappointedly in the direction of the beer barrel, which -stood on its gantry just within the open door of the larder. Resigning -himself to the unavoidable, he walked out into the fold, where Farnish -leaned against the wall of the pig-stye, hands in pockets. - -"I shall have to do a bit o' mendin' up this afternoon," said Doadie. -"Merritt's cows has been i' our clover; there's a bad place i' -t'hedge." - -"Aye!" assented Farnish. There was no interest in his tone, and little -more seemed to be awakened when Rushie appeared at the kitchen window -and announced that dinner was ready. He shambled indoors, and, without -removing his hat, sat down at the head of his table, and began to cut -slices off the big lump of cold bacon, which, with boiled potatoes and -greens, made up the dinner. "Jeckie's no reight to run off wi' t'key o' -t'ale barrel," he grumbled. "Them 'at tews hes a reight to sup!" - -"It's not much tewin' 'at you've been doin', I'll lay!" retorted Rushie, -who had long since learned the art of homely repartee from her elder -sister. "Ridin' about like a lord!" - -"Now then, never mind!" growled Farnish. "Happen I done more tewin' nor -ye're aware on, mi lass! There's more sorts o' hard work than one." - -Then, all three being liberally supplied, the three pairs of jaws set to -work, and the steady eating went on in silence until the sheep-cur, -chained outside the door to a dilapidated kennel, gave a short, sharp -bark. Rushie, who knew this to be a declaration of friendliness rather -than of enmity, ran and put the potatoes and greens on the hob to warm -up. - -"Jeckie!" she said. "None been so long, after all." - -Jeckie came bustling into the kitchen as Farnish, who knew her appetite, -pushed a well-filled plate towards her place. Without a word she took a -big earthenware jug from its hook, went to the larder, and rummaged in -her pocket for the key of the beer barrel. Presently the sound of the -gurgling ale was heard in the kitchen. Doadie Bartle's big blue eyes -glistened as he went on steadily munching. Farnish looked down at the -cloth, wondering if his elder daughter meant to be generous. The roseate -hopes set up in Jeckie's mind by her interview with George Grice -inclined her for once to laxity. When she came back with the ale she -gave her father a pint instead of a glass, and Farnish made an -involuntary mutter of appreciation. He and his man seized their measures -and drank deep. Jeckie, pouring out glasses for herself and her sister, -gave them a half-whimsical look; she had been obliged to tilt the barrel -a little to draw that ale, and she knew that its contents were running -low, and that the brewer's man was not due for two days yet. - -The dinner went on to its silent end; the bacon, greens, and potatoes -finished. Rushie cleared the plates in a heap, and, setting clean ones -before each diner, produced a huge jam tart, hot and smoking from the -oven. Jeckie cut this into great strips and distributed them. Bartle, -still hungry, took a mouthful of his, turned scarlet, and reached for -his pot of beer. - -"Gum! that's a hot 'un!" he said drinking heartily. "Like to take t'skin -offen your tongue, is that!" Then, with an apologetic glance in Rushie's -direction, and, as if to excuse his manners, he murmured, "Jam's allus -hotter nor owt 'at iver comes out o' t'oven, I think, and I allus -forget it; you mun excuse me!" - -"Save toffee," remarked Farnish, with the air of superior knowledge. -"There's nowt as hot as what toffee is. I rek'lect 'at I once burnt -t'roof o' my mouth varry bad wi' some toffee 'at mi mother made; they -hed to oil my mouth same as they oil machines--wi' a feather." - -When the last of the jam tart had vanished the two girls put their -elbows on the table, propped their chins on their interlaced fingers, -and seemed to study the pattern of the coarse linen cloth. Farnish got -up slowly; took down his pipe from the corner of the mantlepiece, and, -drawing some loose tobacco from his waistcoat pocket, began to smoke. -Bartle, after rising and stretching himself, went over to a drawer in -the delf-ledge, and presently came back from it with a paper packet, -which he began to unfold. An odour of peppermint rose above the -lingering smell of the bacon and greens. - -"Humbugs!" he said, with a broad grin, as he offered the packet to the -two girls. "I bowt three-pennorth t'last time I were i' Sicaster, and -I'd forgotten all abowt 'em. They're t'reight sort, these is--tasty -'uns." - -Munching the brown and white bull's eyes, the sisters began to clear -away the dinner things into the scullery. Presently Rushie called to -Bartle to bring her the kettle and help her to wash up. When he had gone -into the scullery Jeckie, who was folding up the cloth, turned to her -father. - -"About what you told me this morning," she said, in low tones. -"Something's got to be done, and, of course, as usual, I've got to do -it. I've been down to see George Grice." - -Farnish started, and his thin face flushed a little. He was mortally -afraid of George Grice, who represented money and power and will force. - -"Aye, well, mi lass!" he muttered slowly. "Of course there's no doubt -'at Mr. George Grice has what they call th' ability to help a body--no -doubt at all. But as to whether he's gotten the will, you know, why----" - -"Less talk!" commanded Jeckie. "If he helps anybody it'll be me! And you -listen here; we're not going on as we have done. You're letting things -go from bad to worse. And you don't tell me t'truth, neither. I met -Stubley, and he says you never paid t'last half-year's rent. Now, then!" - -"I arranged it wi' t'steward," protested Farnish. "Him an' me understand -each other; Mr. Stubley's nowt to do wi' it." - -"You had the money," asserted Jeckie. "What did you do with it?" - -"It went to them money-lendin' fellers," answered Farnish. "That's where -it went; they would have it, choose how! Ye see mi lass----" - -"I'll tell you what it is," interrupted Jeckie. "You'll have to let me -take hold! I can pull things round. Now, you listen! Mr. George Grice is -coming up here this very afternoon, and him and me's going to get at a -right idea of how matters stand. And if he helps me to pay all off and -get a fresh start I'm going to be master, d'ye see? You'll just have to -do all 'at I say in future. You can be master in name if you like, but I -shall be t'real one. If you don't agree to that, I shall do no more! If -I put you right, in future I shall manage things; I shall take all that -comes in, and pay all that goes out. Do you understand that?" - -Farnish accepted this ultimatum with an almost tipsy gravity. He -continued to puff at his pipe while his daughter talked, and when she -had finished he bowed solemnly, as if he had been a judge assenting to -an arrangement made between contending litigants. - -"Now then," he said, in almost unctuous accents, "owt 'at suits you'll -suit me! If so be as you can put me on my legs again, Jecholiah, mi -lass, I'm agreeable to any arrangement as you're good enough to mak'. -You can tek' t'reins o' office, as the sayin' is, wi' pleasure, and do -all t'paying out and takin' in. Of course," he added, with a covert -glance in his daughter's direction, "you'll not be against givin' your -poor father a few o' shillin's a week to buy a bit o' 'bacca wi?--it 'ud -be again Nature, and religion, an' all, if I were left----" - -"You've never been without beer or 'bacca yet, that I know of," retorted -Jeckie, with a flash of her eye. "Trust you! But now, when George Grice -comes, mind there's no keeping aught back. We shall want to know----" - -Just then Rushie called from the scullery that the grocer was at the -garden gate in his trap, and Farnish immediately got out of his easy -chair, ill at ease. - -"Happen I'd better go walk i' t'croft a bit while you hev your talk to -him, Jeckie?" he suggested. "Two's company, and three's----" - -"And happen you'd better do naught o' t'sort!" retorted Jeckie. "You -bide where you are till you're wanted." - -She went out to the gate to meet Grice, who, being one of those men who -never walk where they can ride, had driven up to Applecroft in one of -his grocery carts, and was now hitching his pony to a ring in the outer -wall. He nodded silently to Jeckie as he moved heavily towards her. - -"Much obliged to you for coming, Mr. Grice," she said eagerly. "I take -it very kind of you. I've spoken to him," she went on, lowering her -voice and nodding in the direction of the kitchen. "I've told him, -straight, that if you and me help him out o' this mess that he's got -into, I shall be master, so----" - -"Take your time, mi lass, take your time!" said the grocer. "Before I -think o' helping anybody I want to know where I am! Now," he continued, -as they walked into the fold and he looked round him with appraising -eyes, "it may seem a queer thing me living in t'same place, my lass, but -I've never been near this house o' yours for many a long year--never -sin' you were a bairn, I should think--it's out o' t'way, d'ye see! And -dear, dear, I see a difference! What!--there's naught about t'place! No -straw--no manure--no cattle--a pig or two--a few o' fowls!--Why, there's -nowt! Looks bad, my lass, looks very, very bad. Farnish has -nowt--nowt!" - -Jeckie's heart sank like lead in a well, and a sickened feeling came -over her. "I know it looks pretty bad, Mr. Grice," she admitted, almost -humbly. "But it's not so bad as it looks. There's four right good cows, -and over a hundred and fifty head o' poultry. I know what the butter and -milk and eggs bring in!--and there's more pigs nor what you see, and -there's the crops. Come through the croft, and look at 'em. If there's -no manure in the fold, it's on the land, anyway--we've never sold -neither straw nor manure off this place. Come this way." - -It was mainly owing to Jeckie, Rushie, and Doadie Bartle that what -arable land Farnish held was clear and free of weeds. The grocer was -bound to admit that the crops looked well; his long acquaintance with a -farming district had taught him how to estimate values; he agreed with -Jeckie that, granted the right sort of weather for the rest of the -summer and part of autumn, there was money in what he was shown. - -"But then, you know, mi lass," he said as they returned to the house, -"it all depends on what Farnish is owing. This here money-lender 'at you -spoke of--he ought to be cleared off, neck and crop! Then there's a -year's rent. And there'll be other things. There's forty pounds due to -me. Before ever I take into consideration doing aught at all for -you--'cause I wouldn't do it for Farnish, were it ever so!--I shall want -to know how matters stands, d'ye see? I must know of every penny 'at's -owing--otherwise it 'ud be throwin' good money after bad. I'll none deny -that if what he owes is nowt much--two or three hundred or so--things -might be pulled round under your management. But, there it is! What does -he owe?--that's what we want to be getting at." - -"I'll make him tell," said Jeckie. "We'll have it put down on paper. -Come in, Mr. Grice." Then, as they went towards the door of the house, -she added in confidential, hospitable tones, "I've a bottle o' good old -whisky put away, that nobody knows naught about--you shall have a -glass." - -Grice muttered something about no need for his prospective -daughter-in-law to trouble herself, but he followed her into the -kitchen, where Farnish stood nervously awaiting them. The grocer, who -felt that he could afford to be facetious as well as magnanimous, gave -Farnish a sly look. - -"Now then, mi lad!" he said. "We've come to hear a bit about what you've -been doing o' late! You seem to ha' let things run down, -Farnish--there's nowt much to show outside. How is it, like?" - -"Why, you see, Mr. Grice," answered Farnish with a weak smile, "there's -times, as you'll allow, sir, when a man gets a bit behindhand, and----" - -He suddenly paused, and his worn face turned white, and Grice, following -his gaze, which was fixed on the garden outside, saw what had checked -his speech. Two men were coming to the front door; in one of them Grice -recognised a Sicaster auctioneer who was also a sheriff's officer. He -let out a sharp exclamation which made Jeckie, who was unlocking a -corner cupboard, swing herself round in an agony of fear. - -"Good God!" he said. "Bailiffs!" - -The door was open to the sunshine and the scent of the garden, and the -sheriff's officer, after a glance within, stepped across the threshold -and pulled out a paper. - -"Afternoon, Mr. Grice!" he said cheerfully. "Fine day, sir. Now, Mr. -Farnish, sorry to come on an unpleasant business, but I dare say you've -been expecting me any time this last ten days, eh? Levinstein's suit, -Mr. Farnish--execution. Four hundred and eighty-three pounds, five -shillings, and sixpence. Not convenient to settle, I dare say, so I'll -have to leave my man." - -Jeckie, who had grown as white as the linen on the lines outside, stood -motionless for a moment. Then she turned on her father. - -"You said it was only two hundred!" she exclaimed hoarsely. "You -said----" She paused, hearing Grice laugh, and turned to see him clap -his hat on his head and stride out by the back door. In an instant she -was after him, her hand, trembling like a leaf, on his arm. - -"Mr. Grice! You're not going? Stand by us--by me! Before God, I'll see -you're right!" she cried. "Mr. Grice!" - -But Grice strode on towards his trap; the tight lip tighter than ever. - -"Nay!" he said. "Nay! It's no good, my lass. It's done wi'." - -"Mr. Grice!" she cried again. "Why--I'm promised to your Albert! Mr. -Grice!" - -But Mr. Grice made no answer; another moment and he had climbed into his -cart and was driving away, and Jeckie, after one look at his broad back, -muttered something to herself and went back into the house. - -An hour later she and Rushie were mangling and ironing, in dead silence. -They went on working, still in silence, far into the evening, and Doadie -Bartle, after supper, turned the mangle for them. Towards dark Farnish, -who had already become fast friends with the man in possession, stole up -to his elder daughter, and whispered to her. Jeckie pulled the key of -the beer barrel from her pocket, and flung it at him. - -"Tek it, and drink t'barrel dry!" she said, fiercely. "It's t'last -'at'll ever be tapped i' this place--by you at any rate!" - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -_The Diplomatic Father_ - - -Grice drove away down the lane in a curious temper. He was angry with -himself for wasting a couple of hours of his valuable time; angry with -Jeckie for having induced him to do so; angry with Farnish for his -incapacity and idleness; still more angry to find that it was hopeless -to do what he might have done. He knew well enough that Jeckie had been -right when she said that he would never find a better wife for Albert; -he also knew that after what he had just witnessed he would never allow -Albert to marry her. Jeckie alone would have been all right, but Jeckie, -saddled with an incompetent parent, was impossible. "And if you can't -get t'best," he muttered to himself, "you must take what comes nearest -to t'best! There's more young women i' t'world than Jecholiah Farnish, -and I mun consider about findin' one. That 'at I've left behind -yonder'll never do!" - -Half-way down the lane he came across Doadie Bartle, busily engaged in -mending the fence. Grice's shrewd eyes saw how the youngster was -working; here, at any rate, was no slacker. He pulled up his pony and -gave Doadie a friendly nod. - -"Now, mi lad!" he said. "Doin' a bit o' repairing, like?" - -"Merritt's cows were in there this mornin'," answered Bartle. "They come -up t'lane and got in to our clover, Mr. Grice." - -"Aye, why," remarked Grice. "It'll none matter much to you how oft -Merritt's cows or anybody else's gets in to Farnish's clover in a day or -two, my lad. It's over and done wi' up yonder at Applecroft." - -Bartle's blue eyes looked a question, and Grice laughed as he answered -it. - -"T'bailiffs is in!" he said. "Come in just now. It's all up, lad. -Farnish'll be selled up--lock, stock, and barrel--within a week." - -Bartle drove the fork with which he had been gathering thorns together -into the ground at his feet, and leaning on its handle, stared fixedly -at Grice. - -"Aw!" he said. "Why, I knew things were bad, but I didn't know they were -as bad as that, mister. Selled up, now! Come!" - -"There'll be nowt left, mi lad, neither in house nor barn, stye nor -stable, in another week!" affirmed Grice. Then, waiting until he saw -that his announcement had gone home with due effect, he added, "So -you'll be out of a place, d'ye see?" - -Bartle let his gaze wander from the old grocer's face up the lane. From -where he stood he could see Applecroft, and at that moment he saw Jeckie -and Rushie standing together in the orchard, evidently in close and deep -conversation. - -"Aye," he said slowly. "If it's as you say, I reckon I shall. And I -been there six or seven year, an' all!" - -"And for next to nowt, no doubt," remarked Grice, with a sly look. "Now, -look here, mi lad, I'm wanting a young feller like you to go out wi' my -cart--'liverin' goods, d'ye understand? If you like to take t'job on ye -can start next Monday. I'll gi' you thirty shillin' a week." - -He was quick to see the sudden sparkle in Bartle's eyes, and he went on -to deepen the impression. - -"And there's pickin's an' all," he said. "Ye can buy owt you like out o' -my shop at cost price, and t'job's none a heavy 'un. Two horses to look -after and this here pony, and go round wi' t'goods. What do you say, -now, Bartle?" - -"Much obliged to you, mister; I'll consider on it, and tell you -to-morrow," answered Bartle. "But"--he looked doubtfully at Grice, and -then nodded towards the farm--"these here folks, what's goin' to become -o' them? I've been, as it were, one o' t'family, d'ye see, Mr. Grice?" - -"There's no fear about t'lasses," declared Grice, emphatically. "They're -both capable o' doin' well for theirsens, and I've no doubt Jeckie's -gotten a bit o' brass put away safe, somewhere or other. As for Farnish, -he mun turn to, and do summat 'at he hasn't done for years--he mun work. -What ha' ye to do with that, Bartle? Look to yersen, mi lad! Come and -see me to-morrow." - -He shook up his pony's reins and drove on. The encounter with Farnish's -man had improved his temper; he had been wanting a stout young fellow -like Bartle for some time, a fellow that would lift heavy packing cases -and make himself useful. Bartle was just the man. So he had, after all, -got or was likely to get, something out of his afternoon's -excursion--satisfactory, that, for he was a man who objected to doing -anything without profit. - -But now there was Albert to consider. Of one thing George Grice was -certain--there was going to be no marriage between Albert and Jecholiah -Farnish. True, they were engaged; true, Albert, following the fashion of -his betters, had, despite his father's sneers, given her an engagement -ring. But that was neither here nor there. Despite the fact that -Albert's name appeared in company with his father's on the powder-blue -and gold sign above the Diamond Jubilee Stores, Albert had no legal -share in the business--there was no partnership; Albert was as much a -paid servant as the shop-boy. Now, in old Grice's opinion, the man who -holds the purse-strings is master of the situation, and he had the pull -over Albert in more ways than one. Moreover, a shrewd and astute man -himself, he believed Albert to be a bit of a fool; a good-natured, -amiable, weak sort of chap, easily come round. He had half a suspicion -that Jeckie had come round him at some time or other. And now he would -have to come round him himself, and at once. - -"There'll have to be no chance of her gettin' at him," he mused as he -drove slowly down the village street. "He's that soft and sentimental, -is our Albert, 'at if she had five minutes wi' him, he'd be givin' way -to her. I mun use a bit of statesmanship." - -Occasion was never far to seek where George Grice was concerned, and -before he had passed the "Coach-and-Four" he had conceived a plan of -getting Albert out of the way until nightfall. As soon as he arrived at -the shop he bustled in, went straight to his desk, and drawing out a -letter, turned to his son. - -"Albert, mi lad!" he said, as if the matter was of urgent importance, -"there's this letter here fro' yon man at Cornchester about that horse -'at he has to sell. Now, we could do wi' a third horse--get yourself -ready, and drive over there, and take a look at it. If it's all right, -buy it--you can go up to forty pounds for it, and tell him we'll send -t'cheque on to-morrow. Go now--t'trap's outside there, and you can give -t'pony a feed at Cornchester while you get your tea. Here, take t'letter -wi' you, and then you'll have t'man's address--somewhere i' Beechgate. -It's nigh on to three o'clock now, so be off." - -Albert, who had no objection to a pleasant drive through the country -lanes, was ready and gone within ten minutes, and old Grice was glad to -think that he was safely absent until bed-time. During the afternoon and -early evening various customers of the better sort, farmers and farmers' -wives, dropped in at the shop, and to each he assiduously broke the news -of the day--Farnish had gone smash. One of these callers was Stubley, -and Stubley, when he heard the news, looked at the grocer with a -speculative eye. - -"Then I reckon you'll not be for Farnish's lass weddin' yon lad o' -yours?" he suggested. "Wouldn't suit your ticket, that, Grice, what?" - -"Now, then, what would you do if it were your case, Mr. Stubley?" -demanded Grice. "Would you be for tying flesh and blood o' yours up to -owt 'at belonged to Farnish?" - -"She's a fine lass, all t'same," said Stubley. "I've kept an eye on her -this last year or two. Strikes me 'at things 'ud ha' come to an end -sooner if it hadn't been for her. She's a grafter, Grice, and no waster, -neither. She'd make a rare good wife for your Albert--where he'd make a -penny she'd make a pound. I should think twice, mi lad, before I said -owt." - -But Grice's upper lip grew tighter than before when Stubley had gone, -and by the time of his son's return, with the new horse tied up behind -the pony cart, he was ready for him. He waited until Albert had eaten -his supper; then, when father and son were alone in the parlour, and -each had got a tumbler of gin and water at his elbow, he opened his -campaign. - -"Albert, mi lad!" he said, suavely, "there's been a fine to-do sin' you -set off Cornchester way this afternoon. Yon man Farnish has gone clean -broke!" - -Albert started and stared in surprise. - -"It's right, mi lad," continued Grice. "He's gotten t'bailiffs in--he'll -be selled up i' less nor a week. Seems 'at he's been goin' to -t'money-lenders, yonder i' Clothford--one feller's issued an execution -again him. Four hundred and eighty-three pound, five shillings, and -sixpence! Did ye ever hear t'like o' that? Him?" - -Albert began to twiddle his thumbs. - -"Nay!" he said, wonderingly. "I knew he were in a bad way, but I'd no -idea it were as bad as that. Then he's nought to pay with, I reckon?" - -"Nowt--so to speak," declared Grice. "Nowt 'at 'll settle things, -anyway. And I hear fro' Stubley 'at t'last half-year's rent were never -paid, and now here's another just about due. And there's other folk. He -owes me forty pound odd. If I'd ha' known o' this yesterday, I'd ha' had -summat out o' Farnish for my brass--I'd ha' had a cow, or summat. Now, -it's too late; I mun take my chance wi' t'rest o' t'creditors. And when -t'landlord's been satisfied for t'rent, I lay there'll be nowt much for -nobody, money-lender nor anybody else." - -"It's a bad job," remarked Albert. - -Grice turned to a shelf at the side of his easy chair, opened the lid of -a cigar box, selected two cigars, and passed one to his son. - -"Aye!" he assented presently, "it is a bad job, mi lad. Farnish promised -'at he'd gi' five hundred pound wi' Jecholiah. I think we mun ha' been -soft i' wor heads, Albert, to believe 'at he'd ever do owt o' t'sort. He -wor havin' us, as they say--havin' us for mugs!" - -Albert made no answer. He began to puff his cigar, watching his father -through the blue smoke. - -"Every man for his-self!" said old Grice after a while. "It were an -understood thing, were that, Albert, and now 'at there's no chance o' -Farnish redeemin' his word, there's no need for you to stand by yours. -There's plenty o' fine young women i' t'world beside yon lass o' -Farnish's. My advice to you, mi lad, is to cast your eyes elsewhere." - -Albert began to wriggle in his chair. His experience of Jeckie Farnish -was that she had a will of her own; he possessed sufficient mother-wit -to know that she was cleverer than he was. - -"I don't know what Jecholiah 'ud say to that," he murmured. "We been -keeping company this twelve-month, and----" - -"Pshaw!" exclaimed Grice. "What bi that! I'll tell you what it is, mi -lad--yon lass were never after you. I'll lay owt there's never been much -o' what they call love-makin' between you! She were after my brass, -d'yer see? Now, if it had been me 'at had gone broke, i'stead o' -Farnish, what then? D'ye think she'd ha' stucken to you? Nowt o' -t'sort!" - -Albert sat reflecting. It was quite true that there had been little -love-making between him and Jeckie. Jeckie was neither sentimental nor -amorous. She and Albert had gone to church together; occasionally he had -spent the evening at Farnish's fireside; once or twice he had taken her -for an outing, to a statutes-hiring fair, or a travelling circus. And he -was beginning to wonder. - -"I know she's very keen on money, is Jecholiah," he said at last. - -"Aye, well, she's goin' to have none o' mine!" affirmed old Grice. He -was quick to see that Albert was as wax in his hands, and he accordingly -brought matters to a climax. "I'll tell you what it is, mi lad!" he -continued, replenishing his son's glass, and refilling his own. "We mun -have done wi' that lot--it 'ud never do for you, a rising young feller, -to wed into a broken man's family. It mun end, Albert!" - -"She'll have a deal to say," murmured Albert. "She's an awful temper, -has Jecholiah, if things doesn't suit her, and----" - -"Now then, you listen to me," interrupted Grice. "We'll give her no -chance o' sayin'--leastways, not to you, and what she says to me's -neither here nor there. Now it's high time you were wed, mi lad, but you -mun get t'right sort o' lass. And I'll tell you what--you know 'at I -went last year to see mi brother John, 'at lives i' Nottingham--keep's a -draper's shop there, does John, and he's a warm man an' all, as warm as -what I am, and that's sayin' a bit! Now John has three rare fine -lasses--your cousins, mi lad, though you've never seen 'em--and he'll -give a nice bit wi' each o' 'em when they wed. I'll tell you what you -shall do, mi lad--you shall take a fortnight's holiday, and go over -there and see 'em; I'll write a letter to John to-night 'at you can take -wi' you. And if you can't pick a wife o' t'three--why, it'll be a -pity!--a good-lookin' young feller like you, wi' money behind you. Get -your best things packed up to-night, and you shall drive into Sicaster -first thing i' t'mornin' and be off to Nottingham. I'll see 'at you -have plenty o' spendin' brass wi' you, and you can go and have your -fling and make your choice. I tell yer there's three on 'em--fine, -good-looking, healthy lasses--choose which you like, and me and her -father'll settle all t'rest. And Nottingham's a fine place for a bit of -holidayin'." - -Old Grice sat up two hours later than usual that night, writing to his -brother, the Nottingham draper, and Albert went away before seven -o'clock next morning with all his best clothes and with fifty pounds in -his pocket. His father told him to do it like a gentleman, and Albert -departed in the best of spirits. After all, he had no tender memories of -Jeckie, and he remembered that once, when he had taken her to -Cornchester Fair, and wanted to have lunch at the "Angel," she had -chided him quite sharply for his extravagance and had made him satisfy -his appetite on buns and cocoa at a cheap coffee-shop. It was a small -thing, but he had smarted under it, for like all weak folk he had a vein -of mulish contrariness in him, and it vexed him to know that Jeckie, -when she was about, was stronger than he was. - -Grice, left to run the business with the aid of his small staff, was -kept to the shop during Albert's absence. But he had compensations. The -first came in the shape of a letter from his brother, the draper, the -contents of which caused George Grice to chuckle and to congratulate -himself on his diplomacy; he was, in fact, so pleased by it that he -there and then put up £25 in Bank of England notes, enclosed them in a -letter to Albert, bidding him to stay in Nottingham a week longer, and -went out to register the missive himself. The second was that Bartle -came to him and took charge of the horses and carts and lost no time in -proving himself useful beyond expectation. And the third lay in knowing -that the Farnish Family had gone out of the village. Just as the grocer -had prophesied, Farnish had been sold up within a week of the execution -which the money-lenders had levied on his effects. Not a stick had been -left to him of his household goods, not even a chicken of his live -stock, and on the morning of the sale he and his daughters had risen -early, and carrying their bundles in their hands had gone into Sicaster -and taken lodgings. - -"And none such cheap uns, neither!" said the blacksmith, who gave Grice -all this news, and to whom Farnish owed several pounds and odd -shillings. "Gone to lodge i' a very good house i' Finkle Street, where -they'll be paying no less nor a pound a week for t'rooms. Don't tell me! -I'll lay owt yon theer Jecholiah has a bit o' brass put by. What! She -used to sell a sight o' eggs and a vast o' butter, Mestur Grice! And -them owin' me ower nine pounds 'at I shall niver see! Such like i' -lodgins at a pound a week! They owt to be i' t'poorhouse!" - -Old Grice laughed and said nothing; it mattered nothing to him whether -the Farnishes were lodged in rooms or in the wards of the workhouse, so -long as Jeckie kept away from Savilestowe until all was safely settled -about Albert. He exchanged more letters with John, the draper; John's -replies yielded him infinite delight. As he sat alone of an evening, -amusing himself with his cigars and his gin and water, he chuckled as he -gloated over his own state-craft; once or twice, when he had made his -drink rather stronger than usual, he was so impressed by his own -cleverness that he assured himself solemnly that he had missed his true -vocation, and ought to have been a Member of Parliament. He thought so -again in a quite sober moment, when, at the end of three weeks, Albert -returned, wearing lemon-coloured kid gloves, and spats over his shoes. -There was a new atmosphere about Albert, and old George almost decided -to take him into partnership there and then when he announced that he -had become engaged to his cousin Lucilla, and that her father would give -her two thousand pounds on the day of the wedding. Instead, he -signalised his gratification by furnishing and decorating, regardless of -cost, two rooms for the use of the expected bride. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -_The Shakespeare Line_ - - -The Savilestowe blacksmith had been right when he said to George Grice -that Jeckie Farnish had probably put money by. Jeckie had for some time -foreseen the coming of an evil day, and for three years she had set -aside a certain amount of the takings from her milk, butter, and eggs -sales, and had lodged it safely in the Penny Bank at Sicaster in her own -name. Her father knew nothing of this nest-egg; no one, indeed, except -Rushie, knew that she had it; not even Rushie knew its precise amount. -And when Jeckie turned away from watching George Grice's broad back -disappear down the lane, and knew that her father's downfall was at last -inevitable, she at once made up her mind what to do. She knew a widow -woman in Sicaster who had a roomy house in one of the oldest -thoroughfares, Finkle Street; to her she repaired on the day following -the levying of the Clothford money-lender's execution, and bargained -with her for the letting of three rooms. On the morning of the forced -sale she routed Farnish and Rushie out of their beds as soon as the sun -rose; before six o'clock all three, carrying their personal effects in -bundles, were making their way across the fields towards Sicaster; by -breakfast time they were settled in their lodgings. And within an hour -Jeckie had found her father a job, and had told him that unless he stuck -to it there would be neither bite nor sup for him at her expense. It was -not a grand job, and Jeckie had come across it by accident--Collindale, -the greengrocer and fruit merchant in the Market Place, with whom she -had done business in the past, selling to him the produce of the -Applecroft orchard in good years, happened to want an odd-job man about -his shop, and offered a pound a week. Jeckie led her father to -Collindale and handed him over, with a few clearly-expressed words to -master and man; by noon Farnish was carrying potatoes to one and -cauliflowers to another of the greengrocer's customers. Nor was Jeckie -less arduous in finding work for her sister and herself. They were both -good needlewomen, and she went round the town seeking employment in that -direction, and got it. Before she went to her bed that first night in -the hired lodgings, she was assured of a livelihood, and of no need to -break into the small hoard in the Penny Bank. - -Over the interminable stitching which went on in the living-room of this -new abode, Jeckie brooded long and heavily over the defection of Albert -Grice. She had believed that Albert would hasten up to Applecroft when -he heard the bad news, and while her father and the man in possession -drank up the last beer in the barrel, and Rushie and Doadie Bartle -finished the mangling of the linen, she went out into the gloom of the -falling night and listened for his footsteps coming up the lane. Hard -enough though her nature was, it was unbelievable to her that the man -she had promised to marry could leave her alone at this time of trouble. -But Albert had never come, and next day, she heard that he had gone away -for a holiday. She knew then what had happened--this was all part of old -Grice's plans; old Grice meant that everything was to be broken off -between her and his son. She registered a solemn vow when the full -realisation came to her, and if George Grice had heard it he would -probably have been inclined to take Stubley's advice and think a little -before treating Jeckie so cavalierly. She would have her revenge on -Grice!--never mind how long it took, nor of what nature it was, she -would have it. And she was meditating on the beginnings and foundations -of it when Bartle came to her, wanting advice as to his own course of -proceeding. - -"I reckon it's all over and done wi', as far as this here's concerned," -he said, with a deprecating glance round the empty fold. "And I mun do -summat for misen. Now, grocer Grice, he offered me a job yesterday--when -he were drivin' down t'lane there, after he'd been here. Wants a man to -look after his horses, and go round wi' his cart, 'liverin' t'groceries. -Thirty shillin' a week. What mun I do about it?" - -Jeckie's eyes lighted up. - -"Take it, lad!" she answered, with unusual alacrity. "Take it! And while -you're at it, keep your eyes and ears open, and learn all you can about -t'business. It'll happen stand you in good stead some day. Take it, by -all means." - -"All reight," said Bartle. "I'll stan' by what you say, Jeckie. -But--there's another matter. What?" he continued, almost shamefacedly. -"What about--yoursens? I know it's a reight smash up, is this--what's -going to be done? I'm never going to see you and Rushie i' a fix, you -know. If it's any use, there's that bit o' money 'at you made me put i' -t'bank--ye're welcome to it. What were you thinkin' o' doin' like?" - -Jeckie took him into her confidence. Her plans were already laid, and -she was not afraid. So Bartle went into Grice's service when Jeckie and -Rushie started stitching in Sicaster, and thenceforward he turned up in -Finkle Street every Sunday afternoon, to see how things were going on -with his old employers. It was characteristic of him that he never came -empty-handed--now it was a piece of boiling bacon that he brought as an -offering; now a pound of tea; now a lump of cheese. And he also brought -news of the village, and particularly of his new place. But for four -Sundays in succession he had nothing to tell of Albert Grice but that he -was away, still holidaying. - -On the fifth Sunday, when Bartle came, laden with a fowl (bought, a -bargain, from his village landlady) in one hand, and an enormous bunch -of flowers (carefully picked to represent every variety of colour) in -the other, Jeckie and her father were away, gone to a neighbouring -village to see a relation who was ill, and Rushie was all alone. Bartle -sat down in the easiest chair which the place afforded, spread his big -hands over his Sunday waistcoat, and nodded solemnly at her. - -"There's news at our place, Rushie, mi lass!" he said gravely. "I -misdoubt how Jeckie'll tak' it when she comes to hear on't. About yon -theer Albert." - -"What about him?" demanded Rushie, whom Bartle had found lolling on the -sofa, reading a penny novelette, and who still remained there, yawning. -"Has he come back home?" - -"Come back t'other day, lookin' like a duke," answered Bartle. "Yaller -gloves on his hands, and a fancy walkin' stick, and things on his feet -like t'squire wears. An' it's all out now i' Savilestowe--he's goin' to -be wed, is Albert. T'owd chap's fair mad wi' glory about it." - -"Who's he goin' to wed?" asked Rushie. - -"A lass 'at's his cousin, wi' no end o' money," replied Bartle. "Owd -George is tellin' t'tale all ower t'place. She's to hev two thasand -pound, down on t'nail, t'day at they're wed, and there'll be more to -come, later on. And Grice is hevin' a bedroom and a sittin'-room done up -for 'em, in reight grand style--t'paperhangers starts on to-morrow, and -there's to be a pianner, and I don't know what else. They're to be wed -in a fortnight." - -"She can have him!" said Rushie contemptuously. "He's nowt, is Albert -Grice!--I never could think however our Jeckie could look at him." - -"Well--but that's how it's to be," remarked Bartle. Then, with a solemn -look, he added, twiddling his thumbs, "He's treated Jeckie very bad, -has Albert." - -Rushie said nothing. She gave Bartle his tea, and later went for a walk -with him round the old town; in his Sunday suit of blue serge he was a -fine-looking young fellow, and Rushie saw many other girls cast admiring -looks at him. He had gone homewards when Jeckie and her father returned, -and it was accordingly left to Rushie to break the news of Albert's -defection to her sister. - -Jeckie heard all of it without saying a word, or allowing a sign to show -itself in her hard, handsome face. She went on with her work in the -usual fashion the next morning, and continued at it all the week, and -when Bartle came again on the following Sunday, with more news of the -preparation at Grice's, she still remained silent. But on the next -Saturday she went out before breakfast to the nearest newsagent's shop -and bought a copy of the _Yorkshire Post_ of that morning. She opened it -in the shop, and turned to the marriage announcements. When she had -assured herself that Albert Grice had been duly married to his cousin -Lucilla at Nottingham two days previously, she put the paper in her -pocket, went back to Finkle Street, and ate an unusually hearty -breakfast. She had made it a principle from the beginning of the new -order of things to see that Farnish, Rushie, and herself never wanted -good food in plenty--folk who work hard, in Jeckie's opinion, must live -well, and her own country-bred appetite was still with her. - -But she was going to do no work that Saturday morning. As soon as she -and Rushie had breakfasted she went upstairs to her room and put on her -best clothes. That done, she unlocked a tin box in which she kept -certain private belongings and took from it the engagement-ring which -Albert Grice had given her and a small packet of letters. These all went -into a hand-bag with the _Yorkshire Post_; clutching it in her right -hand, with an intensity which would have signified a good deal to any -careful observer, she marched downstairs to her sister. - -"Rushie," she said, "I shall be out for an hour or two--get on with -those things for Mrs. Blenkinsop: you know we promised to let her have -'em to-day. Do as much as you can, there's a good lass--I'll set to as -soon as ever I'm back. Never mind the dinner till we've finished." - -Then she went out and along the big Market Place and into Ropergate, the -street wherein the Sicaster solicitors, a keen and shrewd lot, -congregated together, in company with auctioneers, accountants, and -debt-collectors. There were at least a dozen firms of solicitors in that -street, but Jeckie, though she had never employed legal help in her -life, knew to which of them she was bound before ever she crossed the -threshold of her lodgings. She was a steady reader of the local -newspapers, especially of the police and county court news, and so had -become aware that Palethorpe & Overthwaite were the men for her money. -And into their office she walked, firm and resolute, as St. Sitha's -clock struck ten, and demanded of a yawning clerk to see one or other of -the principals. - -When Jeckie was admitted into the inner regions she found herself in the -presence of both partners. Palethorpe, a sharp, keen-faced fellow sat at -one table, and Overthwaite, somewhat younger, but no less keen, at -another; both recognised Jeckie as the handsome young woman sometimes -seen in the town; both saw the look of determination in her eyes and -about her lips. - -"Well, Miss Farnish," said Palethorpe, who scented business. "What can -we do for you, ma'am?" - -He drew forward a chair, conveniently placed between his own and his -partner's desk, and Jeckie, seating herself, immediately drew out from -her hand-bag the various things which she had carefully placed in it. - -"I dare say you gentlemen know well enough who I am," she said calmly. -"Elder daughter of William Farnish, as was lately farming at -Savilestowe. Father, he did badly this last year or two, and everybody -knows he was sold up a few weeks since by a Clothford money-lender. But -between you and me, Mr. Palethorpe and Mr. Overthwaite, I've a bit of -money put by, and I brought him and my sister into lodgings here in -Sicaster--I've got him a job, and made him stick to it. And me and my -sister's got good work and plenty of it. I'm telling you this so that -you'll know that aught that you like to charge me, you'll get--I'm not -in the habit of owing money to anybody! And I want, not so much your -advice as to give you orders to do something." - -The two partners exchanged smileless glances. Here, at any rate, was a -client who possessed courage and decision. - -"Everybody in Savilestowe knows that for some time before my father was -sold up I was engaged to be married to Albert Grice, only son of George -Grice, the grocer," continued Jeckie. "It was all regularly arranged. We -were to have been married next year, when Albert'll be twenty-five. -Here's the engagement ring he gave me. I was with him when he bought it, -here in Sicaster, at Mr Pilbrow's jeweller's shop; he paid four pound -fifteen and nine for it, and they gave me half-a-dozen of electroplated -spoons in with it as a sort of discount. Here's some letters; there's -eight of 'em altogether, and I've numbered and marked 'em, that Albert -wrote me from time to time; marriage is referred to in every one of 'em. -There's no doubt whatever about our engagement; it was agreed to by his -father and my father, and, as I said, everybody knew of it." - -"To be sure!" said Overthwaite. "I've heard of it, Miss Farnish. Local -gossip, you know. Small world, this!" - -"Well," continued Jeckie, "all that went on up to the day that the -bailiff came to our place. George Grice was there when he came; he went -straight away home, and next day he sent Albert off to Nottingham, where -they have relations. He kept him away until we were out of the village; -he took good care that Albert never came near me nor wrote one single -line to me. He got him engaged to his cousin at Nottingham, and now," -she concluded, laying her newspaper on Palethorpe's desk and pointing -to the marriage announcements, "now you see, they're wed! Wed two days -ago; there it is, in the paper." - -"I saw it this morning," said Palethorpe. He looked inquisitively at his -visitor. "And now," he added, "now, Miss Farnish, you want----" - -"Now," answered Jeckie, in curiously quiet tones, "now I'll make Albert -Grice and his father pay! You'll sue Albert for breach of promise of -marriage, and he shall pay through the nose, too! I'll let George Grice -see that no man's going to trifle with me; he shall have a lesson -that'll last him his life. I want you to start on with it at once; don't -lose a moment!" - -"There was never any talk about breaking it off, I suppose?" asked -Overthwaite. "I mean between you and Albert?" - -"Talk!" exclaimed Jeckie. "How could there be talk? I've never even set -eyes on him since the time I'm telling you about. George Grice took care -of that!" - -Palethorpe picked up the letters. In silence he read through them, -noting how Jeckie had marked certain passages with a blue pencil, and as -he finished each he passed it to his partner. - -"Clear case!" he said when he had handed over the last. "No possible -defence! He'll have to pay. Now, Miss Farnish, how much do you want in -the way of damages? Have you thought it out?" - -"As much as ever I can get," answered Jeckie, promptly. "Yes, I have -thought it out. The damage to me's more nor what folk could think at -first thoughts. George Grice is a very warm man. I've heard him say, -myself, more than once, that he was the warmest man in Savilestowe, and -that's saying a good deal, for both Mr. Stubley and Mr. Merritt are -well-to-do men. And Albert is an only child: he'd ha' come in--he will -come in!--for all his father's money. I reckon that if I'd married -Albert Grice I should have been a very well-off woman. So the damages -ought to be----" - -"Substantial--substantial!" said Palethorpe. "Very substantial, indeed, -Miss Farnish." He glanced at his partner, who was just laying aside the -last of the letters. "It's well known that George Grice is a rich man," -he remarked. "But, now, here's a question--is this son of his in -partnership with him?" - -Jeckie was ready with an answer to that. - -"No, but he will be before a week's out," she said. "In fact, he may be -now, for aught that I know. I've certain means of knowing what goes on -at Grice's. George has promised to make Albert a partner as soon as he -married. Well, now he is married, so it may have come off. He hadn't -been a partner up to now." - -"We'll soon find that out," said Palethorpe. "Now, then, Miss Farnish, -leave it to us. Don't say a word to anybody, not even to your father or -sister. Just wait till we find out how things are about the partnership, -and then we'll move. What you want is to make these people pay--what?" - -Jeckie rose, and from her commanding height looked down on the two men, -who, both insignificant in size, gazed up at her as if she had been an -Amazon. - -"Money's like heart's blood to George Grice!" she muttered. "I want to -wring it out of him. He flung me away like an old clout! He shall see! -Do what you like; do what you think best; but make him suffer! I haven't -done with him yet." Then, without another word, she marched out of the -office, and Palethorpe smiled to his partner. - -"What's that line of Shakespeare's?" he said. "Um--'A woman moved is -like a fountain troubled.' This one's pretty badly moved to vengeance, I -think, eh?" - -"Aye!" agreed Overthwaite. "But she isn't, as the quotation goes on, -'bereft of beauty.' Egad, what a face and figure! Albert Grice must be a -doubly damned fool!" - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -_The Gloves Off_ - - -The old grocer was not the man to do things by halves, and as soon as he -found that Albert's engagement to his cousin Lucilla was an accomplished -fact, duly approved by the young woman's father and to be determined by -a speedy marriage, he made up his mind to put his son out of the mouse -stage and make a man of him. Albert should come into full partnership, -with a half-share in the business; he should also have a domicile of his -own under the old roof. There were two big, accommodating rooms on the -first floor of the house, which hitherto had been used as receptacles -for lumber and rubbish. Grice had Bartle and a couple of boys to clear -them of boxes and crates, and that done, handed them over to a painter -and decorator from Sicaster, with full license to do his pleasure on -them. The painter and decorator set his wits to work, and achieved a -mighty bill; and when he had completed his labours he remarked sagely to -old George that the rooms ought to be furnished according-ly, with -emphasis on the last syllable. George rose to the bait, and called in -the best upholsterer available, with the result that when Albert and his -bride came home they found themselves in possession of two brand-new -suites of furniture, solid mahogany in the parlour, and rosewood in the -bedroom, with carpets and hangings in due sympathy with the rest of the -grandeur. The bride also found a new piano, and delighted her -father-in-law by immediately sitting down to it and playing a few show -pieces, with variations. In her new clothes and smart hat she went well -with the rest of the room, and the next morning George took Albert into -town and signed the deed of partnership. - -"You're a very different man now, mi lad, fro' what ye were two months -since, remember," observed George, as he and his son sat together in the -"Red Lion" at Sicaster, taking a glass of refreshment before jogging -home again. "You were naught but a paid man then; now you're a full -partner i' George Grice & Son, grocers, wholesale and retail, and -Italian warehousemen, dealers in hay, straw, and horse corn. An' you're -a wed man, too, and wi' brass behind and before, and there's no young -feller i' t'county has better prospects. Foller my example, Albert, and -you'll cut up a good 'un i' t'end!" - -Albert grinned weakly, and said that he'd do his best to look after -number one, and George went home well satisfied. It seemed to him that -having steered his ship safely past that perilous reef called Jecholiah -Farnish he would now have plain and comfortable sailing. Instead of -being saddled with a poverty-stricken daughter-in-law and her -undesirable family, he had got his son a wife who had already brought -him a couple of thousand pounds in ready money, and would have more -when death laid hands on the Nottingham draper. So there was now nothing -to do but attend to business during the day, look over the account books -in the evening, and approach sleep by way of gin and water and the -tinkle of Lucilla's piano. - -"I were allus a man for doing things i' the right way," mused George -that evening as he smoked his cigar and listened to his new -daughter-in-law singing the latest music-hall songs, "and I done 'em -again this time. Now, if I'd let yon lass o' Farnish's wed our Albert -there'd ha' been nowt wi' her, and I should never ha' had Farnish -his-self off t'doorstep. It 'ud ha' been five pound here, and five pound -there. I should ha' had to keep all t'lot on 'em. An' if there is a -curse i' this here vale o' tears, it's poor relations!" - -It was no poor relation who was tinkling the new piano in the fine new -parlour, nor a useless one, either, George thanked Heaven and himself. -Mrs. Albert had already proved an acquisition. She was a capable -housekeeper; she possessed a good deal of the family characteristic as -regards money, and she could keep books and attend to letters. Moreover, -she was no idler. Every morning, as soon as she had settled the -household affairs for the day, she appeared in the shop and took up her -position at the desk. This saved both George and Albert a good deal of -clerical work, for the Grice trade, which was largely with the gentry -and farmers of the district, involved a considerable amount of -book-keeping. Now, George was painfully slow as a scribe, and Albert -had no great genius for figures, though he was an expert at wrapping up -parcels. The bride, therefore, was valuable as a help as well as -advantageous as an ornament. And a certain gentleman who walked into the -shop one afternoon, after leaving a smart cob outside in charge of a -village lad who happened to be hanging about, looked at her with -considerable interest, as if pretty bookkeepers were strange in that -part of the country. Old Grice at that moment was busy down the yard, -examining a cartload of goods with which Bartle was about to set off to -a neighbouring hamlet: Albert was in the warehouse outside, -superintending the opening of a cask of sugar. Mrs. Albert went forward; -the caller greeted her with marked politeness. - -"Mr. Albert Grice?" said the caller, with an interrogatory smile. "Is he -in?" - -"I can call him in a minute, sir," replied Mrs. Albert. "He's only just -outside. Who shall I say?" - -"If you'd be kind enough to ask him if he'd see Mr. Palethorpe of -Sicaster, for a moment," answered the visitor. "He'll know who I am." - -Mrs. Albert opened the door at the back of the shop, and ushered -Palethorpe into the room in which Jeckie Farnish had found George Grice -eating his cold beef. She passed out through another door into the yard, -came back in a moment, saying that her husband would be there presently, -and returned to the shop. And upon her heels came Albert, wiping his -sugary hands on his apron and looking very much astonished. - -"Good afternoon, Mr. Albert," said Palethorpe, in his pleasantest -manner. "I called to see you on a little matter of business. I would -have sent one of my clerks, but as the business is of a confidential -sort I thought I'd just drive over myself. The fact of the case is I've -got a writ for you--and there it is!" - -Before Albert had comprehended matters, Palethorpe had put a folded, -oblong piece of paper into his hand, and had nodded his head, as much as -to imply that now, the writ having slipped into Albert's unresisting -fingers, something had been effected which could never be undone. - -"Thought it would be more considerate to serve you with it myself," he -added, with another smile. - -"I dare say you prefer that." - -Albert looked from Palethorpe to the writ, and from the writ to -Palethorpe. His face flushed and his jaw, a weak and purposeless one, -dropped. - -"What's it all about?" he asked, feebly. "I--I don't owe nobody aught, -Mr. Palethorpe. A writ!--for me?" - -"Suit of Jecholiah Farnish--breach of promise--damages claimed, two -thousand pounds," answered Palethorpe, promptly. "That's what it is! -Lord, bless me!--do you mean to say you haven't been expecting it!" - -He laughed, half sneeringly, and suddenly broke his laughter short. -George Grice had come in, softly, by the back door of the room, and had -evidently heard the solicitor's announcement of the reason of his -visit. Palethorpe composed his face, and made the grocer a polite bow. -It was his policy, on all occasions, to do honour to money, and he knew -George to be a well-to-do man. - -"Good afternoon, Mr. Grice!" he said. "Fine day, isn't it--splendid -weather for----" Grice cut him short with a scowl. - -"What did I hear you say?" he demanded, angrily. "Summat about yon -Farnish woman, and breach o' promise, and damages? What d'yer mean?" - -"Just about what you've said," retorted Palethorpe. "I've served your -son with a writ on Miss Farnish's behalf--you'd better read it -together." - -Grice glanced nervously at the curtained door which led into the shop. -Then he beckoned Palethorpe and Albert to follow him, and led them out -of the room and across a passage to a small apartment at the rear of the -house, a dismal nook in which his account books and papers of the last -thirty years had been stored. He carefully closed the door and turned on -the solicitor. - -"Do you mean to tell me 'at yon there hussy has had the impudence to -start proceedin's for breach o' promise again my son?" he said. "I never -knew such boldness or brazenness i' my born days! Go your ways back, -young man, and tell her 'at sent you 'at she'll get nowt out o' me!" - -Palethorpe laughed--something in his laugh made the grocer look at him. -And he saw decision and confidence in Palethorpe's face, and suddenly -realised that here was trouble which he had never anticipated. - -"Nonsense, Mr. Grice!" exclaimed Palethorpe. "I'm surprised at -you!--such a keen and sharp man of business as you're known to be. We -want nothing out of you--we want what we do want out of your son!" - -"He has nowt!" growled the grocer. "He's nowt but what I----" - -"Nonsense again, Mr. Grice," interrupted Palethorpe. "He's your partner, -with a half-share in the business, as you've announced to a good many of -your neighbours and cronies during the last week or so, and he's also -got two thousand pounds with his wife. Come, now, what's the good of -pretending? Your son's treated my client very badly, very badly indeed, -and he'll have to pay. That's flat!" - -Grice suddenly stretched out a hand towards his son. - -"Gim'me that paper!" he said. - -Albert handed over the writ and his father put on a pair of spectacles -and carefully read it through from beginning to end. Then he flung it on -the desk at which the three men were standing. - -"It's nowt but what they call blackmail!" he growled. "I'll none deny -'at there were an arrangement between my son and Farnish's lass. But it -were this here--Farnish were to give five hundred pounds wi' her. Now, -Farnish went brok'--he had no five hundred pound, nor five hundred -pence! So, of course, t'arrangement fell through. That's where it is." - -Palethorpe laughed again--and old Grice feared that laugh more than the -other. - -"I'm more surprised than before, Mr. Grice," said Palethorpe. "My client -has nothing whatever to do with any arrangement--if there was -any--between you and her father. Her affair is with your son Mr. Albert -Grice. He asked her to marry him--she consented. He gave her an -engagement ring--it was well known all round the neighbourhood that they -were to marry. He wrote her letters, in which marriage is mentioned----" - -Grice turned on his son in a sudden paroxysm of fury. - -"Ye gre't damned softhead!" he burst out. "Ye don't mean to say 'at you -were fool enough to write letters! Letters!" - -"I wrote some," replied Albert sullenly. "Now and then, when I was away, -like. It's t'usual thing when you're engaged to a young woman." - -"Quite the usual thing--when you're engaged to a young woman," said -Palethorpe, with a quiet sneer. "And we have the letters--all of 'em. -And the engagement ring, too. Mr. Grice, it's no good blustering. This -is as clear a case as ever I heard of, and your son'll have to pay. It's -no concern of mine whether you take my advice or not, but if you do take -it, you'll come to terms with my client. If this case goes before a -judge and jury--and it certainly will, if you don't settle it in the -meantime--you won't have a leg to stand on, and Miss Farnish will get -heavy damages--heavy!--and you'll have all the costs. And between you -and me, Mr. Grice, you'll not come out of the matter with very clean -hands yourself. We know quite well, for you're a bit talkative, you -know--how you engineered the breaking-off of this engagement and -contrived the marriage of your son to his cousin, and we shall put you -in the witness-box, and ask you some very unpleasant questions. And -you're a churchwarden, eh?" concluded Palethorpe, as he turned to the -door. "Come now--you know my client's been abominably treated by you and -your son--you'd better do the proper thing, and compensate her -handsomely." - -Grice had become scarlet with anger during the solicitor's last words, -and now he picked up the writ and thrust it into his pocket. - -"I'll say nowt no more to you!" he exclaimed. "I'll see my lawyer in -t'morning, and hear what he's gotten to say to such a piece o' -impidence!" - -"That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say," remarked -Palethorpe. "See him by all means--and he'll say to you just what I've -said. You'll see!" - -The calm confidence of Palethorpe's tone, and the nonchalant way in -which he left father and son, cost Grice a sleepless night. He lay -turning in his bed, alternately cursing Jeckie for her insolence and -Albert for his foolishness in writing those letters. He had sufficient -knowledge of the world to know that Palethorpe was probably right--yet -it had never once occurred to him that a country lass could have -sufficient sense to invoke the law. - -"She's too damned clever i' all ways is that there Jecholiah!" he -groaned. "Very like I should ha' done better if I'd kept in wi' her, and -let her wed our Albert. It's like to cost a pretty penny afore I've done -wi' it if I have to pay her an' all. There were a hundred pounds for -Albert's trip to Nottingham and another hundred for t'weddin' and -t'honeymoon, and I laid out a good three hundred i' doin' up them rooms -and buyin' t'pianner, and now then, there's this here! An' I'd rayther -go and fling my brass into t'sea nor have it go into t'hands o' that -there Jezebel! I wish I'd never ta'en our Albert into partnership, nor -said owt about his wife's two thousand pound--then, when this came on he -could ha' pleaded 'at he wor nowt but a paid man, and she'd ha' got next -to nowt i' t'way o' damages. Damages!--to that there!--it's enough to -mak' me shed tears o' blood!" - -Grice was with his solicitor, Mr. Camberley, in Sicaster, by ten o'clock -next morning. He had left Albert at home, judging him to be worse than -an encumbrance in matters of this sort. He himself had sufficient acumen -to keep nothing back from his man of law; he told him all about the ring -and the letters, and his face grew heavier as Mr. Camberley's face grew -longer. - -"You'll have to settle, Grice," said the solicitor, an oldish, -experienced man. "It's precisely as Palethorpe said--you haven't a leg -to stand on! You know, I'm a bit surprised at you; you might have -foreseen this." - -Grice pulled out a big bandanna handkerchief, and mopped his high -forehead. - -"It never crossed my mind 'at she'd be for owt o' this sort!" he -groaned. "I never thowt 'at she'd have as much sense as all that. She's -gotten a spice o' t'devil in her!--that's where it is. And you think -it's no use fightin' t'case?" - -"Not a scrap of use!" said the lawyer. "Stop here while I go round to -Palethorpe's and see for myself how things are. They'll show me those -letters." - -Grice sat grunting and muttering in Camberley's office until Camberley -returned. One glance at the solicitor's face showed him that there was -no hope. - -"Well?" he asked anxiously as Camberley sat down to his desk. "Well, -now?" - -"It's just as I expected," said Camberley. "Of course they've a -perfectly good case; they couldn't have a better. I've seen your son's -letters. Excellent evidence--for the plaintiff! Marriage is mentioned in -every one of them--when it was to be, what arrangements were to be made -afterwards, and so on. There's no use beating about the bush, Grice; you -haven't a chance!" - -"Then, there's naught for it but payin'?" said the grocer with a deep -sigh. "No way o' gettin' out of it?" - -"There's no way of getting out of it," answered Camberley. "Nobody and -nothing can get you out of it. Here's a perfectly blameless, -well-behaved, hard-working young woman, whom you had willingly accepted -as your son's future wife, suddenly flung off like an old glove, for no -cause whatever! What do you suppose a jury would say to that? You'll -have to settle, Grice--and I've done my best for you. They'll take -fifteen hundred pounds and their costs." - -Grice's big face turned white, and the sweat burst out on his forehead -and rolled down his cheeks, and over the tight lip and into his beard. - -"It's either that, or the case'll go on to trial," said Camberley. "My -own opinion," he added, dryly, "is that if it goes to trial, she'd get -two thousand. You'd far better write out a cheque and have done with it. -It's your own fault, you know." - -Grice pulled out his cheque-book and wrote slowly at Camberley's -dictation. When he had attached his signature he handed over the cheque -with trembling fingers, and, without another word, went out, climbed -heavily into his trap, and drove home. He maintained a strange and -curious silence all the rest of that day, and that evening the strains -of the new piano failed to charm him. More than once his cigar went out -unnoticed; once or twice he shed tears into his gin-and-water. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -_The Golden Teapot_ - - -While George Grice was driving out of Sicaster, groaning and grumbling -at his ill-luck, Jeckie Farnish, in the Finkle Street lodging, was -contemplating a pile of linen which had just been sent in to her for -stitching. Rushie contemplated it, too, and made a face at it. - -"Looks as if we should never get through it!" she said mournfully, "And -it's such dull work, sewing all day long." - -"Don't you quarrel with your bread-and-butter, miss!" answered Jeckie, -with ready sharpness. "You'd ought to be thankful we've got work to do -rather than grumble at it." - -"There's other work nor this that a body can do," retorted Rushie. "And -a deal pleasanter!" - -"Aye, and what, miss, I should like to know?" demanded Jeckie as she -thrust a length of linen into her sister's hands. "What is there that -you could do, pray?" - -"Herbert Binks says Mr. Fryer wants one or two young women in his shop," -answered Rushie, diffidently. "I could try for that if I was only let. -And it's far more respectable learning the drapery and millinery than -sewing sheets and things all day long." - -"Is it?" said Jeckie. "Well, I know naught about respectability, and I -do know 'at Mr. Fryer 'ud want a nice bit o' money paying to him if he -took you as apprentice. And you mind what you're doing with that Herbert -Binks! I've no opinion o' these town fellers; he'll be turning your head -with soft talk. You be thankful 'at we've got work to do that keeps us -out o' the workhouse. Where should we all ha' been now, I should like to -know, if it hadn't been for me?" - -Then she sat down in her usual place by the window, and began to sew as -if for dear life, while Rushie, taking refuge in poutings and silence, -set to work in languid fashion. Already Jeckie was having trouble with -her and with Farnish. The younger sister openly revolted against the -interminable sewing. Farnish, whose pocket-money had been fixed at five -shillings, found eightpence-halfpenny a day all too little for his beer, -and sulked every night when he came home from the greengrocer's. -Moreover, Jeckie found it impossible to keep Rushie to heel; she could -not always be watching her, and as soon as her back was turned of an -evening Rushie was out and away about the town, always with some -shop-boy or other in attendance. It was not easy work to manage her or -Farnish, and Jeckie foresaw a day in which both would strike. Some folk, -she knew, would have said let them strike and see to themselves, but -Jeckie was one of those unfortunate mortals who are cursed with an -exaggerated sense of personal responsibility, and she worried much more -about her father and sister than about herself. - -"You stick to what work we've got for a bit, Rushie, my lass!" she said -presently, in mollifying tones. "I know well enough it's trying, but -there'll very likely be something better to do before long; you never -know what's going to turn up!" - -Something was about to turn up at that moment, though Jeckie was -unconscious of it. One of Palethorpe & Overthwaite's office boys came -whistling along the street, and, catching sight of Jeckie at the open -window, paused and grinned; Jeckie eyed him over with a sudden feeling -of anticipation. - -"Are you wanting me?" she demanded. - -"Mr. Palethorpe's compliments, and would you mind stepping round to our -office, miss?" said the lad. "They want to see you, particular." - -"I'll be there in a few minutes," answered Jeckie. She laid aside her -sewing when the lad had turned on his heel, and looked at her sister. -"Get on with your work while I'm out, Rushie," she said. "I'll be as -quick as I can--and, maybe, I'll have some news for you when I come -back." - -Then she hurried into her best garments and hastened round to Palethorpe -& Overthwaite's, wondering all the way what they wanted. The partners -smiled at her as she was shown in, and Overthwaite manifested an extra -politeness in handing her a chair. - -"Well, Miss Farnish!" said Palethorpe, almost jocularly. "We've good -news for you. The enemy's capitulated! Never made a bit of a fight, -either. Clean beaten!" - -Jeckie looked from one man to the other with surprised questioning eyes. - -"He's going to pay?" she suggested. - -Palethorpe pointed to a cheque which lay face downwards on his desk. - -"He's paid!" he answered. "Half an hour ago. There's the cheque. I'll -tell you all about it in a few words. I served Albert with the writ -myself yesterday afternoon. Albert had nothing to say; old George -blustered, and said he'd see his solicitor. I said he could do nothing -better. He came in first thing this morning, and saw Camberley; -Camberley came on to see us. And, of course, he knew they hadn't a leg -to stand on, so, as you'd given us full permission to settle on your -behalf, he came to terms. And--there's the money!" - -Jeckie caught her breath, and looked at the cheque with a glance keen -enough, as Overthwaite afterwards remarked, to go through it and the -wood beneath it. It was with an obvious effort that she got out two -words. - -"How much?" - -"Fifteen hundred pounds--and our costs," answered Palethorpe. "I hope -you're satisfied?" - -Jeckie gave him a queer, shrewd, enigmatical look. - -"Aye, I'm satisfied!" she said in a low voice. "I should ha' made Albert -Grice a rare good wife and George Grice a saving daughter-in-law, -but--yes, I'm satisfied. And--I know well enough what I shall do with -it--as George Grice'll find out! So--I'm worth fifteen hundred pound? -That's one thousand five hundred! Very well! And--I'm much obliged to -you." - -Palethorpe turned to his partner. - -"Write out a cheque for Miss Farnish for one thousand five hundred -pounds," he said. "And she'll give us a receipt. Now Miss Farnish," he -went on, as Overthwaite produced a cheque-book, "You'll want to bank -this money, no doubt? If you like, I'll introduce you to the Old Bank." - -"Much obliged to you," answered Jeckie. "I have some money of my own in -the Penny Bank, but of course, it's naught much. Yes, I'll go to the Old -Bank, if you please, Mr. Palethorpe. And--don't I owe you something?" - -"Nothing!" answered Palethorpe, with a smile. "We made Grice pay your -costs--every penny." - -"I hope you charged him plenty," said Jeckie. - -Palethorpe laughed, and presently handing her the cheque, took her off -to the Old Bank and introduced her to its manager. Half an hour later, -Jeckie, with a virgin cheque-book in her hand, burst in upon Rushie. - -"There now, Rushie!" she said, "didn't I tell you there'd happen be -better times i' store for us. You can drop that sewing--we've done with -it. We'll hand it over to Mrs. Thompson; she'll finish it and be glad o' -the job an' all. But--we've done wi' that." - -Rushie dropped her needle into the folds of the linen and stared. - -"Whatever's happened?" she demanded. "You're all red, like!" - -"Never you mind if I'm blue or green," said Jeckie. "I've made them -Grices pay!--I never told you, but I put t'lawyers on to Albert for -breach of promise. And of course there was no defence, and he's had to -pay, or old George has paid for him, and I've got the money, and it's -safe in the bank!" - -"How much?" asked Rushie eagerly. "A lot?" - -"No, I shan't tell!" replied Jeckie, with a firm shake of her head. -"Then you won't know when father asks, for I certainly shan't tell him. -But now, Rushie, you listen here. Take all this stuff to Mrs. Thompson -and ask her if she'll finish it off. And see to your own and father's -dinner--I shan't be in for dinner; I've important business to see to, -and I shall be out till evening. Now don't go trailing about the town, -Rushie--be a good girl, and you'll hear news when I come home." - -"Then we aren't going to do any more sewing?" asked Rushie. - -"We're going to do no more sewing!" said Jeckie. "Not one stitch! We're -going to do something a deal better. You'll see, if you behave -yourself--and it'll be a deal better, too, nor going 'prentice to Mr. -Fryer." - -She gave her sister a decisive nod as she left the house and the colour -was still bright in her cheeks as she marched off in the direction of a -path across the fields which lay between Sicaster and Savilestowe. It -was but a very short time since she and Rushie and Farnish had come -along that path, carrying their entire belongings in bundles; now, she -reflected, she was retracing her steps with the proud consciousness that -she had fifteen hundred pounds of solid money in the bank--the knowledge -was all the sweeter to her because it had been wrung out of old George -Grice. - -"Aye!" she muttered, as she walked swiftly along over the quiet meadows -and through the growing cornfields. "And now 'at I've got a start, I'll -let George Grice see 'at he's not the only one 'at can play at the game -o' makin' money! He's a hard and a healthy old feller, and he'll live a -good while yet, and I'd let him see 'at I can make money as cleverly as -he's done--aye, and at his expense, too! I'll make him and Albert rue -the day 'at they cast me aside--let 'em see if I don't!" - -The path across the fields led Jeckie out close by Applecroft, but it -was indicative of her mood that she never once turned her head aside to -glance at the old place. She marched straight down the lane, crossed the -churchyard, and presently turned into Stubley's trim garden. It was to -see Stubley that she had come to Savilestowe. - -Stubley, who had just been round his land, was entering his house when -Jeckie came up. He led her inside, and, finding she would drink nothing -stronger brought out a bottle of home-made wine; he himself turned to a -jug of ale which stood ready on the sideboard. - -"And what brings ye here, mi lass?" he asked, eyeing her inquisitively -as he sat down in his big elbow chair. "Ye're lookin' uncommon well." - -"Mr. Stubley," answered Jeckie, "I've come to see you. I've something to -tell you, for you were always a good friend to me. You knew that I was -going to marry Albert Grice, and that him and his father threw me away -when my father came smash. Well, I've made 'em pay! Old George has paid -fifteen hundred pound--and I've got it, all safe, in the bank." - -Stubley's face lighted up with undisguised admiration, and he brought -his big hand down on his knee with a hearty smack. - -"Good lass!" he exclaimed. "Good lass! That's the ticket! An' right an' -all--they tret you very bad did them two! Good, that 'ud make old George -grunt and grumble! But fifteen hundred pound--that's a sight o' money, -mi gel--mind you take care on it." - -"Trust me!" answered Jeckie, with a sharp look, "I know the value of -money as well as anybody. But now, Mr. Stubley, do you know what I'm -going to do with that fifteen hundred pound?" - -"Nay, sure-ly!" said the farmer. "How should I know, mi lass?" - -"Then, I'll tell you," replied Jeckie. She leaned forward across the -table, looking earnestly into Stubley's shrewd eyes. "This!" she said. -"I'm going to start a grocery business here in Savilestowe--in -opposition to Grice and Son! There!" - -Stubley started as if somebody had suddenly trod on a corn. He stared at -his visitor, rubbed his chin, and shook his head. - -"You're a bold 'un!" he said in accents which were not without -admiration. "And a clever 'un, an' all! Aye, there's summat in that -notion, mi lass; old George has had his own way i' this neighbourhood i' -that line too long, and t'place 'ud be all t'better for a bit o' -competition. But--what do ye know o' t'trade?" - -"I know how to buy and sell with anybody," asserted Jeckie. "An' I'm -that quick at picking things up 'at I shall know all there is to be -known before I start. My mind's made up, Mr. Stubley. I've reckoned and -figured things. George Grice isn't popular here, as you know; there's -lots of folks'll give their custom to me. And I'll warrant you I'll have -all t'poor folks away from him as soon as ever I open my doors! He's -been hard on them, and his prices is shameful, and he doesn't lay -himself out to keep what they want; as it is, most on 'em have to go to -Sicaster for their stuff. Now, I'll capture all t'lot of 'em, here and -in this district; I know what they want, and what they can pay, and I'll -provide accordingly. An' I'll cut George Grice's prices wherever I can; -I know what I'm about! An' I'm sure and certain that there's lots o' the -better sort'll give me their trade; you would yourself, now, Mr. -Stubley, wouldn't you?" - -"Aye, I think I can say I should, mi lass!" asserted the farmer. "I'm -none bound to no George Grice; he's a hard, grasping old feller, and -there's no love lost between me and him. But you know ye'd want a likely -shop, and----" - -"That's just what I've come about," interrupted Jeckie. "I want you to -let me that empty house that old Mrs. Mapplebeck had; I know it's -yours, and I know what she paid you for it. Those two bottom front -rooms'll make a splendid shop, and I'd have 'em fitted up at once. Let -it to me, Mr. Stubley, and I'll pay you the first year's rent in -advance, just now." - -Stubley suddenly smote his knee again, and burst into laughter. - -"Good; it's right opposite old George's!" he chuckled. "He'd have -t'opposition shop straight before his eyes, right i' front of his nose! -They talk about poetic justice, what?--now that would be it, wi' a -vengeance. Gow!--I can see t'old feller's face! Ye're a bold 'un, -Jeckie, mi lass, ye're a bold 'un!" - -"Let me the house!" said Jeckie. "It's just because it's in front of -Grice's that I do want it. Don't you see, Mr. Stubley, that one o' my -best chances is to be right before his very door? There's many that set -out to go to him 'ud turn into me when they saw it was better worth -their while." - -Stubley chuckled again at his visitor's eagerness, and suddenly he -pulled up his chair to the table and became serious. - -"Now, then, let's go into matters," he said, gravely. "Ye're a smart -lass, you know, Jeckie, but it's a serious thing starting to fight an -old-established firm like Grice and Son. Let's hear a bit more about -what you propose, like." - -Jeckie wished for nothing better. She talked, and explained, and -outlined her schemes, and pointed out to the farmer, himself a keen man -of business, where Grice & Son were hopelessly out of date and where -she could hope to draw a considerable amount of trade away from them. -She also showed him that she was thoroughly conversant with certain -customs of the trade which she now proposed to take up, and that she had -already made herself acquainted with the methods of purchase from -wholesale grocers and manufacturers. Stubley was struck by her -knowledge. - -"You've been meditating this, mi lass?" he said. "You've been preparing -for it!" - -"Ever since I knew there was a chance of getting money out o' George -Grice, I have!" admitted Jeckie. "As soon as ever Palethorpe and -Overthwaite told me 'at I'd a good case, and that Albert 'ud have to -pay, I determined what I'd do with the money even if it wasn't as much -as it's turned out to be. And I shall do well, Mr. Stubley, you'll see!" - -Stubley let her the house she wanted, and she paid him a year's rent in -advance, and went off, triumphant, to the village carpenter, and, having -sworn him to secrecy, told him her plans and gave him orders for the -fitting up of the two big ground-floor rooms. He, too, got a cheque on -account, and promised to go to work at once and to tell nobody who it -was that he was working for. But he was wise enough to know that such -work as his could not be done in a corner and that there would be -infinite curiosity in the shop across the way. - -"Ye'll none get that secret kept long, ye know, miss," he said. "When -t'Grices sees 'at I'm fittin' yon place up as a shop they'll want to -know what it's all about like. It'll have to come out i'now." - -"Not till I let it!" said Jeckie. "You go on as fast as you can with -your work, and wait till I say the word." - -During the next month the carpenter and his men were busy day by day -with counters and shelving, and George Grice, crossing the road to them -more than once got nothing but evasive replies in answer to his -inquisitiveness. But one day, chancing to look across at the mysterious -building, he saw the carpenter coming down a ladder from the moulding -over the front door; he had just fixed there a great golden teapot. The -strong sunlight fell full on its grandeur, and the village street was -suddenly bathed in glory. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -_The Battle Begins_ - - -Up to that moment George Grice had fondly and firmly believed that he -knew the secret of the house opposite--he was so certain in his -assumption, indeed, that he had taken no particular trouble to get at -the real truth about it. For some time there had been a travelling -draper, a Scotsman, coming into those parts, and doing a considerable -amount of trade; this man had often remarked to the grocer that he had a -rare good mind to set up a shop in Savilestowe, and make it the -headquarters of a further development. He had not been seen in the -neighbourhood since early spring, but George, who prided himself on his -deductive qualities, was sure that he was behind all the preparations -which were going on over the way, and said so, with a knowing chuckle, -to Albert. - -"They're close, is them Scotch fellers!" he remarked, as he and his son -stood at their shop door one afternoon, watching certain material being -carried into the opposite house. "I see how it is--he's doing it all on -the quiet--made t'carpenter keep t'secret till all's ready for opening. -Then he'll be appearin' on t'scene wi' a cargo o' goods. An' I shall hev -no objection, Albert, mi lad--owt 'at keeps trade i' t'village 'll -bring trade to us, as long as it doesn't trespass on our line." - -Once or twice George Grice endeavoured to sound Stubley, as owner of the -house, on the subject of the mystery. Stubley took pleasure in -heightening it, and winked knowingly at his questioner. - -"Aye, ye'll be seeing summat afore long!" said Stubley. "We'm not always -going to be asleep here i' Savilestowe. This is what they call a -progressive age, mi lad, and some of you old fossils want wakenin' up a -bit. We shall be havin' all sorts o' things i' now. You'll have your -eyes opened, Grice. Keep a look out on t'windows opposite--ye'll be -seeing summat in 'em at'll make you think!" - -"Drapery goods, no doubt," suggested Grice. "An' ready-made clothin'. -Happen I can see a bit already." - -"I'm sayin' nowt," retorted Stubley. "Ye'll see summat--i' time." - -But when George Grice saw the golden teapot elevated above the front -door, he experienced very much the same feeling which fills the breast -of a mariner, who, having sailed long in fog and mist, sees them lift, -and finds before him a rocky and perilous coast. Just as a pestle and -mortar denote the presence of a chemist, so a teapot would seem to -indicate the presence of a dealer in tea--and in like commodities. And -it was in something of a cold sweat, induced by anticipation, that he -tucked up the corner of his apron and sallied across the street to find -out, once and for all, what that glaring object meant. - -"Now, mi lad!" he began, coming across the carpenter at the threshold of -the renovated house, "What's t'meanin' o' that thing ye've just fixed -up? It 'ud seem to be a imitation of a teapot, if it owt is owt. What's -it mean, like? What's this here shop going to be?" - -The carpenter, a quiet, meditative man, not without a sense of humour, -had received his instructions from Jeckie the night before--at noon that -day he was to place the golden teapot in position, affix a sign beneath -it, and complete the bold announcement by draping the Union Jack over -both. So there was no longer any need for secrecy, and with a jerk of -his thumb he motioned Grice within one of the newly-fitted rooms, and -pointed to an oblong object which rested, covered with coarse sacking, -on the counter. - -"Mean, eh?" he said, with a laugh. "Why, it means, Mr. Grice, 'at you're -going to hev a bit o' competition, like! They say 'at it's a good thing -for t'community, is competition, so yer mo'nt grummle. But if you want -t'exact meanin'--why, ye can look at this here, if ye like. It'll be up -ower t'door in a few o' minutes, for all t'place to see, but I'll gi' -yer a private view wi' pleasure--very neat and tasty it is. I'm sure -ye'll admit." - -With that the carpenter stripped off the sacking from the oblong object -and revealed a signboard, the background whereof was of a light -apple-green, the lettering in brilliant gold. And Grice took in that -lettering in one glance, and stepped back in sickened amazement. Yet -there was only one word on the sign, only a name--but the name was -"Farnish." - -"Nice bit o' sign-writin', that, Mr. Grice?" said the carpenter, -maliciously. "Done at Clothford, was that theer--so were t'golden -teapot. She'll ha' laid a nice penny out on them two, will Miss -Farnish." - -Grice, who was already purple with rage, found his tongue. - -"D'ye mean to tell me 'at yon woman's going to start a grocery business -reight i' front o' my very door!" he vociferated. "Her! Going to----" - -"Aye, and why not, Grice?" said a hard and dry voice behind him. "D'ye -think 'at ye've gotten a monopoly o' trade i' t'place, or i' t'district, -either? Gow, I think ye'll find yer mistaken, mi lad!" - -Grice turned angrily, to find Stubley standing amongst the shavings on -the floor of the shop. The farmer nodded defiantly as he met the -grocer's irate look. - -"I telled you yer were wrong, Grice, when you turned yon lass off!" he -said. "I telled you to count twenty afore you did owt. Ye wouldn't--and -now she's goin' to make you smart for it. And--it must be a very nice -and pleasant reflection for you!--ye've provided her wi' t'sinews o' -war! That there fifteen hundred pound 'at she made you fork out's comin' -in very useful to t'enemy--what!" - -The deep red flush which had overspread Grice's big face and thick neck -died out, and he became white as his immaculate apron. He gave Stubley a -glare of venomous hatred. - -"So you've been at t'back o' this?" he exclaimed. "It's you 'at's backed -her up? What reight have you to come interferin' wi' a honest man's -trade 'at he's ta'en all these years to build up? Ye're a bad 'un -Stubley!" - -"Nowt no worse nor you, ye fat owd mork!" retorted Stubley, who had -waited a long time to pay off certain old scores. "If there's been owt -bad o' late i' this place, it's been your treatment o' yon lass!--and I -hope she'll make yer suffer for it. Ye'll ha' t'pleasure o' seein' trade -come into this door 'at used to come into yours, Mr. Grice. That'll -touch you up, I know!--that'll get home to t'sore place." - -Grice made another effort to speak, but before words reached his lips -his mood changed, and he turned on his heel and left the house. He went -straight across the street, through the shop, and into his private -parlour. He had a bottle of brandy in his cupboard, and he took it out -and helped himself to a strong dose with a shaking hand. The brandy -steadied him for the moment, but his rage was still there, and had to be -vented on somebody, and presently he opened the door into the shop and -called his son. Albert came in and stared at the brandy bottle. - -"Is aught amiss?" asked Albert. "You're that white." - -George fixed his small eyes on his son's expressionless face. - -"Do you know what that shop is across t'road, and who's going to open -it?" he demanded. - -"Me?--no!" answered Albert. "What is it--and who is?" - -"Then I'll tell yer!" said George in low concentrated tones. "It's a -grocer's shop, and it's yon there she-devil's, Jecholiah Farnish. She -going to run it i' opposition to me, 'at's been here all these years! -An' it's wi' my money 'at it's bein' started--mind you that! Mi money, -'at I've tewed and scratted for all mi life--my fifteen hundred pound, -'at I hed to pay 'cause you were such a damned fool as to gi' that there -ring to her and write her them letters! It's all your fault, ye poor -soft thing--if yer'd never given her t'ring nor written them letters, I -would ha' snapped mi fingers at her! But yer did--and there's t'result!" - -He waved a hand, with an almost imperial gesture, in the direction of -the offending shop across the way, and looked at his son with eyes full -of angry contempt. - -"There's t'result!" he repeated. "A shop reight before wer very noses -'at's bound to do us damage--and all owin' to your foolishness!" - -Albert put a hand to his mouth and coughed. There was something in that -cough that made George start and look more narrowly at his son. And he -suddenly realised that Albert was going to show fight. - -"I'll tell you what it is!" said Albert, with the desperate courage of a -weak nature. "I'm goin' to have no more o' that sort o' talk. You seem -to think I'm naught but a mouse, but I'll show you I'm as good a man as -what you are. You forget 'at I've half o' this business--it's mine, -signed and sealed, and naught can do away wi' that--and me and Lucilla's -got her two thousand pounds safe i' t'bank and untouched--we're none -without brass, and I can claim to have t'partnership wound up any time, -and take my lawful share and go elsewhere, and so I will, if there's any -more talk. I did no more nor what any other feller 'ud ha' done when I -gave that ring and wrote them letters--and I'm none bound to stop i' -Savilestowe, neither. Me an' Lucilla----" - -The door from the shop opened and Lucilla came in--and George saw at -once what had happened. Between his parlour and the shop there was a -hatchment in the wall, fitted with a small window; hastily glancing -round he saw that the window was open; Lucilla, accordingly, her -cashier's desk being close to the hatchment, had heard all that father -and son had said. And there were danger signals in her cheeks as she -turned on the old grocer. - -"No, we're not bound to stop in Savilestowe!" she exclaimed angrily and -pertly. "And stop we shan't if you're going to treat Albert as you do. -You've never been right to him since you paid that money to that woman! -And it's all your fault--you should have paid her something when you -first broke it off; she'd ha' been glad to take five hundred pound then. -And, as Albert says, we've got my two thousand pounds, and his share in -this business, and I'll not have him sat on, neither by you nor anybody, -so there! You stand up to him, Albert. We've had enough of black looks -this last month--it's not our fault if he paid that woman fifteen -hundred pounds!" - -Grice looked in amazement at his muttering son and the sharp-tongued -bride--and in that moment learned a good deal that he had never known -before. - -"An' it were for you 'at I laid out all that brass in furniture, and -bowt a bran' new pianner!" he said reproachfully. "Well!--there's -neither gratitude nor nowt left i' this world!" - -"You leave Albert alone!" retorted the bride, sullenly. "We'll have no -more of it." She drew Albert back into the shop, and George, peeping -through the window of the hatchment saw them standing together in a -corner, talking in whispers. Lucilla wore a determined air, and Albert -nodded in response to all she said--clearly, they were plotting -something. George drew back and picked up his glass--here, indeed, was a -fine situation, opposition across the street, and rebellion in his own -house! And the recollection of a certain look in his daughter-in-law's -eyes frightened him--he had suddenly seen what she was capable of. - -"Nowt but trouble--nowt but trouble!" he muttered. "I should ha' done -better if I'd let our Albert stick to Jecholiah Farnish! But--it's -done!" - -That day the Grice household became divided. George dined alone in his -parlour behind the shop, and the bride and bridegroom in their quarters -upstairs. Father and son only spoke to each other on matters of business -during the day, and when evening came Mr. and Mrs. Albert went off to -the theatre at Sicaster, and left George to his reflections. They were -not pleasant. In his joy at getting rid of Jeckie Farnish and at -providing Albert with a moneyed bride he had been over-generous in the -matter of the partnership, and had presented his son with a half-share -in the business as it stood. And he knew that Albert's was no vain -threat. Albert, if he liked, could have the partnership dissolved at any -time, and could insist on having his moiety paid out to him. Now, -supposing that Lucilla put her husband up to that? Terrible, terrible -trouble!--and there was that she-devil, Jeckie, about to appear on the -scene. - -Jeckie was the first person George Grice saw when he drew up his blind -the following morning. She was at her shop-door, very energetic and -businesslike, superintending the unloading of two great wagon-loads of -goods. The old grocer turned sick with fury when he saw from the signs -on the sides of the wagons that they were from the best wholesale -grocers in Clothford. All that day and all the rest of the week other -wagons and carts arrived. His practised eye saw that the new shop was -going to be as well equipped, if not better, than his own. And as he -noted these things and realised that his carefully built-up business was -in danger, a deep groan burst from his lips, ever and anon, and it -invariably ended up with the bitter exclamation: - -"All bein' done wi' mi money!--all bein' done with mi money! I've found -t'munitions o' battle, and they're bein' used agen me!" - -Grice always paid his employees at noon on Saturday. On the Saturday of -this eventful week when he went out into the stable-yard and handed -Bartle thirty shillings, Bartle quietly handed it back. - -"What's that for?" demanded George, suddenly suspecting the truth. "What -d'yer mean?" - -"'Stead of a week's notice," answered Bartle. "I'm none comin' o' Monday -mornin'." - -"Ye're goin' across t'road!" exclaimed George, with an angry sneer. -"Goin' back to t'owd lot, what?" - -"Aye!" answered Bartle. "Allus meant to, mister, as soon as I knew. -Ye'll have no difficulty about gettin' a man i'stead o' me; there's two -or three young fellers i' t'village 'at'll take it on. But I mun go." - -"All reight, mi lad!" said George. "An' I wonder how long it'll last, -ower yonder! What does she know about t'grocerin' business?" - -"Why, I understand 'at ye didn't nowt about it yersen when you started," -retorted Bartle, who was well versed in village gossip, and knew that -George had begun life as a market gardener. "An' if there's anybody 'at -has a headpiece i' these parts I reckon it's Jeckie. I'm for her, -anyway." - -This was another bitter piece of bread for Grice to swallow, for he knew -that Bartle had picked up a lot of valuable information while in his -employ and would infallibly make use of it. - -"Take care you tell no tales about my business!" he growled as he thrust -the thirty shillings into his pocket and turned away. "There's such a -thing as law i' this land, mi lad!" - -"Aye," said Bartle, with a grin. "You've had a bit o' experience on't o' -late, Mr. Grice, what?" - -The shaft went home, but Grice made no sign that he had received it. -Blow after blow was falling upon him, and he knew there were more to -come. The village folk were by that time conversant with the true -history of the case, and found elements of romance and excitement in it. -Jeckie Farnish had made George Grice pay up to the tune of fifteen -hundred pounds, and she was using the money to beat him at his own -trade! Well, to be sure, everybody must give her a turn. George had had -his way with folk long enough. - -There was a small room over Grice's shop from which he could see all -that went on in the street beneath, and on the Monday morning, which saw -the formal opening of Jeckie's rival establishment, he posted himself in -its window and watched. When Jeckie's blinds were drawn up it was to -display a fine, well-arranged assortment of goods; it was a fine, -gaily-painted cart in which Bartle presently drove off and it was filled -to its edge with parcels. All that morning Grice watched, and saw many -of his usual customers turn into the new shop. Monday was a great -shopping day for the village; by noon he realised that his own trade was -going to suffer. And at night Albert curtly drew his attention to a -fact--at least half of the better class of customers had not sent in -their weekly orders; instead of there being thirty to forty lists to -make up in the morning there were no more than fifteen. - -"They're going across there!" muttered Albert significantly. "They say -her prices are lower." - -Grice got an indication of Jeckie's game next day, when the squire's -wife sailed into the shop carrying a smartly-got up price list in her -hand with the name, Farnish, prominent on its blue and gold cover. She -tackled George in person, wanting to know how it was that Miss Farnish's -prices were in all cases below his own, and suggesting that he should -come down. Grice grew short in temper and reply, and the squire's wife, -remarking airily that every one must have a chance, walked out and went -over the road. The wives of the vicar and the curate had made a similar -defection the day before, and that evening the one-time monopolist -foresaw a steady fall in his revenues. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -_The Iron Rod_ - - -There were more reasons than one for the first gush of customers to -Jeckie Farnish's smart new shop. One of them George Grice had foreseen -as soon as his eyes fell on the golden teapot and the new sign novelty. -Folk would always go to whatever was fresh, he said; only time would -tell if the influx of trade to the new-comer would be kept up. But of -other reasons he knew little. One was that he himself was unpopular in -the village; he had abused his monopoly; more than once he had refused -temporary credit to old customers who wanted it for a week or a -fortnight until funds came in; he had a bad reputation for over-ready -recourse to the County Court; he had sold up one man for a debt which -might have been paid by instalments; he charged top prices for -everything, and was not overscrupulous as to weights and measures. At -least two-thirds of the village population found it a thing of joy to -turn cold shoulders to the old firm and walk defiantly into the -opposition establishment. - -But there was another reason for Jeckie's popularity of which Grice knew -less than he guessed at the second of the causes of his sudden loss of -trade. Jeckie was becoming a strategist; quick to see and realise the -possibilities of her campaign, and astute in looking ahead. And two days -before the formal opening of her shop she marched up the village in her -best clothes, her cheque-book in one pocket, and well-filled purse in -the other, bent on doing something which, in her well-grounded opinion, -would establish her in high favour. Farnish owed money in Savilestowe; -she was going to pay his debts. Not the big ones, to be sure, she said -to herself with emphasis; they could go by the board. The money-lender -and the landlord and such-like could whistle for their money as far as -she was concerned. But the debts in the village were small things--a few -pounds here, a few there; a few shillings in one case, a few more in -others. Thirty pounds, she had ascertained, would cover the lot. The -blacksmith wanted something, and the miller, and the landlord of the -"Coach-and-Four"; two or three people wanted the reimbursement of money -lent; there were even labourers to whom Farnish was in debt for small -amounts. All this she was going to clear off; otherwise, as she well -knew, she would have had the various creditors coming to her shop and -suggesting that they should take out the amount of their debts in tea -and sugar, bread and bacon. - -She turned in first at the blacksmith's, who, it being Saturday -afternoon, was smoking his pipe at the door of his house and enjoying -the cool breezes which swept over the meadows in front. Under the -impression that Jeckie had come touting for custom, he received her -grumpishly, and eyed her with anything but favour. - -"Now then, Stubbs!" said Jeckie, in her sharpest manner. "My father owes -you some money, doesn't he?" - -"Aye, he does!" growled the blacksmith. "Nine pound odd it is, and been -owin' a long time. An' I would like to see t'colour on it, or some on -it; it's hard on a man to tew and slave and loise his brass at t'end o' -his labours!" - -"You're going to lose naught," retorted Jeckie. "Get inside and write me -a receipt. I'll pay you. And you'll understand 'at it's me 'at's payin' -you--not him! He's naught to pay you with, as you very well know. But I -reckon it'll none matter to you who pays, as long as you get it!" - -"Aw, why, now then!" said the mollified creditor. "That's talkin', that -is! No, it none matters to me. An' I tak' it very handsome o' you; and I -wish yer well wi' t'shop, and I shall tell my missus to go theer." - -"You'll find I can do better for you than Grice ever did," said Jeckie, -as she followed him into his cottage and drew out her cheque-book. -"You'll save money by coming to me. There's a price-list. You look it -over and you'll see 'at I'm charging considerably less nor Grice does, -and for better quality goods, too." - -"Now, then, ye shall have my custom!" said the blacksmith. "I'm stalled -o' George Grice. He's nowt but a skinflint, and we had some bacon thro' -him none so long sin' at wor fair reisty." - -Jeckie handed over her cheque and took her receipt, and went on her way. -It was a way of triumph, for not one of Farnish's Savilestowe creditors -had ever expected to get a penny of what was owing, and unexpected -payments, however much they may be overdue, are always more welcome than -the settlement of a debt which is certain. Jeckie went away from each -satisfied creditor conscious that she had made a friend and a regular -customer; she had laid out twenty-eight pounds and some shillings by the -time she returned home. Never mind, she said to herself, she would soon -have it back in profits. And Farnish would now be able to walk abroad in -the village, knowing that he owed nothing to any fellow-villager. As to -his bigger creditors, let them go hang! - -During the week, furniture, just sufficient to satisfy mere necessities, -had arrived at the house, and had been disposed in certain rooms by -Jeckie and Rushie, and on the Saturday night, acting on his daughter's -orders, Farnish, having finished his week's work at the Sicaster -greengrocer's, came creeping into the village after dark, cast a longing -eye on the red-curtained windows of the "Coach-and-Four," and slunk into -his daughter's back premises. His spirits had been very low during this -home-coming; they rose somewhat on seeing that a thirteen-gallon cask of -ale stood in the pantry adjoining the kitchen in which his supper was -set for him, but became anxious and depressed again when he also saw -that the key had been carefully removed from the brass tap. He foresaw -the beginning of strict allowance, and of ceaseless scheming on his part -occasionally to gain possession of that key. Now and then, he thought, -Jeckie would surely forget it, and go out without it. It was painful, in -Farnish's opinion, to ask a man to live in the house with a locked beer -barrel and led to exacerbation of proper feelings. - -Jeckie gave him a pint of ale and a hot supper that night, and presented -him with a two-ounce packet of tobacco. And, when Rushie had gone into -the scullery to wash up the supper things, she marshalled Farnish into a -certain easy chair by the corner of the hearth, and proceeded to lay -down the law to him in no purposeless fashion. - -"Now then, I want to have some talk to you," she said, sitting down -opposite him and folding her hands in her apron. "We're going to start -out in a new way, and everybody about me's going to hear what I've got -to say about it. You'll understand that this is my house, and my shop, -and my business--all mine! I'm master!--and there'll nobody have any say -in matters but me. Do you understand that?" - -"Oh, aye, I understand that, reight enough, Jecholiah, mi lass," -answered Farnish. "Of course I never expected no other, considerin' how -things is. And I'm sure I wish you well in t'venture!" - -"I shall do well enough as long as I'm boss!" said Jeckie in her most -matter-of-fact manner. "And that I will be! I'll have no interference, -either from you or Rushie. As long as you're both under my roof, you'll -just do my bidding. And now I tell you what you'll do. You may as well -know your position first as last. And to start with, I've paid off -every penny 'at you owed i' this place--nearly thirty pounds good money -I've laid down in that way this very afternoon!--so you can walk up -t'street and down t'street and feel 'at you owe naught to nobody. And -you'll have a deal o' walking to do, for you can't expect me to throw my -money away on your behalf wit'out doin' something for me i' return, so -there!" - -"I'm sure it were very considerate on yer, Jecholiah," said Farnish -humbly. "An' I tak' it as very thoughtful an' all. Willn't deny 'at it -were a sore trouble to me 'at I owed brass i' t'place. An' what might -you be thinkin' o' puttin' me to, now 'at I am here, like?" - -"I'm going to tell you," answered Jeckie. "All's ready to open on Monday -morning. Me and Rushie'll attend to the shop; Bartle'll go out with the -horse and cart; I've got a strong lass coming in that'll see to the -house and the cooking. You'll help wi' odd jobs in the shop, and you'll -carry out light goods and parcels in t'village. It'll none be such heavy -work, but it must be done punctual and reg'lar--no hangin' about and -talkin' at corners, and such like--we've all got to work, and to work -hard, too!" - -"I'm to be fetcher and carrier, like," said Farnish. "Aye, well, mi -lass, it's not t'sort o' conclusion to a career 'at I aimed at, but I -mun bow down to Providence, as they call it. Beggars can't be choosers, -no how!" - -"Who's talkin' about beggars!" retorted Jeckie impatiently. "There's no -beggars i' this house, anyway. Beggars, indeed! You'll never ha' been -so well off in your life as you will be wi' me!" - -"Do you say so, Jecholiah?" asked Farnish timidly. "I'm very glad to -hear it, I'm sure. How shall I stand, like, then?" - -"You'll stand like this," replied Jeckie. "There's a good and -comfortable bedroom all ready upstairs; this place'll be more -comfortable nor aught we had at Applecroft when all's put to rights in -it; there'll always be plenty to eat, and good quality, too; I shall let -you have two pints of beer a day, and give you two ounces of tobacco -every Saturday. And once a year you shall have a new suit of good -clothes, and your underwear as it wants replacing. I'll see 'at you want -for naught to fill your belly and cover your back. If that isn't doing -well by you, then I don't know what is!" - -"Well, I'm sure it's very handsome, is that, Jecholiah," said Farnish. -"It's seems as if I were to be well provided for i' t'way o' food and -raiment. But how will it be now"--he paused, and looked at his -daughter's erect and rigid figure with a furtive depreciating -glance--"how will it be now, mi lass, about a bit o' money? Ye wouldn't -hev your poor father walkin' t'street wi'out one penny to rub agen -another, I'm sure? A man, ye see, Jecholiah, has feelin's!" - -Jeckie's lips tightened. It had been her intention, in laying down a -code of rules to Farnish, to tell him that he was not going to have -money. But as he spoke, a thought came into her mind--if she kept him -penniless, he would certainly do one of two things, possibly both; -either he would borrow small sums here or there, or he would pilfer from -the till and pocket payments from chance customers. Once more she must -look ahead. - -"I'll tell you what I'll do," she said suddenly. "I'll give you--" then -she paused, made some more reflections and calculations, and reckoned up -to herself what precise amount of mischief Farnish could do with the -amount she was thinking of--"I'll give you seven shilling a week for -spending money--I know well enough there's naught on earth'll stop you -from dropping in at t' 'Coach-and-Four,' and a shilling a day's enough, -and more than enough, for you to waste there. But I'll give you fair -warning--if I hear o' you borrowing any money, or running into debt, at -t' 'Coach-and-Four,' or elsewhere, or hanging about publics when you -ought to be at your job, I shall stop your allowance--and so there you -are!" Farnish, on his part, made a swift calculation. A shilling a day -meant three pints of ale at fourpence a pint. He was to have two pints -at home--very well, five pints would do nicely. He waved a magisterial -hand. - -"Now, then, ye shall have no cause to complain, Jecholiah," he said. -"It's as well to know how we stand, d'ye see, mi lass? It's none so much -t'bit o' money," he continued, still more magisterially, "it's what you -may term t'principle o' t'thing. A man mun stand by his principles, and -it's agen mine to walk about t'world wi' nowt i' my pocket! It's agen -t'Bible, an' all, Jecholiah, as you may ha' noticed i' readin' that good -owd Book--there's two passages i' that there 'at comes to my reflection -at once. 'Put money in thy purse,' it says i' one place, and 'The -labourer is worthy of his hire' it remarks in another. An' I wor browt -up to Bible principles--mi mother were a very religious woman--she were -a chappiler!" - -"I don't believe it says aught at all i' t'Bible about puttin' money i' -your purse," said Jeckie contemptuously, "and if your mother was as -religious as you make out, she should ha' taught you something 'at is -there--'Owe no man anything!' Happen you never heard o' that?" - -"Now, then, now then!" answered Farnish. "Let's be friendly! There's a -deal said i' t'Bible 'at hes dark meanin's--I've no doubt 'at t'real -significance o' that passage is summat 'at ye don't understand, mi -lass." - -"I understand 'at nobody's going to run up debts while they're under my -roof," declared Jeckie. "You get that into your head!" - -Farnish retired to his comfortable bedroom that evening apparently well -satisfied with his position, and when he had left them Jeckie turned to -her sister; it was as necessary to have a proper understanding with -Rushie as with their father. And Rushie was amenable enough; the -prospect of selling things in the smart new shop, and of conversations -with customers, and of all the varying incidents in a day's retail -trading, appealed to her love of life and change. Jeckie's proposals as -to finding her with board, lodging, and all she wanted in the way of -clothes and shoe-leather, and giving her a small but sufficient salary, -satisfied her well. But at the end of their talk they hit on a -difference of opinion. - -"And now about that Herbert Binks," said Jeckie suddenly. "He's after -you, Rushie, and you're a fool. He's naught but a draper's assistant, -when all's said and done. I'll none have him coming here. What do you -want wi' young men?" - -Rushie began to pout and to look resentful. - -"He's a very nice, quiet, respectable young man, is Herbert," she said, -half angrily. "And if he is a draper's assistant, do you think he's -always going to be one? He has ambitions, has Herbert, and he aims at -having a shop of his own." - -"Let him get one, then, before he comes running after you!" retorted -Jeckie. "Young men of his age has no business to think about girls--what -they want to think about is making money." - -"Money isn't everything!" said Rushie. - -"Isn't it?" sneered Jeckie. "You'll sing another tune, my lass, when -you've seen as much as I have! I know what money's meant to me, and what -it's going to mean, and I'll take good care none goes by me so long as -I've ten fingers to lay hold of it with!" - -It needed no observation on the part of Rushie or of Farnish to see that -Jeckie had made up her mind to seek the riches of this world. She was up -with the sun, and still out of her bed long after the others had sought -theirs; she did the work of three people, and never allowed herself to -flag. She taught herself book-keeping, and practised correspondence till -she could write smart business letters; before long she purchased a -typewriter and mastered its intricacies; she had no time to read the -local newspaper any longer, but she read the "Grocer" with eagerness and -avidity, and became as glibly conversant with prices as any of the -travellers who called on her for orders. A sharp, shrewd woman she was -to deal with, said the gentlemen amongst themselves; sharper, far, than -old Grice across the way, and certain to rob him of most of his trade. -And some of them, who did little business with him, and could well -afford to be shyly mutinous at his expense, were not slow to poke fun at -George about his rival and her capabilities. - -"Sad thing for you, Mr. Grice," they would say, with a wink at the -golden teapot on which the sun contrived to focus its rays all day long. -"Smart woman across there, sir!--ah, great pity you couldn't amalgamate -the two businesses, Mr. Grice. Doing well over there, sir, I -believe--knows what she's about! Place too small to carry two good -businesses like yours and hers, Mr. Grice--ought to come to some -arrangement, sir--limited liability company now, Mr. Grice, what?" - -All this was so much gall and wormwood to George Grice, who had an -additional cause of intense and mortifying annoyance in a certain habit -of Jeckie's which, he said, could only have been developed by a woman -who was both a Jezebel and a devil. Every now and then, in the full -light of day, Miss Farnish would leave her own shop, stroll calmly -across the street, and insolently and leisurely inspect George Grice & -Son's newly-dressed windows. She would note down all their prices on a -scrap of paper--and then she would go back. And within half-an-hour the -same goods which Grice's were offering would be in the Farnish -windows--with all the prices cut down to figures which made George -despairing and furious. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -_The Eternal Feminine_ - - -All unknown to George Grice, there was a certain young person in his -immediate surroundings who was watching the course and trend of events -with a pair of eyes which were at least as keen as his own. His -daughter-in-law had come to her new life armed with a goodly stock of -common sense and no small share of the family characteristics of love of -money and astuteness in getting it. Lucilla, indeed, was a worthy -daughter of her father, the draper, who was as much of a money-grubber -as his brother of Savilestowe, and had implanted in his children--all -girls--a thorough devotion to Mammon. The draper had played no small -part in engineering the marriage between Lucilla and Albert. Having read -the letter which Albert brought him from George, he had conducted -Lucilla into privacy and set forth certain facts before her. One, that -his brother George was a very warm man, a very warm man indeed, with the -true instinct for scraping money together and sticking to it when it was -scraped. A second was that he was now an elderly man, of a plethoric -habit, and could not, in all reason, expect to live so very much longer. -A third was that Albert was an only child and would accordingly come -into his father's property and business; a fourth, that the property -was considerable and the business a monopoly. And the fifth, and not -least important one, was that Albert was the sort of fellow that any -woman could twist round her finger and tie up to her apron strings. - -Lucilla made up her mind there and then, and skilfully detaching Albert -from her two sisters, to whom she and her father said a few words in -private, led him through the by-ways of love to the hymeneal altar. When -she had safely conducted him there, she took stock of the new world in -which she found herself. A close inspection of her father-in-law -convinced her that George Grice had a decided tendency to apoplexy, and -might be seized at any time. She foresaw great things for Albert and -herself--a few years more of monopolistic trading in Savilestowe, and -they would be able to sell the business and goodwill for a handsome sum -and retire, to be lady and gentleman for all the rest of their lives. -This was Lucilla's ambition. It had been hers when she helped her father -in his drapery stores; it remained hers when she began to post up her -father-in-law's account-books. Linen and lace, bacon and bread were not, -in themselves, objects of interest to Lucilla; they were means to an -end. The end was a genteel competency in a smart villa residence, with -at least a good horse and a showy dog-cart, two maids, and real silver -on the dinner table. - -But when the golden teapot rose across the street, set high above the -arch of Jeckie Farnish's front door, a flaming reminder to George Grice -that the enemy's outworks had been pushed close to his citadel, Lucilla -began to foresee much. Her brain was small but sharp, and she had been -trained in a shrewd school. It needed little reflection to show her that -her father-in-law's monopoly was in a fair way of being broken down, and -that Albert's partnership in George Grice & Son was not worth as much as -it had been when he and his father set their signatures to the deed. -Before the first week of the rival's campaign was over, Lucilla, as -bookkeeper, was aware of some stern facts. She drew Albert's attention -to them during the temporary absence of old Grice from the shop. - -"Look here!" she said, pointing to some figures on a sheet of paper. -"The takings for this week are not one-third of what they were last -week! That's as regard the cash trade. And look at that!" she went on, -indicating a row of small account-books. "Where there used to be -thirty-three of those, there's now only seventeen. That means that -sixteen good customers, who used to pay their accounts weekly, have gone -over yonder. She's driving her knife in pretty deep, Albert, is that old -flame of yours!" - -Albert had been obliged to tell Lucilla of his former attachment; having -secured Albert for herself, she had paid little attention to it; she -also had had sweethearts in her maiden days. True, she had felt a sense -of great injury when Jeckie Farnish got her fifteen hundred pounds, but -she had made up her mind that that was never to be brought into account -against Albert--George Grice had broken off the match and he must pay. -And her last remark was more jocular than reproachful--something in her -made her see the humour of a situation in which George was getting the -worst of it. - -"Now you reckon up, Albert, and just see for yourself what a falling off -like this is going to mean at the end of the year!" she continued. -"You'll find it'll be a nice round sum." - -Albert, who was not behindhand at mental arithmetic, nodded. - -"Aye," he said. "But--will it last? I expected naught else this -week--folks will go to aught that's new. But a lot of 'em'll come back." - -"Will they?" demanded Lucilla, with a certain grimness of aspect. "We'll -see!" - -There was a note in her voice which seemed to suggest that she had -considerable doubt about Albert's optimism, and as time went on her own -fears proved to have been well grounded. The truth was, as Lucilla knew, -that George Grice & Son had become old-fashioned. George had got into a -rut, and nothing could lift him out of it. Instead of laying in what his -customers wanted, or developing new lines of trade, he went on in the -way to which he had become accustomed, dealing with the same firms, -driving away travellers who wanted to introduce new goods, refusing to -march with the times. And nobody knew this better than Jeckie Farnish, -who welcomed anything new and up-to-date, studied the likes, pleasures, -and convenience of her customers in everything, and, in her shop and in -all her dealings, cultivated a suavity and charm of manner which -sometimes made Farnish and Rushie wonder if she were the same woman to -whose sharp tongue and hard words they were not infrequently treated. - -"You take good care never to speak to customers as you speak to me," -remonstrated Rushie on one occasion. "You're as mealy-mouthed as ever -they make 'em when you're in t'shop, even if it's in servin' naught but -a pennorth o' pepper! It's all smiles and soft talk then--t'customers is -fair fawned on when you're behind t'counter!" - -"I'm makin' my money out o' customers!" retorted Jeckie. "I'm makin' -none out o' you, mi lass. I should be a fool, an' all, if I didn't do a -bit o' soft sawderin' to folks 'at brings brass i' their hands. Pounds -or pence, politeness is due to all. It costs naught." - -There was more gruffness than politeness across the way, and at the end -of six months Lucilla knew that George Grice and Son were seriously -affected. Certain old customers had stuck to the old firm; certain of -the village folk still came in at the door; there were others who -continued to trade with the Grices because they were in debt to them and -were paying by instalments. But Lucilla knew--for she kept the books. -And without saying anything to Albert, she formed plans and ideas of her -own which eventually developed into a project, and one winter afternoon, -when George and his son had gone to Clothford on business which required -their joint presence, she boldly walked across the street, and, entering -the rival establishment, marched calmly up to the mistress at the cash -desk. - -"Good afternoon, Miss Farnish," she said, in as matter-of-fact tones as -she would have employed if she had called in to change a sovereign into -silver. "Can I have a word or two with you? You know me, Miss -Farnish?--Mrs. Albert Grice." - -For once in her life Jeckie was taken aback. She stared at her visitor -as if Lucilla had been one of the animals from the menagerie just then -being shown at Sicaster, and the vivid colour which always distinguished -her healthy cheeks deepened. In silence, and with a glance at Rushie, -who was staring open-mouthed at Mrs. Albert, she left the cash desk and -ushered the caller into the parlour. - -"What do you want?" she demanded with asperity. "I'm busy!" - -"You're always busy," said Lucilla. "Anybody can see that. But you'll -spare me a minute or two, I'm sure, and I'll sit down, if you please, -Miss Farnish," she went on, when Jeckie had ungraciously indicated the -chair and had taken one herself--to sit on the extreme edge of it in a -severely rigid and disapproving attitude. "Miss Farnish, there's no need -for you and me to be enemies, whatever you may be with the men opposite. -I'd naught to do with what happened between you and the Grices. I never -knew that you and Albert had been engaged when he came to our house at -Nottingham. I never knew till we were married. What I know is that I -brought Albert Grice a couple of thousand pounds, and that me and my -father expected I was marrying into something that was worth having!" - -"Isn't it?" demanded Jeckie, with a grim face. - -"It's not going to be if things go on as they are!" answered Lucilla, -with obvious candour. "I'm all for plain speaking, and truth, and seeing -things as they are, I am! And what's the use of endeavouring to conceal -things, Miss Farnish? I've kept the books across there ever since I came -to this place, and I know how George Grice & Son is situated." - -"Well?" said Jeckie, grim as ever. "Well?" - -"Well," answered Lucilla, "I should think the plain truth's obvious to -anybody that has eyes! Their trade's falling off. Of course, you know -that as well as I do. You've got what they've lost. I don't see any use -in concealing matters; their turn-over this year'll not be half of what -it was last year. Now, Miss Farnish, I put it to you--how long's this -going to last?" - -Jeckie shifted her stiff position, and began to grow interested. - -"I don't know what you mean," she said. - -"Why, I mean this," replied Lucilla. "I've been brought up to business, -and I know what I'm talking about. Here's two businesses in one place, -covering the same district--rival businesses. The probability is that -things have got to a settled point now--you've established your -business, and very quick, too, and George Grice & Son, if they've lost -what you've gained, have got a certain number of customers that'll stick -to them. You'll not get any farther in one way and they'll not go -farther in the other. Now, what foolishness to have two such businesses -in one place, trying to cut one another's throats! Why not come to -terms, Miss Farnish? Amalgamate!--that's what's wanted. Call it Farnish -& Grice, or Grice & Farnish. Turn the two firms into a limited liability -company, if you like, but bring them together! That's what I say, -anyway." - -"Who sent you?" asked Jeckie. - -Lucilla stared. - -"Sent--me?" she exclaimed. "Lord, do you think anybody sent me? What, -old Grice? or Albert? I should like to see either of 'em send me about -anything! No, I came on my own hook. They don't know. It's my idea. -But--if you'd agree to what I say I would bring them to it, both of 'em. -Albert, of course, he'd do just what I told him to do, and as for his -father, well, I could talk him round. But what do you say?" - -For the first time since her visitor had entered the parlour Jeckie let -her stern features relax into a smile. It was the sort of a smile which -might overspread the face of a conqueror who, having his enemy at his -feet, is asked, suddenly, to let him off, unscathed. - -"What do I say?" she said. "Why, I say 'at you don't know me, or else -you'd never come here with such a proposal! Lord bless you! I wouldn't -have aught to do with George Grice were it ever so! Why should I? I've -not been seven month at this business, and I've made it pay. Aye, nobody -but myself knows how well, for all I've cut prices to the last extent. -And this is naught to what I intend to do. I'm servin' a radius o' five -miles now, but it'll be ten next year. I'm not going to content myself -with Savilestowe, you make no mistake! An' you started out by saying, -how long's this going to last? I'll tell you how long it's going to -last. It's going to last till I've done what I aimed at doing when I -started!" - -"And what's that?" inquired Lucilla. "What did you aim at?" - -"I aimed at forcing George Grice to put up his shutters!" answered -Jeckie, in harsh, tense tones. "And--I'll do it!" - -Lucilla rose from her chair, staring at the stern eyes and hard mouth. - -"Oh, well, in that case," she said, "of course, if you're feeling that -way, there's no more to be said about it, and I shall know what to do." - -"And what's that?" demanded Jeckie, who was still inquisitive. "What -will you do?" - -"That's my business," answered Lucilla. "However, I'm obliged to you for -making things plainer. I shall know better what course to take. And, as -I said, there's no reason why you and me should be enemies; I've nothing -against you. I reckon you're doing your best for yourself. So am I!" - -Jeckie asked no more questions, and Lucilla marched calmly back across -the street, and spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening making -a minutely close and accurate examination of the books of George Grice & -Son. And that night, in the security of their own parlour, where she and -her husband spent all their leisure now that there was a coolness -between George and herself, she gave Albert definite orders as to the -future. It was in his power to dissolve the partnership and to claim -his share at any moment. The moment, in Lucilla's opinion, was at hand. -Next year, by that time, the goodwill of the firm would not be worth -anything like so much as it was then. The year after that it would be -worth still less. In three years, said Lucilla, it would be worth just -nothing. Albert gave in, only stipulating that Lucilla should break the -news to George and do all the talking. Lucilla was as ready for this as -for her breakfast, and within a month George had paid Albert out with -six thousand pounds, and stood in his shop a lonely and sour-mouthed -man. - -It was about this time that Jeckie also came to the waters of -bitterness, if not of actual tribulation. Rushie led her to them. In -spite of all that her elder sister could say, Rushie would not give up -the society and attentions of Mr. Herbert Binks. Herbert was one of -those young men who part their hair in the middle, use much pomatum, and -are never seen out of doors without gloves; he also wore a tailed coat -and a top-hat on Sundays. His chief ideas were centered in the drapery -trade, but he was of an innocently amorous nature, and Rushie considered -him a perfect gentleman. Not even Jeckie could prevent these two meeting -on Sunday afternoons, and as Jeckie would not admit Herbert to her -house, he and Rushie took to having tea together at the -"Coach-and-Four," whence they invariably proceeded to evensong at the -parish church and sang out of the same hymn-book. It was a mark of -respectability to go to church, said Herbert, and stood you well in -with customers. But the expenditure at the "Coach-and-Four" roused -Jeckie's contempt, and hardened her against Rushie's young man. - -"A nice sort o' feller you've got!" she said, with one of her grim -sneers. "Spending what bit of money he's got in teain' at t' -'Coach-and-Four' every Sunday! I know what they'll charge him for your -teas! Ninepence each--such extravagance! Eighteenpence every Sunday. -That's three pounds eighteen shillings a year--enough to buy him a new -suit o' clothes or you a new gown! And I'll lay my lord must do the -grand and put a sixpence in t'plate when you go to church--just to look -fine. That's another six-and-twenty shillings! You might as well tell -him to chuck his brass i' t'horsepond!" - -"We don't have tea at the 'Coach-and-Four' every Sunday in the year!" -declared Rushie. "And Herbert doesn't give sixpence at church--he keeps -threepenny bits for that. And there'd be no need to have tea at all at -the public if you'd behave as you ought and ask him here! But I shall be -having a house of my own some day--you'll see!" - -"And a fine place it'll be, out o' two pounds a week!" sneered Jeckie. -"Nay, I'd ha' summat better nor a feller 'at measures tape and sells -pins and needles. Isn't there two or three young fellers abaht 'at has -brass? I'd say naught if you'd tak' up wi' young Summers, for -instance--he's been looking like a sheep at you this long while, and -he's a rare good farm and money i' plenty." - -"Never you mind!" retorted Rushie. "Herbert hasn't got a head like a -turnip nor a face like a cake with raisins in it. Make up to young -Summers yourself!" - -Rushie, it was clear, was sentimentally and badly in love with the -pomatumed Herbert. But Jeckie had no belief that it would ever come to -anything serious until she awoke one morning to discover that her sister -had risen much earlier and had departed to Sicaster, where by that time -she had become Mrs. Binks. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -_Humble Pie_ - - -Those who were in close touch with Jeckie Farnish on the day of her -younger sister's revolt and defection had far from pleasant moments. She -drove her father and shop boys about with harsh and impatient words; she -was curt and dictatorial with Bartle, one of those conscientious and -faithful souls to whom any reasonable employer would have found it -impossible to attribute laxity; for the first time since commencing -business she was short-tempered with some customers, snappish with -others, and openly rude to one or two whose trade was a matter of -complete indifference to her. The truth was that Rushie's clandestine -marriage had upset more than one of Jeckie's best-laid plans. She had no -wish to take in an outsider as principal assistant--outsiders, in her -opinion, were never to be trusted, and it was repugnant to her to think -that a smart young shopman (for saleswomen were not known in those days) -should learn any of the secrets which had already begun to accumulate -about the Farnish establishment. Yet the business had already assumed -such proportions that assistance was necessary, and Jeckie's first -impression was that she would only get it from some young jackanapes who -would want the usual wages (or, as he would call it, salary) of his -degree, and from whom she would be unable to keep those private details -which she had no objection to share with her sister. It was, she -considered, a gross piece of ingratitude that Rushie should have -preferred Binks to her own flesh and blood, and she made up her mind to -say so, plainly and emphatically as soon as the culprit came once more -within reach. - -But for several days Jeckie had to cherish her wrath in silence and in -secret. Rushie and her bridegroom took a short and economical honeymoon -at Blackpool; they had been back in Sicaster for forty-eight hours -before Jeckie heard of their return. Within an hour of hearing it, -however, she appeared at Mr. Herbert Bink's lodgings; it was then nearly -noon, and the bridegroom was at his place of employment; the bride, -unfortunately, was discovered in idleness, reading her favourite form of -fiction, a cheap novelette. She paled and reddened alternately at sight -of Jeckie who had cleverly gained admittance without notice, and walked -in upon her like an avenging goddess, and her eyes went straight to the -cheap clock over the mantelpiece. It was twenty minutes to twelve; and -Herbert would not be home until five minutes past; for twenty-five -minutes, then, she would have to put up with Jeckie's tantrums. And -Jeckie left her no doubt as to what they were to be. - -"So this is what you've come to already, my fine madam!" began the elder -sister. "Lying there on a sofa, in cheap lodgings, readin' trash in -t'very middle o' the day, when you might ha' been and ought to ha' been -at honest work--you'll come to find work i' t'poorhouse before you've -done! Such idle, good-for-naught ways!" - -"You mind what you say, Jecholiah Farnish!" retorted Mrs. Binks. "My -husband'll be home before long, and if he catches you----" - -"If I'd a husband," said Jeckie, with a contemptuous snort, "I'd be -cooking his dinner again his comin' home. But such as you----" - -"There's no need to cook our dinner," broke in Mrs. Binks. "Until we -start a house of our own, we board and lodge, so----" - -"A house o' your own!" exclaimed Jeckie. "When and where are you like to -get a house o' your own--a twopenny-halfpenny draper's assistant and an -idle wench like you, 'at spends her time readin' that soft stuff? You'll -be as poor as church mice all t'days o' your life! He'll never be no -more than a shopman at two or three pounds a week--where does such like -start houses o' their own? Do you know what you've thrown away, you -ungrateful thing?" demanded Jeckie, who was now in full torrent and -meant to go on her way unchecked. "If you'd stopped wi' me, your lawful -sister, and had done your duty, an' behaved yourself, and kept of all -such softness as men and marryin', and shown yourself fit for it, I'd -ha' taken you in partnership! An' by the time we'd come to middle life -we could ha' done what you'll see I shall do--retire wi' a fortune, and -take a fine house at Harrigate or Scarhaven, and keep servants, and have -a carriage and pair, and t'best of everything! You've given up all that -for this--poor, struggling folk you'll be, all your lives, while I grow -up as rich as Creesees, whoever he may ha' been, and happen I shall be a -deal richer. All that for a draper's shop-lad!" - -"He isn't a draper's shop-lad!" retorted Mrs. Binks, with some spirit. -"And him and me loves each other, and----" - -"You gr'et soft thing!" exclaimed Jeckie, contemptuously. "Love, -indeed!--that's all because you've been wed inside a week! Wait till -you've gotten a pack o' screaming childer about you, and you -draggle-tailed and down at heel, and see how much you'll talk about love -i' them days! You're a fool, Rushie Farnish, and you'll come to rue----" - -"My name isn't Farnish!" said Mrs. Binks, "and if Herbert was here, he'd -put you out o' this room, and----" - -The bride came to a sudden stop. Mr. Binks, impatient to rejoin the -recently-secured object of his affection, had contrived to get away from -his employer's shop a quarter of an hour earlier than usual, and he had -been listening at the keyhole for the last few minutes, his landlady -having told him that Miss Farnish had gone up to see her sister. And now -he stepped into the room, looking as important and dignified as such a -very ordinary young man could. And, not unnaturally, he fell into the -language of the drapery department in which he served. - -"Oh!" he said. "Miss Farnish, I believe? And what can we have the -pleasure of doing for you, ma'am? No previous favours received from -your quarter, I believe, Miss Farnish? No transactions between us -before--eh, ma'am?" - -Jeckie favoured her brother-in-law with a withering glance. - -"You impudent young counter-jumper!" she answered. "What do you mean by -running away with my sister?--a feller that sells pennorths o' tape and -papers o' pins! Answer me that!" - -"Better sell anything, Miss Farnish, than be sold up!" retorted Mr. -Binks with a grin. "I think that was what had just happened to your -family when I first became acquainted with it." - -"That's it, Bert!" said Mrs. Binks, glad to give Jeckie something in -return for all the scoldings that she herself had suffered. "She's been -going on at me dreadfully!" - -Jeckie pulled herself up to her full height, and slowly looked from -bride to bridegroom. - -"I know what you've married on," she said, her voice becoming as calm as -it had previously been furious. "You're young fools, and you'll find it -out. Don't you ever come to me for anything; if you do you'll find -yourselves shown the door! So there; and I've no more to say." - -Mr. Binks rubbed his hands. - -"That's well, ma'am!" he remarked, almost gaily. "For our bit of -dinner's ready downstairs. And you can go away, ma'am, assured that -Rushie and me ain't afraid of nothing. You see, we prefer love to money, -though we intend to do pretty well in that way, all in good time. No -offence, ma'am, but we ain't going to be bullied by you or anybody. -If," he concluded, as he opened the door for Jeckie with mock -politeness, "if you'd come to our little shop intending to do business -on pleasant and friendly lines we might have established a connection, -but as you ain't, well, all I've got to say, Miss Farnish, is--nothing -doing!" - -He felt very proud of himself, this sandy-haired, snub-nosed, -commonplace young man, as he uttered this sarcasm; he knew, somehow, -that he had got the better of this terrible Jecholiah. And suddenly, as -Jeckie was passing through the door, he had an inspiration, and felt it -to be clever, very clever. - -"But we ain't above or below playing the coals-of-fire game, Miss -Farnish," he said. "You wouldn't ask me into your house to as much as a -cup of tea, but if you like to stop you're welcome to your share of as -nice a bit of steak and onions as ever you set tooth into! Say the word, -ma'am, and take it friendly." - -But Jeckie was marching down the stairs in dead and gloomy silence and -Mr. Binks turned to his bride. - -"I did it proper there, old woman!" he said. "Hand o' friendship, and -that sort o' thing--what? Her own fault if she wouldn't take it." - -"She's as hard as iron," answered Rushie. "Come down, Bert; the -dinner'll be getting cold." - -Jeckie drove away from Sicaster feeling that Mr. Binks had somehow got -the best of her. He had certainly not been frightened of her; he had -poked fun at her. Worst of all, he had actually offered her hospitality, -and had been serious when he offered it. And Rushie, when it came to -it, had not been afraid of her either. She was surprised at that. Rushie -had always been subservient, even if she had occasionally protested. The -fact was that Jeckie had driven into the market town under the -impression that the erring pair, having irretrievably committed -themselves, would beg her forgiveness, and ask her to help them with -money so that Binks could set himself up in business. Now Binks's -attitude, from the time he walked into the sittingroom to the moment in -which he invited her to the steak and onions, was that of cheerful -independence. It was beyond Jeckie, who was no psychologist; all that -she realised was that though bride and bridegroom knew her to be already -a well-to-do tradeswoman they defied her. - -She was defied again before night fell, and by her own father. Farnish, -so far, had kept his compact with his elder daughter. He was, in fact, -in better circumstances than he had ever been in his life. He slept in -comfort; he ate and drink his fill at Jeckie's well-provided table; his -allowance of money was sufficient to provide him with a few additional -glasses of ale at the village inn; moreover, it was added to by -occasional tips from the people to whom he carried the Farnish goods. He -was waxing fat; he wore a good suit of clothes on Sundays; something of -the glory which centered in his successful daughter shone around him, -for, after all, he was the parent of the woman who had beaten George -Grice and was becoming a power in the village. All this gave him a -certain feeling of independence, but there had been no evidence of any -Jeshurun-like spirit in him until the evening of the day on which Jeckie -paid her visit to the Binks's. Then certain words from Jeckie aroused -it. - -"There's something I've got to say to you," said Jeckie, suddenly, as -she and Farnish sat by the domestic hearth that night after supper. "You -know what our Rushie's gone and done?--made a fool of herself?" - -"I have been duly informed o' what she's done, Jecholiah," answered -Farnish. "As to whether she's made a fool of hersen, I can't say. From -what bit I've seen o' t'young feller, he seems a decent, promisin' sort -o' chap, and earns a very nice wage at t'drapery business. An' there -were a man I met t'other day, a Sicaster chap, 'at telled me 'at this -here Binks and our Rushie were very much in love with each other, to all -accounts, so let's hope it'll come out well." - -"Fiddle-de-dee!" sneered Jeckie. "A draper's shopman, earnin', happen, -two pound a week! I've been to see 'em to-day and told 'em my mind. I -know what they'll be after--they'll be comin' to me for money before -long. There'll be bairns comin'--poor folks always has 'em where rich -folks won't--and they'll turn to me as t'best off relative they have--I -know!" - -"Why, why, mi lass!" said Farnish. "I'm sure ye'd none see yer own -sister want for owt i' circumstances like them theer. Flesh an' blood, -ye know." - -"Flesh and blood must agree wi' flesh and blood," retorted Jeckie -stolidly. "Our Rushie's set me at naught--me that's done so much for -her! She's defied me--and I'll have naught no more to do with her. If -she'd been a good gal and behaved herself I'd ha' made a lady on her. -But it's done--and neither her nor that counter-jumper's going to darken -my doors. And I said I'd a word to say to you, and I'll tell you what it -is--I'm not going to have you going there. Don't let me hear tell o' you -going to them Binkses, or you an' me'll quarrel. Now then!" - -Farnish, who was smoking his after-supper pipe in the easy chair which -was his special seat, stared at his daughter for a while in silence. -Then he suddenly rose from his place, knocked out the ashes from his -pipe, put his hands in his pockets, and shook his head. - -"Nay, nay, mi lass!" he said. "Ye're none going to force that on me, -neither! I made a bargain wi' you when ye set up this business o' yours, -and I've kept it, and you've nowt to complain on, I'm sure, for if ye -had had owt I should ha' heard yer tongue afore now. But I'm not going -to be telled 'at I'm not to go near mi own dowter! I shall go an' see -our Rushie just as often as ever I please, and if it doesn't suit you, -why, then ye can find another man to tak' my place. I'm willin' to go on -as we have been doin', but if we part I can find work elsewheer. Don't -you never say nowt no more to me o' this sort, Jecholiah, or else ye'll -see t'back side o' my coat!" - -With that Farnish turned and went off to bed, and Jecholiah stared after -him as if he were some wonderful stranger whom she had never seen -before. For the second time that day she, the rising and successful -tradeswoman, had been defied by poor folk. She ate a considerable amount -of humble pie before she laid her head on her pillow that night, and -next morning she said no more to her father, and matters went on as -usual. - -There was another person in Savilestowe who, like Jeckie, was eating -humble pie, in even larger slices, about that time. George Grice, left -alone since Albert's defection, saw his trade decline more and more. -Jeckie, wherever she got it from, had a natural instinct for attracting -custom, and an almost uncanny intuition as to suiting their tastes. By -that time nearly all the big houses in the neighbourhood were on her -books, and the smart cart driven by Bartle had become two. Rushie was -replaced by an experienced assistant, carefully selected by Jeckie out -of many applicants; two apprentices were taken in; Bartle had another -man to help him, and Farnish became foreman of several errand boys. All -this meant that trade was steadily flowing from Grice on one side of the -street to Farnish on the other. Old George used to stand in his window -and watch his former customers pass in and out of the door beneath the -golden teapot. His first anger and resentment changed slowly to a -feeling of mournful acquiescence in fate, and two new lines were added -to those already set deeply on each side of the tight lip. But a new -anger arose one morning, when, chancing to gaze across the street, he -saw the smart dog-cart which Albert and Lucilla had set up at their -villa residence just outside the village arrive at Farnish's, and -Lucilla herself descend, bearing in her hand a sheet of paper and her -purse. George knew what that meant; his daughter-in-law, who up to that -time had traded with him, for very decency's sake, was now going to try -the opposition shop. He turned away full of new resentment and -mortification. - -"Nay, nay," he muttered. "That beats all! One's own flesh and blood! But -I might ha' seen how it would be ever since yon young hussy cheeked me -to my face wi' her two thousand pound! And I mun think--I mun think! Am -I done, or am I not done? That's the question!" - -Over his gin-and-water--of which he now, in his solitude, took an -increased amount every evening--old George thought hard that night. -Between periods of thought he had periods of consultation with his -account-books, his banker's pass book, his securities (carefully locked -up in a special safe) and with various memoranda relating to the -business and private property. When all was over he went to bed, and lay -awake half the night, still thinking; he continued to think during most -of the next day. And the result of all this thought was that, a night or -two later, when shops had closed, darkness fallen, and most of the -Savilestowe folk abed, George Grice slunk across the street to his -rival's private door. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -_The Triple Chance_ - - -At the beginning of her venture Jeckie had spent all her energies on the -business part of her establishment, and had laid out very little money -on the furnishing of the private rooms. A living room for meals, -bedrooms for herself and Rushie and their father, had seemed to her -sufficient for first needs; additions could come later, if the business -prospered. The business had prospered, and there came a time when she -determined to have at least a parlour into which the better class of -customers could be shown if they wanted to see her, as they sometimes -did, in private. Accordingly, she gave orders to the best firm of -furniture dealers in Sicaster to fit up a room at the side of the house -in handsome, if solid, style, having previously had it, and a lobby -adjoining it, painted and decorated in corresponding manner. The door of -the lobby opened on a little side garden; she ordered it to be painted a -rich dark green, and had it fitted with a fine brass knocker which one -of the shop-boys kept so constantly polished that its refulgence -exceeded that of the golden teapot at the front of the house. It was to -this door that George Grice stole, and at this knocker that he sounded -his summons, and the time was half-past nine at night. - -Jeckie--alone, for Farnish had already retired--wondered who it could be -that came knocking there at that late hour. She picked up a hand-lamp -and went round to the lobby and opened the door; the light of the lamp -fell full on George Grice's round face, and on a certain sheepish and -furtive look in his eyes. He lifted his slouched straw hat, and even -smiled faintly, but Jeckie frowned in ominous fashion. - -"What do you want?" she demanded in her least gracious manner. She had -never heard Grice's voice since the afternoon, now long since, on which -he had ridden away from Applecroft, turning a deaf ear to her prayers, -but she remembered it well enough, and she knew that there was a new -note in it when he spoke, a note of something very like meekness, if not -of positive humility. - -"I could like a word or two wi' you, if you please," said Grice. "A word -i' private." - -Jeckie knew from the very tone that this man who had once thrown her -aside like an old glove, and whom she had fought with the fierceness and -tenacity of a tiger, had come to acknowledge himself defeated. Without a -word she motioned him to enter, closed the door, led him into the new -parlour, lighted a handsome standard lamp that stood on the table, and -pointing him to a chair, took one herself and stared at him. - -"Well?" she said. - -Grice drew out a big handkerchief and mopped his bald head; it was an -old trick of his, well remembered by Jeckie, whenever he was moved or -excited. - -"I made a mistake i' your case," he answered, almost dully. "I--I didn't -know it at the time, but I know it now--to my cost." - -"Aye, because I've taught you to know it!" said Jeckie. "I've bested -you!" Grice looked at her, furtively. He had some knowledge of human -nature, and he suddenly realised the woman's hard, determined spirit. - -"If I'd ha' known," he burst out suddenly, "what make of woman you are, -I'd ha' taken good care that things turned out different! If you'd -married our Albert--aye, things would indeed ha' been different! But I -went on t'wrong side o' t'road--and he married that niece o' mine, 'at's -now made him turn agen' his own father, and I'm left there--alone!" - -"Your own fault!" said Jeckie. "Who made your bed but yourself?" - -"That makes it no better," replied Grice. "Nay, it makes it worse! I've -borne more nor I ever expected to bear. This--(he waved his hand around -as if to include his rival's establishment and trade)--this is t'least -of it. You fought me fair and square, no doubt; and I'm beaten. But -there's a thing I can suggest, even at this stage." - -"What?" demanded Jeckie, who was watching him keenly. "What?" - -Grice put both hands on his knees and bent forward to her. - -"I'm still a well-to-do man," he said, in a low, terse voice. "Accordin' -to some standards, I'm a rich man. I had a reckonin' up t'other night -o' what I were worth. If I'd to die now I should cut up well. You'd be -surprised. And I shan't leave a penny to my son! My son, Albert -Grice--not a penny!" - -Jeckie continued to stare at him; herself silent, her face fixed. She -saw that her beaten rival had still a lot more to say, and that left to -himself he would say it. - -"Not one penny to him!" continued Grice with emphasis. "For why? I'll -not say 'at if he were a single man or a widow man I shouldn't. But he's -wed and to my niece, and after what I've experienced at her hands I'll -take care 'at she handles no more money o' mine. It were her 'at forced -Albert to dissolve partnership wi' me. I had to pay him out wi' a lot o' -money. But they'll never see another penny of what I've got! An' as I -said just now, I'm worth, first and last, a good deal." - -Jeckie suddenly opened her tightly-shut lips. - -"How much?" she asked quietly. - -Grice gave her a quick look; from her face his eyes wandered to the door -of the parlour, which Jeckie had left open. He suddenly rose from his -chair, tiptoed across the floor, and looked out into the lobby. - -"There isn't a soul in the house but Farnish, and he's fast asleep, -t'other side of the shop," said Jeckie, laconically. "But you can shut -the door if you like." - -Grice shut the door, slid back to his chair, and once more looked at -her. - -"Five and twenty thousand pound, at least," he said in a whisper. "One -thing and another, five-and-twenty thousand pound!" - -Jeckie watched him steadily through another period of silence. - -"What did you come here for?" she suddenly demanded. "It wasn't for -naught, I'll be bound! You'd an idea in your head!" - -Grice leaned an elbow on the table, and began to tap the smart cloth -with his thick fingers. - -"An idea, aye--a suggestion," he answered, his small eyes still set on -the woman who sat bolt upright before him. "And I'll put it to you, -Jecholiah, for I know--and I wish I'd known sooner!--'at you're as keen -on brass as what I've always been. It's this here, i' one -word--marriage!" - -Jeckie heard, without moving a muscle of her face nor relaxing the -steady stare of her eyes. - -"You an' me," she said in a low voice. "You and me--that's what you -mean, Grice?" - -"Me an' you," asserted Grice, nodding his bald head. "Me an' you--that -is what I mean, and I've thought it out careful. Look here! I'm a -certain age, but I'm a strong and well-preserved man, and worth at -least--only at least, mind you--five-and-twenty thousand pound. Now -then, this here business o' yours--and well you've conducted it!--is -worth a lot already, goodwill, stock i' hand, and so on. Mine's still -worth a good deal--old established, and I've one trade 'at you haven't -touched--hay and corn merchant--'at's as good as ever. Now I haven't -counted my businesses in that five-and-twenty thousand pound. An', do -you see, supposin' you and me were to sell our businesses to a limited -liability company, I know how and where they could be sold, and if you -want to know, to one o' them firms o' that sort 'at's takin' over -village businesses and transformin' 'em into big general stores. If, I -say, we were to do that, d'ye see what a lot o' money we should have -between us? And--you'll already have saved a good deal, I know!" - -"Well, and what then?" asked Jeckie. There was not a trace of anything -but hard business dealing in her voice, and her face was as fixed as -ever. "What then, Grice?" - -Grice put his head on one side, and seemed to be making some mental -reflections. - -"Taking one thing with another," he said, "what I have, what I can get -for my business; what you have, what you can get for this place, I -reckon we should be uncommon well off. We'd marry, and take a nice -house, wherever you like, and keep a smart trap and horse." - -"Smarter than your Albert's?" interrupted Jeckie with a sneer so faint -that Grice failed to see it. "What?" - -"Aye, a deal!" asserted Grice. "And we'd show 'em how to do it! -Albert'll none ever touch a penny o' mine, now! Say the word, and it -comes off, and I'll make a will i' your favour as soon as we're wed! -What say you?" - -Jeckie, still upright and rigid, sat staring at him until he thought she -would never speak. Suddenly she rose, moved to the door, and beckoned -him. - -"Come here, Grice!" she said. - -Grice rose and followed her round the end of the lobby into a passage -which led to the shop. She opened a door, lighted a lamp, and, standing -in the middle of the place, pointed round the heavily-stacked shelves -and counters. - -"You want to know what I say, Grice?" she said in low, incisive tones -that made the old man's ears tingle. "I say this! Did ye ever see your -shop stocked like mine, did you ever do as much trade as I'm doing, did -you ever take as much brass over your counter in a fortnight as I take -in a week? Never! An' I started all this wi' your money--it was your -money that gave me my chance o' revenge. An' when I got that chance I -said to myself that I'd never rest, body or soul, till I'd seen your -shutters come down, and I never will! Go home!" she concluded, moving -swiftly across the shop, and throwing open the street door. "Go -home!--I'd as lief think o' marryin' the devil himself as o' weddin' a -man like you--I shall see you pull your shutters down yet, and--I shall -ha' done it!" - -Grice went out into the night without a word, and Jeckie stood in her -doorway and watched him march heavily across the road. When he had -disappeared within his own door, she closed hers, picked up a couple of -sweet biscuits out of an open box as she crossed the shop, and went -upstairs, munching them contentedly. And not even the delight of revenge -kept her from sleep. - -There were other men in Savilestowe who had eyes on Jeckie Farnish with -a view to marriage. In spite of her strenuous pursuit of money she kept -her good looks; continuous work, indeed, seemed to improve them, and if -there was a certain hardness about her she remained the handsomest woman -in the village. And not very long after her dramatic dismissal of the -old grocer she was brought face to face for the second time with the -necessity of making a decision. Calling on Stubley one day to pay her -rent, the farmer, after giving her a receipt, turned round from the old -bureau at which he had written it, and, leaning back in his elbow chair, -gazed at her critically. He was a fine-looking, well-preserved man, a -bachelor, more than comfortably off, and something in his eyes brought -the colour to his tenant's cheeks. For one second she forgot her -hardness and her ambitions and felt, rather than remembered, that she -was a woman. - -"Well, mi lass!" said Stubley. "And how long's this to go on?" - -"How long's what to go on?" asked Jeckie. - -"All this tewin' and toilin' and scrattin' after brass?" he said, with a -half-amused, half-cynical laugh. "You've been at it a good while now, -and you've about done what ye set out to do. Grice'll none keep his -shutters up much longer. They say his takings have fallen to naught." - -"I know they have," assented Jeckie with a flash of her keen eyes. "He's -scarce any trade left." - -"Aye, and you have it all, and I'll lay aught you've already made a nice -little fortune for yourself!" continued Stubley. "So--why go on? What's -the use of wasting your life, a handsome woman like you? There's -something else in life than all this money-making, you know, lass. Sell -your business--and live a bit!" - -"Live a bit?" she said. "I--I don't know what you mean?" - -Stubley waved his hand towards the window. There was a beautiful and -well-kept garden outside, and beyond it a wide stretch of equally -well-kept land. And Jeckie knew what the gesture meant. - -"You know me," he said quietly. "Here's t'best farm-house and t'best -farm in all this countryside. There's naught wanting here, mi lass--it's -plenty ... and peace. And there's no mistress to it, and naught to -follow me, neither lad nor lass. Say the word, and get rid o' yon shop, -and I'll marry you whenever you like. And--you'd never regret it." - -Jeckie stood up, trembling in spite of her strength. She thought of the -hard, grinding, sordid, unlovely life which she was living in the -pursuit of money, and then of what might be as mistress of that fine old -farm and wife of an honest, good-natured, dependable man. But as she -thought, recollection came back to her--a recollection which was with -her day and night. She saw herself standing in the empty, stockless fold -at Applecroft, watching George Grice drive away, deaf to her entreaties -for help. The old demon of hatred and determination for revenge, and the -lust for money and power which had sprung from his workings, rose up -again and conquered her. - -"No," she said, turning away. "I can't! I'm obliged to you, Mr. -Stubley--you're a straight man, and you mean well. But--I can't do it! -I've set myself to a certain thing, and I must go on--I can't stop now!" - -"What certain thing, mi lass?" asked Stubley. "What're you aimin' at?" - -Jeckie looked round her, at the old furniture, the old pictures and -framed samplers on the walls of the farm-house parlour, and from them to -Stubley, and her eyes grew deep and sombre. - -"I'm going to be the richest woman in all these parts!" she whispered. -"I've set my mind to it, and it's got to be. I've no time to think of -men--I'm after money--money!" - -Then she turned and went swiftly out, leaving the farmer staring after -her with wonder in his eyes. And he shook his head as he picked up the -cheque which she had just given him and locked it in his bureau. He was -thinking of the times when Jeckie Farnish could not have put her name to -a cheque for a penny piece. But now-- - -There was yet one more man who wanted to marry the determined, -money-grubbing woman. Bartle, who had seen Jeckie Farnish every day of -his life since he had first come, seeking a job, to her father's door, a -lad of fifteen, and who had served her like a faithful dog from the -beginning of her big venture, came to feel that with him it was either -going to be all or nothing. He had developed into a fine, handsome -fellow, whose steadiness was a by-word in the village; in looks and -character he was a man that any woman might well have been proud of. And -one Sunday, having occasion to see Jeckie about some business of the -ensuing morning, he suddenly spoke straight out, as he and she stood -among the flowers in her garden. - -"Missis!" he said, his bronzed cheeks taking on a deep blush. "There's a -word I mun either say or burst--I cannot hold it longer! I been i' love -wi' you ever sin I were a lad, and you a lass, and it grows waur and -waur! Will you wed me?--for if you weern't missis, I mun go!" - -Jeckie looked at him, and knew the reality of what he had said. And for -a moment she felt something remind her that she was a woman--but in the -next she had steeled herself. - -"It's no good, lad!" she said softly. "No good! Put it away from you." - -Bartle turned white as his Sunday shirt, but he stood erect. - -"Then you mun let me go, missis, and at once," he said huskily. "I've -saved money, and I'll go a long way off--to this here Canada 'at they -talk about. But go I will!" - -He came to say good-bye to her three days later, and Jeckie put a -hundred pounds in banknotes into his hand. It was the only deed of its -sort that she ever wanted to do, but Bartle would have none of it. His -eyes looked another appeal as he said his farewell, and Jeckie shook her -head and let him go. And so he went, white-faced and dry-eyed, and with -him went the last chance of redemption that Jeckie Farnish ever had. She -had sold herself by then, body and soul, to Mammon. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -_Dead Men's Shoes_ - - -Had George Grice but known it, the defection of his daughter-in-law, -Lucilla, to the rival establishment across the street had more in it -than appeared on the surface. Lucilla, after much worry and anxious -thought, had come to the conclusion that there was no more to be got out -of Albert's father. She had grown doubtful, not very long after her -marriage, about the old man's financial position. George, when the bride -and bridegroom had fairly settled down, had begun to throw out hints -that her portion--two thousand pounds good money--ought to be sunk in -the business, and when she had objected, saying that she preferred to -control it herself, had grown grumpy and sullen. Then there had been -difficulties about paying Albert out of the business when the dissension -took place. George had put every obstacle possible in the way, and had -delayed settlement until he was forced to it. Finally, he had forbidden -Albert and Lucilla to darken his doors again, and the break-up of family -ties had seemed complete. But, Lucilla had kept her eyes and ears open, -and had seen and heard how the old man's business fell off; and, getting -a purely feminine intuition that George was going steadily downhill and -only keeping open out of sheer obstinacy and pride, she formed the -opinion that he was by no means as well-off as was fancied, and, -therefore, worth no more consideration. Hence the grocery book went no -more to Grice but to Farnish. It was a final sign of complete -separation, wholly due to Lucilla, who, in addition to other things, was -actuated not a little by womanish spite and malice. George had told her -a few plain truths to her face when the rift opened, and she had no -objection to give him a few kicks behind his back. If she had had -positive knowledge that the old man was wealthy she would have taken -good care to keep in with him, but she had formed the impression that he -was on his last legs, and that she and Albert would, from one cause or -another, never benefit by him again. - -As for Albert, he was now a gentleman; that is to say, he was a -gentleman in the sense in which gentility is understood by village folk. -He had nothing to do, and money to do it on. He and Lucilla dwelt in a -villa residence on the roadside between Savilestowe and Sicaster; the -villa was a pretentious affair of red brick with timber facings, there -was a white door with an ornamental black knocker, a flower garden with -rustic seats in front, a kitchen garden behind, and in a screened yard a -coach-house and a stable with a smart dog-cart in one and a good cob in -the other. There were two maidservants in the kitchen, and a pet dog in -the parlour; in the dressing-room was Lucilla's chief solace, a piano, -not so good, to be sure, as that which old George had bought her (that -still remained, with the suite of furniture, in the room over the -Savilestowe shop), but more showy in appearance. Lucilla ran the entire -establishment--everyone in it, from Albert to the pet dog, was under her -thumb. Albert read the newspaper after breakfast. He was then allowed to -walk into Sicaster and look round the bar-parlours, but it was a strict -commandment that he was never to drink anything but bitter beer, and -only a little of that. In the afternoon he drove Lucilla out in the -dog-cart. In the evening there was another newspaper to read, and he was -allowed two glasses of gin-and-water before retiring to rest. It was a -simple life, and Lucilla, who managed all the money matters, saved money -every year. - -Meanwhile old George went his way. It was a way of solitude, but he kept -along its centre, looking neither to right nor left. He sold his -hay-and-corn business, and devoted himself to the shop. A certain number -of his old customers remained loyal to him; there was always sufficient -trade to warrant him in keeping open, but in time he could comfortably -do all the counter work himself, and his staff was cut down to an errand -boy. He had plenty of time to talk to customers now, and, as they -chiefly consisted of garrulous old women, he lounged a good deal over -his counter. What affected him chiefly was the evening solitude, and, at -last, after his fateful interview with Jeckie Farnish, he broke through -the rule of a lifetime, and began to frequent the parlour of the -"Coach-and-Four" every night, making one of a select circle wherein sat -the miller, the butcher, the blacksmith, and the parish clerk. After a -few experiences in this retreat he found himself cordially welcomed, -for, having his own intentions as regarded the disposal of his money, he -was liberal in spending it on liquor and cigars; nay, more, he actually -got back some trade by this new departure, for, as the miller said, it -was only reasonable that as Mr. Grice was so friendly and sociable-like -they should go back to the old shop. For that George cared little by -that time. What he chiefly valued was sympathy, and he quickly found -that he could get plenty of it by handing round the cigar-box and paying -for his cronies' gin-and-water. - -"I reckon ye've been uncommon badly treated, Mr. Grice!" said the -butcher as the five chief frequenters of the bar-parlour sat together in -an atmosphere of cigar smoke and unsweetened gin one night. "It's a nice -game, an' all, when a man's attained to t'eminence 'at you had i' this -here place, when an upstart comes in and cuts him out! I should feel it -mysen, I should indeed, wor it me!" - -"Mr. Grice," observed the parish clerk, "has borne it all wi' Christian -fortitude, gentlemen. My respects, sir; you haven't fallen off i' my -estimation, Mr. Grice--nor, I'm sure, i' that of any of the rest of -these here gentlemen." - -There was a general murmur of assent; the fact was that old George had -shown himself particularly lavish that evening in insisting on paying -for everything, saying that it was his birthday. - -"Aye, there's a deal i' Christian fortitude," remarked the blacksmith. -"It's one o' them horses 'at'll carry a man a long way wi'out brakkin' -down; it 'ud weer out a good many shoes would that theer. Ye been well -favoured to be endowed wi' such a quality, Mr. Grice." - -"Now then!" said George, mollified and pleased. "Now then, say no more -about it! I hev mi faults, and I hev mi qualities. I could say a good -deal, but I'll say naught. All on us hes crosses to bear, and I've borne -mine, patient. An' I hope all them 'at's deserted me for never mind -who'll never have cause to regret it. But i' mi time, 've give away a -deal i' charity i' this place--ask t'parson if he ever knew me not to -put mi hand i' mi pocket whenever him or his lady, or t'curate come -wantin' summat for coals, and blankets, and t'clothing fund and -such-like--and I don't hear 'at a certain person ever gives a penny!" - -"None she!" exclaimed the miller. "She's as hard as one o' t'stones i' -my mill--and if there's owt i' this world 'at's harder, I could like to -hear tell on it! No, she'll none give owt away, weern't that! She's set -on makkin' all t'brass 'at she can, and what she scrapes together she'll -stick to. All t'same, I don't think you'll put your shutters up yet, Mr. -Grice, what?" - -"Not while I can draw breath!" answered Grice, with a grim look. "She'll -none beat me at that, I can tell yer!" - -He had made up his mind on that point after Jeckie Farnish had motioned -him away from her shop-door on the night of his strange proposal to -her. Let come what might, he would keep down the shutters to the very -end--they should never be put up until they were put up some day to show -that he was dead. Customers or no customers--he would keep the old shop -open. There would have to be a day, of course, whereon he would be -unable to tie on his apron and take his stand behind the counter, but -until that day came.... - -The day came with sudden swiftness. One morning the woman who did George -Grice's housework arrived to find the doors open, an unusual thing, for -he usually came down to let her in. She walked through the kitchen into -the parlour, and found him lying back in his elbow-chair at the table, -dead and cold. The gin and the cigars were on the table; on the carpet -at his feet lay an old account-book which he had evidently been reading -when death came upon him; it referred to the days wherein the firm of -George Grice & Son had been at the height of its prosperity. So Grice's -last thoughts in this world had been of money. - -The woman followed the instincts of her sort, and after one horrified -glance at the dead man, ran out into the street, eager to spread the -news. The first person she set eyes on was Jeckie Farnish, who, always -up with the sun, was standing in the roadway outside her shop, -vigorously scolding one of her shop-boys for his carelessness in -sweeping the sidewalk. Upon her objurgations the woman broke, big with -tidings and already half breathless. - -"Miss Farnish! Eh, dear--such a turn as it's given me!--Miss Farnish! -There's Mr. Grice--there in his parlour--sittin' i' his chair, Miss -Farnish, an' wi' his bottle o' sperrits i' front o' him, and all--such -an end, to be sure!--and dead--aye, and must ha' died last night, for -he's as cowd as ice. An' will you come back wi' me, Miss Farnish?--I'm -fair feared to go in agen by misen!" - -Jeckie turned and looked down at the woman--a little wizened -creature--with an incredulous stare. - -"What do you say?" she demanded sharply. "Grice? Dead?" - -"Dead as a door-nail, Miss Farnish, as sure as I'm here--and sittin' i' -t'easy chair at his table----" - -Jeckie looked round at the offending shop-boy; even then she considered -her own affairs first. - -"You get another pail o' water, and swill them flags again this minute!" -she commanded. "And mind you do it right, or else----" - -She broke off at that, and without another word to the agitated woman -who was staring at her with affrighted eyes, marched straight across the -street, through George Grice's yard and in at the side-door of the -house. She knew her way about that house as well as its late master, and -she turned at once into the parlour in which she had never set foot -since that morning, years before, on which she had gone there to beg -Grice's help. She saw at one glance that Grice himself was now beyond -all human help, and for a moment she stood and looked at his dead face -with keen, critical eyes. Death, instead of smoothing the lines of his -naturally sly and crafty countenance, had deepened them; it was not a -pleasant sight that Jeckie looked at. And the woman, who had crept in -after her, spoke in a half-frightened whisper. - -"Lord save us!--he don't mak' a beautiful corpse, trew-ly, does he, Miss -Farnish?" she said. "He looks that hard and graspin', same as he did -when a poor body wanted summat and----" - -"He must have had a stroke and died in it," remarked Jeckie, in -matter-of-fact tones. "And I should say, as he died all alone, 'at -there'll have to be an inquest, so don't you touch aught 'at there is on -that table. You go round and tell the policeman to come here at once for -he'll have to let the coroner know. Don't say aught to anybody else till -he's been, and I'll go and send one of my lads for Mr. Albert." - -The woman hurried away, and Jeckie, waiting there with the dead man -until the policeman arrived, hated him worse than ever. For she had -never seen the shutters go up in his lifetime--he had held out to the -end, and cheated her of her cherished revenge. Yet never mind--the Grice -business was over; that she knew very well; henceforth she was a -monopolist. And when the policeman had come and had taken charge of -matters, she went across to her stables, where her van-man was just -putting a horse into a light cart. - -"Here!" she said, "you're going up to t'top o' t'village, Watkinson. -Drive on, as soon as you've delivered those parcels, to Mr. Albert -Grice's--tell him his father's dead." - -The old man opened his mouth and stared. - -"What, t'owd man, missis?" he exclaimed. "Nay!--I seed him all right -last night." - -"He's dead," repeated Jeckie, turning unconcernedly away. "Tell Mr. -Albert he'd better come down." - -Albert came within an hour, and Lucilla with him, and the smart cob and -smart dog-cart were housed in the dead man's stable. Presently, he -himself was laid out in decency on his own bed, and all the blinds were -drawn, and the shutters were up in the shop, and Albert and Lucilla, -having found George's keys, began to go through his effects. But before -they had fairly entered on this congenial task, interruption came in the -shape of a Sicaster solicitor, Mr. Whitby, accompanied by a well-known -Sicaster tradesman, Mr. Cransdale, who drove up in a cab, evidently in -haste, and walked uninvited into the house, to find Albert and Lucilla -busied at the dead man's desk. Whitby immediately pulled out some -papers. - -"Good morning, Mr. Grice--good morning, Mrs. Grice," he said, with a -certain amount of disapproval shown behind a surface pleasantness. -"Busy, I see, already! I'm afraid I must ask you to hand those keys over -to us, Mr. Grice, and to leave all my late client's effects to the care -of Mr. Cransdale and myself--we're the executors and trustees of his -will----" - -"What?" exclaimed Lucilla, whose tongue was always in advance of her -husband's. "Then he made a will?" - -"Here's the will," answered Whitby, producing a document and folding it -in such a fashion that only the last paragraph or two could be seen. -"There is the late Mr. George Grice's signature; there are the -signatures of the witnesses, and there--you may see that much--is the -clause appointing Mr. Cransdale and myself executors and trustees. All -in order, Mr. Grice!" - -"What's in the will?" demanded Lucilla. - -"All in good time, ma'am!" responded Whitby. "You'll hear everything -after the funeral. In the meantime--those keys, if you please. Now," he -continued, as Albert sullenly handed over the keys, "nothing whatever in -this house will be touched--no papers, no effects, nothing! You -understand, Mr. and Mrs. Grice? Mr. Cransdale and I are in full power. -We shall arrange everything." - -"So you turn my husband out of his father's house!" exclaimed Lucilla -indignantly. "That's what it comes to!" - -"I don't think he troubled his father's house very much of late," said -Whitby dryly. "But I repeat--Mr. Cransdale and I are in full power. -After the late Mr. Grice's funeral the will shall be read." - -Albert and Lucilla had to retire, and they spent the next three days in -wondering what all this was about. Lucilla's father arrived from -Nottingham on the evening before his brother's obsequies; he, too, was -full of wonder. He was as busy a man as George had been in his palmiest -days, and knew little of what had been going on at Savilestowe. And when -his daughter told him the story of recent events he frowned heavily. - -"It'll be well if you haven't made a mistake, my girl!" he said. "My -brother George was as deep and sly as ever they make 'em. The -probability is that he'll cut up a lot better than you think, in spite -of everything. You should have kept in with him, whatever came. You wait -till that will's read, and I hope you and Albert won't get a nasty -surprise!" - -Lucilla was surprised enough when she saw the curious assemblage which, -duly marshalled by Whitby, gathered together in the dead man's parlour, -after he himself had been laid in the grave, which many years before had -received his wife's body, and was surmounted by a handsome and weighty -obelisk, whereon his own name was now to be cut in deep gilt letters. -There were the relatives; herself, her husband, her father; there were -also the vicar, the squire, and Stubley, the last three all plainly -wondering why they were asked to be present. But their wonder was not to -last long. In five minutes the will had been read and everybody there -had grasped the meaning of its provisions. George Grice had left -everything of which he died possessed in trust to Whitby and Cransdale, -who were to realise the whole of his estate, and with the proceeds to -build and endow a cottage hospital at Savilestowe, to be known forever -as the George Grice Memorial Home, and the vicar, the squire, and -Stubley were asked to co-operate with the trustees in carrying out the -initial arrangements. For anything and anybody else--not one penny. - -When all was done Lucilla's father drew Whitby aside. - -"Between you and me," he said, with a knowing look, "what might my -brother's estate be likely to come to?" - -"As near as I can make out," answered Whitby, "about thirty thousand -pounds." - -The inquirer followed his daughter and Albert out of the house, and gave -them a good deal of his tongue on the way home, and for once in her life -Lucilla had nothing to answer. Moreover, she now foresaw trouble between -her and Albert. - -And that afternoon, before leaving the village, the executors and -trustees of George Grice deceased walked across the street to see Miss -Jecholiah Farnish. Their conversation with her was of a brief sort as -far as time was concerned, but its upshot was of an important nature. -Jeckie agreed, there and then, to buy the goodwill of the business which -she had set out to ruin, and she took care to get it dirt cheap. - - -END OF THE FIRST PART - - - - -_Part the Second: FALL_ - - - - -CHAPTER I - -_Avarice_ - - -Five years after George Grice had been gathered to his fathers, by which -time Jeckie Farnish had achieved her ambition and become the richest -woman in Savilestowe, there walked into the stone-flagged hall of the -"Coach-and-Four" one fine spring morning, a gentleman who wore a smart -suit of grey tweed, a grey Homburg hat, ornamented by a black band, and -swung a handsome gold-mounted walking cane in his elegantly-gloved -fingers. There was an air of consequence and distinction about him, -though he was apparently still on the right side of thirty; the way in -which he looked around as he stepped across the threshold, showed that -he was one of those superior beings who are accustomed to give orders -and have them obeyed, and Steve Beckitt, the landlord, who chanced to be -in the hall at the time, made haste to come forward and throw open the -door of the best parlour. The stranger, who was as good-looking as he -was well-dressed, smiled genially, showing a set of fine teeth beneath a -carefully trimmed dark moustache, and removed his hat as he walked in -and glanced approvingly at the old-fashioned furniture. "You the -landlord?" he asked pleasantly, and with another smile. "Mr. Beckitt, -then?--I had your name given me by the landlady of the 'Red Lion' at -Sicaster, where I've been staying for a week or two. I've just walked -out from there--and, to begin with, I should like a glass or two of your -best bitter ale, Mr. Beckitt. Bring a jug of it--I know you've always -good ale in these country inns!--and join me. I want to have a word or -two with you." - -Beckitt, a worthy and unimaginative soul, full of curiosity, fetched the -ale and poured it out; the stranger, producing a handsome silver case, -offered him a cigar and lighted one himself. And when he had tasted and -praised the ale, he dropped into an easy chair and swinging one leg over -the other, looked smilingly at the landlord, whom he had waved to a -seat. - -"My name's Mortimer," he said, with almost boyish ingenuousness, -"Mallerbie Mortimer--I'm from London. I've been having a holiday in the -North here, and for the last fortnight I've been staying in Sicaster--at -'the Red Lion.' Now, I've a fancy to stay a bit longer in these parts, -Mr. Beckitt, and I have heard in Sicaster that this is a very pretty and -interesting neighbourhood. So I walked out this morning to see if you -could put me up for a week or two at the 'Coach-and-Four'? How are you -fixed?" - -Beckitt, who was sure by that time that his visitor was a moneyed -gentleman, put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat--a sure sign -that he was thinking. - -"Well, sir," he replied, "it isn't oft 'at we're asked for accommodation -o' that partik'lar nature, but, of course, twice a year we do entertain -t'steward--a lawyer gentleman--when he comes to collect t'rents. He has -this room for a parlour, and there's a nice big bedroom upstairs--he's -allus expressed his-self as very well satisfied wi' all 'at we do for -him. Of course, it's naught but plain cookin' at we can offer--but -t'steward, he allus takes to it." - -"And so should I," affirmed the caller, who was evidently disposed to -like anything and everything. "Good, plain, homely fare and cooking, Mr. -Beckitt--that's all I want. And for whatever I have, I'll pay you -well--now, supposing you call your good lady, and let me see the -bedroom, and have a talk to her about my meals?" - -Within ten minutes of his entrance Mr. Mallerbie Mortimer had settled -matters with the host and hostess of the "Coach-and-Four." He was -evidently a man who was accustomed to arrange affairs in quick time; he -told Mrs. Beckitt precisely what he wanted in a very few sentences, and -then offered her for board and lodging a certain weekly sum which was -about half as much again as she would have asked him. Immediately on her -acceptance of it, he pulled a handful of loose gold out of his trousers -pocket, paid his first week's bill in advance, and turning to the -landlord, asked him to send somebody with a trap to Sicaster to fetch -his luggage--three portmanteaux and two suit-cases. Then, arranging for -a mutton-chop at half-past one, he went out and strolled down the -village street, his Homburg hat at a jaunty angle, and his cane -swinging lightly in his gloved hand. The folk whom he met wondered at -him, and Jeckie Farnish, who happened to be standing at the door of her -shop, wondered most of all. Strangers were rare in Savilestowe, and this -one was evidently a man of far-off parts. - -But before twenty-four hours had gone by, Mr. Mallerbie Mortimer had -made himself known to most people in the village. He was an eminently -sociable person, and after his first dinner at the "Coach-and-Four"--a -roast chicken, the cooking of which he praised unreservedly--he went -into the bar-parlour and fraternised with the select company which -assembled there every evening. He was generous in the matter of paying -for drinks and cigars; he was also an adept in drawing men out. Within a -night or two, he knew all the affairs of the place, and all the -principal inhabitants by name; also, he had heard, from more than one -informant, the full story of Jeckie Farnish and George Grice. He showed -himself possessed of pleasant and ingratiating manners, and might be -seen chatting in the blacksmith's forge, or lounging in the carpenter's -shop, or exchanging jokes with the miller, or hanging about the -churchyard with the sexton; he talked farming with Stubley, and smoked -an afternoon pipe with Merritt. And when he was not doing any of these -things, he was all over the place--farmers met him crossing fields and -going about meadows, and along the side of hedgerows; thus encountered, -Mr. Mallerbie Mortimer always showed his white teeth and his engaging -smile, and said he hoped he wasn't trespassing, but he had a mania for -going wherever his fancy prompted when he was in the country. Nobody, of -course, objected to so pleasant a gentleman going wherever he pleased, -and by the end of the week he had thoroughly explored the parish. And -had anybody been with him on these solitary excursions they would have -observed that the stranger took a most curious interest in the various -soils over which he walked, and that in certain places he would linger a -long time, closely inspecting marl and loam and clay and sandstone and -outcropping limestone. But the Savilestowe folk saw nothing of this; all -they saw was a very smart young gentleman who wore a different, -apparently brand-new, suit every day, put on black clothes and a dinner -jacket every evening, received piles of letters and bundles of -newspapers each morning, and, in spite of his grandeur and his -money--his abundant possession of which was soon made evident--had -no snobbishness about him, and was only too willing to be -hail-fellow-well-met with everybody from the parson to the ploughman. - -Mr. Mortimer informed Mrs. Beckitt, at the end of his first week's stay -at Savilestowe, that he was so well satisfied with his quarters that he -had decided to remain where he was for a while longer--he might, he -further informed her, be having a friend down from London to stay for a -week or so in this truly delightful spot. Beckitt and his wife were only -too pleased; Mr. Mortimer was not only a very profitable lodger, but -free of his money in the bar-parlour, where he made a practice of -spending his evenings after his seven o'clock dinner. He was in that -parlour every night until nearly the second week of his visit had gone -by. Then, one night, instead of crossing the hall from his sitting room -to join the company which had grown accustomed to his genial presence, -he waited until night had fallen, put a light overcoat over his evening -clothes, drew on a soft cap, and taking some papers from a dispatch-box -which he kept, locked, in his bedroom, slipped out of the -"Coach-and-Four" and strolled down the village street. Five minutes -later found him knocking gently at the private door of Jeckie Farnish's -house. - -Jeckie, by this time, kept a couple of maidservants. But it was growing -late, and they had gone to bed, and it was Jeckie herself who opened the -door and shone the light of a hand-lamp on the caller. Now up to that -time Jeckie was about the only person in Savilestowe to whom Mr. -Mallerbie Mortimer had not introduced himself; he had passed her shop -scores of times, but had never entered it. She stared wonderingly at him -as he removed his cap with one hand and offered her a card with the -other. - -"May I have a few minutes' conversation with you, Miss Farnish--in -private?" he asked, favouring Jeckie with the ingratiating smile. "I -came late purposely--so that we might have our talk all to -ourselves--you are, I know, a very busy woman in the day-time." - -Jeckie looked at the card suspiciously. Mr. Mallerbie Mortimer, -M.I.M.E., 281c, Victoria Street, London, S.W. The letters at the end of -the name conveyed nothing to her. "You're not a traveller?" she asked -abruptly, showing no inclination to ask the caller in. "I only see -travellers on Fridays--three to five. I can't break my rule." - -"I am certainly not a traveller--of that sort," laughed the visitor. "I -am a professional man--staying here for a professional purpose. Don't -you see, ma'am, what I am, from my card?--a member of the Institute of -Mining Engineers? I want to see you alone, on a most important business -matter." - -Jeckie motioned him to enter. - -"I didn't know what those letters meant," she said, with emphasis on the -personal pronoun. "But come in--though upon my word, mister, I don't -know what you want to see me about, mister! This way, if you please." - -Mortimer laughed as he followed her into a parlour where there was a -bright fire in the grate--coal was cheap in that neighbourhood--and a -lamp burning on the centre table. He closed the door behind him, and -when Jeckie had seated herself, dropped into an easy chair in front of -her. - -"I'll tell you why I've come to see you, Miss Farnish," he said in low -suave tones. "There's nothing like going straight to the point. I came -to you because, having now been in Savilestowe, as you're aware, for -close on a fortnight, I know that you're the richest person in the -place--man or woman! Eh?" - -Jeckie had heard this sort of thing before, more than once. It usually -prefaced a demand on her purse, and she looked at Mortimer with -increased suspicion. - -"If it's a subscription you're wanting," she began, and then stopped, -seeing the amusement in her visitor's face. "What do you want, then?" -she demanded. "You said business." - -"And I mean and intend business!" answered Mortimer. "You're a business -woman, and I'm a business man, so we shall understand each other if I -speak freely and plainly. Look here! Since I came to stay at the -'Coach-and-Four,' nearly a fortnight ago I've heard all about you, Miss -Farnish. How you beat that old fellow Grice, drove him out, and all the -rest of it. You're a smart woman, you know; you've brains, and go, and -initiative, and determination--you're just the person I want!" - -"For what?" demanded Jeckie, who was not insensible to flattery. "What's -it all about?" - -Mortimer edged his chair nearer to hers, and gave her a knowing look. -The hard and strenuous life she had lived had robbed Jeckie of some of -her beauty, but she was a handsome woman still, and there was -recognition of that undoubted fact in the man's bold eyes. - -"You're one of the sort that wants to get rich quick!" he said. "Right! -so am I. There's a bond between us. Now, as I said, I know for a fact -you're the richest person in this place, leaving the squire out of the -question. You know that's so! but only yourself knows how well-off you -are. Yet, how would you like to be absolutely wealthy?" - -"I believe in money," said Jeckie. She saw no use in denying the truth -to this persistent and plausible stranger. "I've worked for money, -naught else! What do you mean?" - -"Supposing I told you of how you could make money in such a fashion that -what you're making now would be as nothing to it?" said Mortimer, still -watching her keenly. "Would you be inclined to take the chance?" - -Jeckie gave her visitor a good, long look before she replied. And -Mortimer added another word or two. - -"I'm talking sense!" he affirmed. "I mean what I say." - -"If I saw the chance o' making money in the way you speak of," answered -Jeckie, at last, "it 'ud be a queer thing if I didn't take it. I never -missed a chance yet!" - -"Don't miss this!" said Mortimer. "Listen! You don't know why I'm here; -you don't know what I mean; you don't know what I've come to see you -about. I'll tell you in one word if you'll promise to keep this to -yourself?" - -"If it's aught about business and money you can be certain I shall," -asserted Jeckie. "I'm not given to talking about my affairs." - -"Very good," continued Mortimer. "Then, do you know what there is under -this village of Savilestowe, under its fields and meadows, aye, -underneath where you and I are sitting just now. Do you?" - -"What?" demanded Jeckie, roused by his evident enthusiasm. "What?" - -Mortimer leaned forward, laid a hand on her arm, and spoke one -word--twice. - -"Coal!" he said. "Coal?" - -Jeckie stared at him, silently, for awhile. And Mortimer kept his eyes -fixed on hers, as if he were exercising some hypnotic influence on her. -She stirred a little at last, and spoke, wonderingly. - -"Coal?" she said, in a low voice. "You mean----" - -"I mean that there's no end of coal beneath our feet!" said Mortimer. -"Listen! You know--for you must have heard--how the coal-mining -industry's been increasing and developing in this part of Yorkshire -during the last few years. Now, I'm a mining expert; here's a pocketful -of references and testimonials about me that I'll leave with you, to -look over at your leisure; and I came over to Sicaster three weeks or so -ago to have a look round this neighbourhood. From something I saw one -day when I was out for a walk in this direction I decided to come here -and go carefully over the ground. I've been carefully over it--every -yard of this village! I tell you, as an expert, there's no end of coal -under here--no end! And whoever works it'll make--a huge fortune!" - -Jeckie sat, almost spellbound, listening; such imagination as she -possessed was already stirred. And when she spoke it seemed to her that -her voice sounded as if it came from a long way off. - -"But--it's down there!" she said. - -"But--it is there!" exclaimed Mortimer. "All that's wanted is for man to -get it out! I know how to do that. All that's wanted is money! capital!" - -He got up from his chair, thrust his hands in his pocket, and jingled -the loose coins which lay in them, looking down at Jeckie with a -significant smile. - -"Capital!" he repeated. "Capital! I'm so certain of what I say that I'm -willing to find a good lot myself. But not all that's wanted. And what I -want to know is--are you coming in, now that I've told you? Look here, -for every ten thousand that's put into this business there'll be a -hundred thousand within a very short time of getting to work. I'll stake -my reputation--not a bad one, as you'll learn from these papers--that -this'll be one of the richest mines, in quantity and quality, in -England. A regular gold mine! I know!" - -"But--the land?" said Jeckie. "You've to buy the land first, haven't -you?" - -Mortimer laughed, and picked up his cap. - -"I know how to do that in this case," he said. "Not another word now: -I'll come and see you again to-morrow evening, same time. In the -meantime--strict secrecy. But take my word for it, if you come in with -me at this I'll make you a richer woman than you've ever dreamed of -being. And I think you've had some ambitions that way--what?" - -Then, with a brief, almost curt, good-night, he went away, and Jeckie, -after letting him out and fastening her door, read through the papers -which he had left with her. There was a banker's reference, and a -solicitor's reference, and numerous testimonials to the great ability of -Mr. Mallerbie Mortimer as a mining expert. Jeckie knew enough of things -to estimate these papers at their proper value, especially the banker's -reference, and she went off to bed with new ideas forming in her brain. -Coal!--there, beneath her feet--black, shining stuff that could be -turned into yellow gold. It seemed to her that she hated the green -fields and red earth that lay between it and her avaricious fingers. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -_The Bit of Bad Land_ - - -Mortimer was at Jeckie Farnish's private door to the minute on the -following evening, and Jeckie hastened to admit him and to lead him to -her parlour. He went straight to the point at which he had broken off -their conversation of the night before. - -"You were saying that before ever starting on the project I mentioned it -would be necessary to buy the land," he said, as he settled himself in -an easy chair. "Now, Miss Farnish, let's be plain and matter-of-fact -about one thing. Most of the land in this parish of Savilestowe belongs -to the squire. But we're not going to have him in at this business! I -don't want him even to know that anything's afoot until matters are -settled, and in full working order. For not all the land is his!--which -is fortunate. A good deal of it, as you know, is glebe land. Then, -Stubley owns a bit, and I understand those two fields by the mill are -the freehold property of the miller. And, very fortunately for my scheme -and ideas, there's a considerable piece of land here which belongs to a -man who, I should say, would be very glad to sell it--I mean the piece -down there beyond the old stone quarry, which you villagers call -Savilestowe Leys." - -"Worst bit o' land in the place!" exclaimed Jeckie. "There's naught -grown there but the coarsest sort o' grass and weeds and such-like; it's -more like a wilderness than aught!" - -Mortimer showed his white teeth and his eyes sparkled. - -"All the better for us, my dear lady!" he said. "But it's under there -that we shall find the richest bed of coal! I know that! Seams, without -doubt, spread away from that bed in several directions, but the real -wealth of this place lies under that bad bit of land, half-marsh, -half-wilderness, as you say. Now, I understand that that particular -property--forty acres in all--belongs to that little farmer at the -Sicaster end of the village. You know the man I mean--Benjamin Scholes?" - -"Yes," assented Jeckie. "It's been in Ben Scholes's family for many a -generation." - -Mortimer leaned forward, gave Jeckie a sharp, meaning look, and tapped -her wrist. - -"The first thing to be done is to buy these forty acres of land from -Scholes--privately," he said. "That land's the front door to a -store-house of unlimited wealth! And--you must buy it." - -Jeckie shook her head. - -"I say you must!" asserted Mortimer. "There's nobody but you who can do -it. It'll have to be done on the quiet. You're the person!" - -"It's not that," said Jeckie. "You're a stranger; you don't know our -people. Ben Scholes is a poor man; he'd be glad enough of the money. But -that land's been in their family for two or three hundred years; he'll -none want to part with it, were it ever so. Poor as it is, the squire -wanted to buy it from him some time since; he'd a notion of planting it -with fir and pine. But Ben wouldn't sell. And, besides, what excuse -could I make for buying it?--poor land like that! He'd be suspicious." - -"I've thought of all that," answered Mortimer. "I'm full of resource, as -you'll find out. Everybody knows what an enterprising woman you are, so -that what I'm going to suggest you should do would surprise nobody if -you do it--as you must. Go and see Scholes; tell him you want to start a -market garden and a fruit orchard, and that his land will just suit your -purposes when it's been thoroughly drained and prepared. Offer to buy it -outright; stick to him till you get it. Never you mind about his refusal -to the squire; you've got a better tongue in your head than the squire -has from what I've seen of him, and you'll get round Scholes. You ought -to get the forty acres, such bad land as it is, for two or three hundred -pounds. But look here--go up to that. You see, I'm not asking you to -find the money." - -He drew out a pocket-book, extracted a folded slip of paper from it, -unfolded it, and dropped it on the table at Jeckie's elbow. Jeckie -looked down and saw a cheque, made payable to herself, for five hundred -pounds. - -"You'll get it for less than that if you go about it the right way," -continued Mortimer. "And, of course, when you buy it, and the -conveyancing's done, you'll have all the papers made out in your name. -I shan't appear in it at all. You and I can settle matters -later--but--there's the money. And if this chap Scholes stands out for -more you've nothing to do but ask me. Only--but! At once!" - -"And if he will sell?--if I get it?" asked Jeckie. "What then?" - -"Then we've got forty acres of worthless stuff on top, and many a -thousand tons of coal beneath!" said Mortimer. "It'll take a good time -to exhaust what there is beneath the forty acres. And we can get to -work. As for the rest of the land in the place--well, as need arises we -shall have to come to terms with the other property owners. We should -pay them royalties; that's all a matter of arrangement. We might lease -their land--mineral rights, you know--from them for a term of years. All -that can be settled later. What we want is a definite standing as -owners; to begin with--owners! We might have leased Scholes's forty -acres for twenty-one, forty-two, or sixty-three years, but it's far best -to buy. Then it's ours. Go and see Scholes at once--to-morrow." - -Jeckie picked up the cheque, and seemed to be looking at it, but -Mortimer saw that she did not see it at all; her thoughts were -elsewhere. - -"And if I buy this bit o' land?" she said, after a pause. "What then?" - -"Then, my dear madam, we'll get the necessary capital together, and -proceed to make our mine!" replied Mortimer, with a laugh. "But there'll -be things to be done first. First of all, so as to make assurance doubly -sure, we should do a bit of prospecting--dig a drift into the seam (if -I find an out-crop, as I may) to prove its value, or sink a trial pit, -or do some boring. It'll probably be boring; and when that takes place -you'll soon know what to expect in the way of results." - -"I should want to know a lot about that before I put money into it," -affirmed Jeckie. "I'm not the sort to throw money away." - -"Neither am I!" laughed Mortimer. He rose in his characteristically -abrupt fashion. "Well!" he said. "You'll see Scholes?--at once! Get hold -of his forty acres, and then--then we can move. And in five years--ah!" - -"What?" demanded Jeckie as she followed him to the door. - -"You'll be mistress of a grand country house and a town mansion in -Mayfair!" answered Mortimer, showing his teeth. "Wealth! Look beneath -your very boots! it's just waiting there to be torn out of the earth." - -Jeckie put Mortimer's cheque away in her safe, and went to bed, her -avaricious spirit more excited than ever. Like all the folk in that -neighbourhood, she knew how the coal-fields of that part of Yorkshire -had been developed and extended of late; she had heard too, of the -riches which men of humble origin had amassed by their fortunate -possession of a bit of land under which lay rich seams of coal. There -was Mr. Revis, of Heronshawe Main, three miles the other side of -Sicaster, who, originally a market gardener, was now, they said, a -millionaire, all because he had happened to find out that coal lay -under an unpromising, black-surfaced piece of damp land by the river -side, which his father had left him, and had then seemed almost -valueless. There was Mr. Graveson, of the Duke of York's Colliery, on -the other side of the town--he, they said, had been a small tradesman to -begin with, but had a sharp enough nose to smell coal at a particular -place, and wit enough to buy the land which covered it--he, too, rolled -in money. And, after all, the stranger from London had shown his belief -by putting five hundred pounds in her hands--it would cost her nothing -if she made the venture. And if there was coal beneath Ben Scholes's -forty acres, why not try for the fortune which its successful getting -would represent? - -After her one o'clock dinner next day, Jeckie, who by that time had a -capable manager and three assistants in her shop, assumed her best -attire and went out. She turned her face towards the Savilestowe Leys, a -desolate stretch of land at the lower end of the village, and from the -hedgerow which bordered it, looked long and speculatively across its -flat, unpromising surface. She was wondering how men like Mortimer knew -that coal lay underneath such land--all that she saw was coarse grass, -marsh marigolds, clumps of sedge and bramble, and a couple of -starved-looking cows, Scholes's property, trying to find a mouthful of -food among the prevalent poverty of the vegetation. That land, for -agistment purposes, was not worth sixpence an acre, said Jeckie to -herself; it seemed little short of amazing to think that wealth, -possibly enormous in quantity, should be beneath it. But she remembered -Mortimer's enthusiasm and his testimonials, and his cheque, and she -turned and walked through the village to Ben Scholes's farm. - -There was a circumstance of which Jeckie was aware that she had not -mentioned to Mortimer when they discussed the question of buying Ben -Scholes's bit of bad land. Ben Scholes, who was only a little better off -than her own father had been in the old days at Applecroft, owed her -money. Jeckie, as time went on, had begun to give credit; she found that -it was almost necessary to do so. And that year she had let Ben Scholes -and his wife get fairly deep into her books, knowing very well that when -harvest time came round Ben would have money, and would pay up--he was -an honest, if a poor man. What with groceries and horse-corn and -hardware--for Jeckie had begun to deal in small goods of that sort, -forks, rakes, hoes and the like, since years before--Scholes owed her -nearly a hundred pounds. She remembered that, as she walked up the -street, and she busied herself in thinking how she could turn this fact -to advantage. Yet, she was not going to put the screw on her debtor; in -her time she had learnt how to be diplomatic and tactful, how to gain -her ends by other means than force. And it was not the face of the stern -creditor which she showed when she knocked at the open door of Scholes's -little farmstead. - -It was then three o'clock, and Scholes and his wife were following the -usual Savilestowe custom of having an early cup of tea. They looked up -from the table at which they sat by the fire, and the wife rose in -surprise and with alacrity. - -"Eh, why, if it isn't Miss Farnish!" she exclaimed. "Come your ways in, -Miss Farnish, and sit you down. Happen, now you'll be tempted to take a -cup o' tea? it's fresh made, within this last five minutes, and good and -strong--your own tea, you know, and I couldn't say no more. Now do!" - -"Why, thank you," responded Jeckie. "I don't mind if I do, as you're so -kind. I just walked up to have a word or two with Ben there." - -Scholes, a middle-aged, careworn-looking man, who, in spite of -everything, had a somewhat humorous twist of countenance, grinned almost -sheepishly as Jeckie took an elbow chair which his wife pulled forward -for her. - -"I hope you haven't come after no brass, Miss Farnish," he said, with an -air intended to be ingratiatingly seductive. "I've nowt o' that sort to -spare till t'harvest's in, but there'll be a bit then to throw about. We -mun have a settlin' up at that time. Ye know me--I'm all right." - -Jeckie took the cup of tea which Mrs. Scholes handed to her, and stirred -it thoughtfully. - -"I didn't come after any brass, Ben," she answered. "It's all right, -that--as you say, I know you. I wasn't going to mention it till harvest -comes." - -"Why, now, then, that's all right!" said Scholes, facetiously. "Them's -comfortable words, them is. Aye, brass is scarce i' this region, but we -carry on, you know, we carry on, somehow. We haven't all gotten t'secret -o' makin' fortunes, like you have, ye know. Us little 'uns has to be -content wi' what they call t'day o' small things." - -"Aye, an' varry small an' all!" sighed Mrs. Scholes. "I'm sure! It's all -'at a body can do, nowadays, to keep soul and body together." - -"Why, mi lass, why!" said Scholes. "We've managed it so far. All t'same, -I could offen find it i' mi heart to wish 'at I'd one o' these here -rellytives 'at ye sometimes read about i' t'papers--owd uncles 'at dies -i' foreign parts, and leaves fortunes, unexpected, like, to their nevvys -and nieces at home. But none o' my uncles niver had nowt to leave 'at I -iver heerd on." - -"I came up to tell you how you could make a bit o' money if you want -to," said Jeckie. The conversation had taken a convenient turn, and she -was quick to seize the opportunity. "A nice bit!" she added. "Something -substantial." - -Scholes pushed his cup and saucer away from him and looked sharply at -his visitor. - -"Ecod!" he exclaimed. "I should be glad to hear o' that! But--wheer can -I make owt, outside o' this farm o' mine? It niver does no more nor keep -us. It does that, to be sure, seein' 'at there's nobody but me and -t'missis there, but that's all." - -"Well, listen," said Jeckie. "There's that piece o' land o' yours, down -at t'bottom end o' t'village. I want to buy it." - -Scholes' thin face flushed, and he rose slowly from his chair, and for a -moment turned away toward the window. When he looked round again he -shook his head. - -"Nay!" he said. "Nay!--I couldn't sell yon theer! Why, it's been i' our -family over three hundred years! Poor enough it is, and weean't feed -nowt--but as long as I have it, ye see, I'm a landowner, same as -t'squire his-self! Why, as I dare say you've aweer, he wanted to buy -that forty acres fro' me a piece back--but I wodn't. No! He were -calculating to plant it, and to make it into a game preserve. It were no -use. I couldn't find it i' mi heart to let it go. No!" - -"Don't be silly!" said Jeckie. "That's all sentiment. What good is it to -you? Them two cows 'at you've got in it now can scarce pick up a -mouthful!" - -"It's right, is that," agreed Scholes. "If them unfortunate animals had -to depend on what they get out o' that theer they'd have empty bellies -every night! But--(he dropped into his chair again and looked hard at -his visitor)--since it's as poor as it is, what might you be wantin' it -for? If it's no good to me it's no good to nobody." - -"I've got something that you haven't got," answered Jeckie, in her most -matter-of-fact tones. "You could never do aught to improve that land, -because you haven't got the money to do it with. I have! I'll be plain -with you. I'll tell you what I want it for. You know how I've developed -my business since I started it--developed it in all sorts of ways. Well, -I'm going in for market-gardening and fruit-growing, and that piece o' -land'll just suit me, because it's within half a mile o' the shop. Sell -it to me, and I'll have it thoroughly drained. That's what it wants; and -make real good land of it, you'll see. You can't do that; it 'ud cost -you hundreds o' pounds. I don't mind spending hundreds o' pounds on it. -And--I want it!" - -Scholes was evidently impressed by this line of argument. He looked -round at his wife, who was gazing anxiously from him to Jeckie, and from -Jeckie to him. - -"Ye're right i' one thing," he answered. "It would make all t'difference -i' t'world to them forty acres if they were drained. My father allus -said so, and I've allus said so. But we never had t'money to lay out on -that job." - -"I have," said Jeckie. "Let me have it! It 'ud be a shame on your part -to deprive anybody of the chance of making bad land into good when you -can't do aught at it yourself! It's doing you no good; I can make it do -me a lot o' good. And I'll lay you could do with the money." - -Mrs. Scholes sighed. And Scholes gave her a sharp look. - -"Aye, mi lass!" he said. "I know what ye'd say! Sell! But when all's -said and done, a man is sentimental. Three hundred year, over and above, -yon theer property's been i' our family. I' time o' owd Queen -Elizabeth--that's when we got it. Lawyer Palethorpe, theer i' Sicaster, -he has all t'papers. He telled me one day 'at of all t'landowners round -here there isn't one, not one, 'at has land 'at's been held i' one -family as long as what our family's held that. It 'ud be like selling a -piece o' miself!" - -"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Jeckie, utterly unmoved by Scholes's -reasonings. "I'll give you a full receipt for your bill--close on a -hundred pound it is--and a cheque for three hundred. That's giving you -nearly four hundred pound. And you know as well as I do that if you put -it up to auction you'd scarce get a bid. Don't be a fool, Ben Scholes! -Three hundred pound, cash down, 'll be a rare help to you. And you'll -have no bill to pay me when harvest comes." - -Late that evening Mortimer tapped at the private door, and Jeckie -admitted him. He followed her into the parlour. - -"Well?" he said, without any word of greeting. "Anything come of it?" - -"It's all right," answered Jeckie. "I've got it. Four hundred. I'm going -into Sicaster with him to-morrow to settle it at the lawyer's. So that's -managed." - - - - -CHAPTER III - -_Coal_ - - -Mortimer threw down his cap, and dropped into the easy chair which he -had come to look upon as his own special reservation. He rubbed his -hands together in sign of high satisfaction. - -"Smart woman," he exclaimed admiringly. "Excellent! Excellent! Didn't I -tell you that you'd be able to manage it? Good! Good!" - -"Yes," said Jeckie, almost indifferently. "I did it. I knew how to do -it, you see, when I came to to think it over. And I did it there and -then, and paid the price--there's naught to do but the legal business, -and that's only a matter of form. The land's mine, now." She moved -across the room to her safe, unlocked it, took out an envelope, drew -Mortimer's cheque from it, and quietly laid it at his elbow. "I shan't -want that, of course," she added. - -Mortimer looked up at her in surprise. - -"But--I was to find the money!" he said. - -"I've found it," answered Jeckie. "I've bought the land--it's mine, and -whatever's underneath it is mine, too. So if there's nothing, there's -nothing--and you'll lose nothing." - -"Oh, well," said Mortimer, "as long as we've got it, it doesn't much -matter who's bought it--we'll make that right later." - -Jeckie gave him no reply. But in Mortimer's sorry acceptance of her -announcement she made a sudden discovery as to his character. -Enthusiastic he no doubt was, and eager and full of ideas as to -business. But--he was easygoing, apt to let things slide; ready to take -matters as settled when they were all unsettled. Jeckie herself, had she -been Mortimer, and bearing in mind the conversation of the previous -evening, would have insisted on a proper and definite understanding as -to the ownership of the forty acres. She smiled grimly as she relocked -the door of her safe, and she said to herself when it came to a contest -of brains she was one too many for this smart London fellow. The land -was hers, and the mineral beneath it--so she said nothing; there was -nothing to say. - -"The thing is," said Mortimer, again rubbing his hands in high glee, -"the thing is, now, to get to work. We must bore!" - -"How's that set about?" asked Jeckie, who was now anxious to learn all -she could. "What's done, like?" - -"Oh, you just get some men and the necessary apparatus," replied -Mortimer nonchalantly. "I'll see to all that. And I'll get a -friend of mine down from London--I'll take a room for him at the -'Coach-and-Four'--a friend who's one of the cleverest experts of the -day; he and I, between us, will jolly soon tell you what lies under that -land. Of course, I haven't the slightest doubt about it, but it's -better to have the opinion of two experts than one. My friend's name is -Farebrother--he's well-known. He shall come down and watch the boring -operations with me. I'll get the men and the requisite machinery at -once, and we'll go to work as soon as you've got the legal business -through--we'd better keep it dark until then." - -"All that'll cost money, of course," observed Jeckie. - -"Oh, a few hundred'll go a long way in the preliminaries," answered -Mortimer. "I'll wait until Farebrother comes along before I decide which -method I'll follow--the percussive or the rotatory. But I won't bother -you with technical details; what you'll be more interested in will be -results." - -"This boring that you talk about, now?" said Jeckie. "It shows what -there is underneath the surface?" - -"To be sure!" assented Mortimer. "It's like this--you select your spot, -and you put in (this is the rotary method) a cutting-tool which is a -sort of hollow cylinder, with saw-like teeth at its lower edge, or an -edge of hard minerals--rough diamonds, sometimes--and it's driven in by -steam-power at two or three hundred revolutions a minute. As it's -hollow, a solid core is formed in the cylinder--you raise the cylinder -from time to time and examine the core, which comes up several feet in -length. And you know from the core what there is down there. See?" - -"I understand," said Jeckie. "I thought it must be something of that -sort. Very well--I'll pay for all that. Get to work on it." - -Mortimer again glanced at her in surprise. But she saw that there was no -suspicion in his eyes as to her object. - -"You seem inclined to launch out!" he said, laughing. "You were disposed -the other way when I first mentioned this matter." - -"It's my land," reiterated Jeckie. "So, to start with, anyway, I'll pay -the expenses. As you said just now, we can make things right later. Mind -you, I'm going on what you've said! If you hadn't assured me, you, as a -professional man, that there's coal under that land, I shouldn't ha' -bought it, and if there isn't--well, I know what I shall say! But I'm -willing to pay the cost o' finding out. Only--I shall want to be -certain!" - -"If there isn't coal under your forty acres, may I never see coal -again!" asserted Mortimer. "I tell you there's any amount there!" - -"Then it's all right--and when we know that it is there, for certain and -sure, it'll be time to consider matters further," said Jeckie calmly. -"Go on with your boring and I'll pay. As you said, I say again--we can -make things right later." - -Mortimer was too elated at the prospect of opening out a new and -possibly magnificent enterprise to ask Jeckie what her present ideas -were as to how things should be made right in the event of coal being -found in sufficient quantity to warrant the making of a mine. He went -away and plunged into business, and in a few days brought his friend -Farebrother down to Savilestowe--a quiet, reserved man of cautious -words, who impressed Jeckie much more than Mortimer had done. But, -cautious and reserved as he was, Farebrother, dragged hither and thither -by Mortimer over the woods and meadows, uplands and lowlands, gave it as -his deliberate opinion that there were vast quantities of coal under -Savilestowe, and that Jeckie's forty acres of land probably covered a -particularly rich bed. - -"Get to work, then!" said Jeckie laconically. "I'll pay for the -machinery, and I'll pay what men you want. Bring their wages bill to me, -every Friday, and the money'll be there." - -No one in Savilestowe, not even Steve Beckitt, nor any of the select -company of the bar-parlour of the "Coach-and-Four," knew what was afoot, -nor what the machinery which presently arrived in the village, and was -housed in a hastily constructed wooden shed in the centre of Jeckie -Farnish's forty acres, was intended for. But Ben Scholes, who had made -no secret of his sale of the long-owned property, was able to enlighten -his curious neighbours. - -"Jecholiah Farnish," he said, in solemn conclave at the blacksmith's -shop, shared in by several of the village wiseacres, "bowt that theer -land fr' me for a purpose. It's her aim, d'ye see, to turn them forty -acres into a fruit-orchard and a market-garden. But it's necessary, -first of all and before owt else, to drain that theer land. I should ha' -done it mysen if I'd iver hed t'brass to do it wi'. I dedn't--shoo has. -And this here machinery 'at's arrived on t'scene it'll be for t'purpose -o' drainin'--shoo's a very wealthy woman now, is Jecholiah, and shoo's -bahn to do t'job reight. Pumpin' and drainin' machinery--that's what -it'll be." - -The general company, open-mouthed, took this as gospel--save one man, a -jack-of-all-trades, who had travelled in his time. He shook his head and -betrayed all the marks and signs of scepticism. - -"Well, I don't know, Mestur Scholes," he remarked. "But I see'd 'em -takkin' some o' that machinery offen t'traction wagons 'at it cam' on, -and I'll swear my solemn 'davy 'at it's none intended for no pumpin' and -drainin'--nowt o' t'sort!" - -"What is it intended for, then?" demanded Scholes. "Happen ye know? Ye -allus reckon to know better nor anybody else, ye do!" - -"Nah thee nivver mind!" retorted the sceptic. "Ye'll all on yer find out -what it's for afore long. But ye mark my words--it's none for -drainin'--not it!" - -Two or three weeks had gone by before the curiosity of the villagers -received any appeasement. Whatever went on in the forty acres was -conducted in secrecy in the big wooden shed which the carpenters had -hastily run up. There, every day, Mr. Mallerbie Mortimer, his friend Mr. -Farebrother, and a gang of workmen--foreigners, in the eyes of the -Savilestowe folk--for whom Mortimer had taken lodgings in the village, -conducted mysterious rites, unseen of any outsider. Once or twice the -unduly inquisitive had endeavoured to enter the field, on one excuse or -another, only to find a jealous watchman at hand who barred all -approach. But the sceptic of the blacksmith's shop was a human ferret -and one morning he leaned over the wall of Ben Scholes's yard and -grinned derisively at the late owner of Savilestowe Leys. - -"Now, then, Mistur Scholes!" he said triumphantly. "What did I tell yer -about yon machinery 'at's been setten up i' that land 'at ye selled to -Jecholiah Farnish? Pumpin' and drainin'! I knew better! I seen a bit i' -my time, Mistur Scholes, more nor most o' ye Savilestowers, and I knew -that wor no pumpin' and drainin' machinery. I would ha' tell'd yer at -t'time, when we wor talkin' at t'smithy, what it wor, but I worn't i' -t'mind to do so. Ye don't know what they're up to i' yon fields 'at used -to be yours!" - -"What are they up to, then?" demanded Scholes. "I'll lay ye'll know!" - -"I dew know!" answered the other, with arrogance. "An' ye'll know an' -all, to yer sorrow, afore long. They're tryin' for coal! I hed it fro' -one o' t'workmen last neet; I hed a pint or two, or it might be three, -wi' him. An' he says 'at it's varry like 'at theer's hundreds o' -thousands o' pounds' worth o' coal under that land. That's what Jeckie -Farnish wanted it for. Coal!" - -Scholes, who was cleaning out the ginnel in front of his stable, -straightened himself, staring intently at his informant. The informant -nodded, laughed sneeringly, and went off. And Scholes, casting away his -manure fork with a gesture that indicated rising anger and hot -indignation, went off, too, in his shirt sleeves, but in the opposite -direction. He made straight down the village to Jeckie Farnish's shop. - -It was then nearly noon, and the shop was full of customers. Jeckie, who -had long since given up counter work, and now did nothing beyond general -and vigilant superintendence, was standing near the cashier's desk, -talking to the vicar's wife. Scholes's somber eyes and aggressive look -told her what was afoot as soon as he crossed the threshold. She -continued talking, staring back at him, as if he were no more than one -of the posts which supported the ceiling. But Scholes was not to be -denied, and he strode up with a pointed finger--a finger pointing -straight at Jeckie's hard eyes. - -"Now then!" he burst out in loud, angry tones which made the vicar's -wife start, draw back and stare at him. "Now then, Jecholiah, I've a -crow to pull wi' ye! Ye telled me an' my missis 'at ye wanted yon land -o' mind for to mak' a fruit orchard and a market-garden on, and I let ye -hev it at a low price for that same reason. Ye're a liar! ye wanted it -for nowt o' t'sort! Ye were after what you knew then wor liggin' beneath -it--coal! Ye've done me! Ye're a cheat as well as a liar! Ye've done me -out o' what 'ud ha' made me a well-to-do man. Damn such-like!" - -Jeckie turned, cool and collected, to the vicar's wife. - -"I'll see what I can do about it," she said quietly, continuing their -conversation. "If I can put it in at a lower price, I will, though I'd -already cut it as fine as I could. But, of course if it's for the -mothers' meetings, I must do what I can." Then she turned again--this -time to the angry man in front of her. "Go away, Scholes!" she said. "I -can't have any disturbance here; go away at once!" - -"Disturbance!" shouted Scholes. "I'll larn ye to talk about disturbance! -Ye're no better nor a thief! Look ye here, all ye folk, high and low!" -he went on, waving an arm at the astonished customers. "Do ye know what -this here woman did? She finds out 'at there's coal under my land, and, -wi'out sayin' a word to me about it, she persuades me to sell her t'land -for next to nowt! Is that fair doin's? Do ye think 'at I'd ha' selled if -I'd known what I wor sellin'? But she knew; and she's done me and mine. -Ye're a thief, Jecholiah Farnish--same as what ye allus hev been--ye're -sort 'at 'ud skin a stone if theer wer owt to be made at it! Damn all -such-like, I say, and say ageean--and I'll see what t'lawyers hev to say -to t'job!" - -"You'll hear what my lawyer has to say to you," retorted Jeckie, who, -the vicar's wife having hurriedly left the shop, was now not particular -about letting her tongue loose. "You get out of my shop this instant, -Scholes, or I'll have you taken out in a way you won't like. Here, you, -boy, run across the street and tell the policeman to come here! What do -you mean, you fool, by coming and talking to me i' that way? Didn't I -give you t'brass for your land, cash down? And as to coal, I've no more -notion whether there's coal under it than you have; there may be and -there mayn't. But I'll tell you this--if there is, it's mine! And you -get out o' my shop, sharp, or I'll hand you over to t'law here and now. -I'll have none o' your sort tryin' to come it over me. Get out!" - -Scholes looked Jeckie squarely in the face--and suddenly turned and -obeyed her bidding. But he went up the street muttering, like a man -possessed, and the vicar's wife, who had stopped to speak to a group of -children, shrank from him as he passed, and went home to tell her -husband of what she had heard and seen, and to voice her convictions -that the knowledge that he had been cheated had affected Scholes's -brain. - -"Do you think she could really do such a thing?" she asked half -incredulously. "If she did, it certainly looks--mean, at any rate." - -"If you want my personal opinion," answered the vicar dryly, "I should -say that Jeckie Farnish is capable of any amount of sharp practice. -Coal! Dear me! Now I wonder if that's really what she's after, and if -there is coal? Because, of course, if there's coal under her land -there'll be coal under my glebe, and in that case--really, one's almost -afraid to think of such a possibility. Coal! I wonder when we shall get -to know?" - -The whole village knew within another week; indeed, from the time of -Scholes's indignant outburst at the shop, it was hopeless to conceal the -operations at the waste land. Throngs of villagers were at the hedgerow -sides from morning till night, eager for news; there, too, might be seen -the squire and the vicar, and Stubley and Merritt, as inquisitive as -the rest. The men engaged in boring forgathered of evenings at the -"Coach-and-Four," and, despite Mortimer's warnings and admonitions, -talked, more or less freely, over their beer. And one day at noon the -rumour ran from one end to the other of the village street that coal had -been found, and that there would be a rich and productive yield; before -night the rumour had become a certainty--the squire himself had it from -Mortimer and his fellow-expert that beneath Jeckie Farnish's forty acres -there was what would probably turn out to be one of the best beds of -coal in the country, and that it doubtless extended beneath the land of -the other property owners. - -The one person who showed no excitement, who refused to allow herself to -be bustled or flurried, was Jeckie herself. Within twenty-four hours she -was visited by the squire, the vicar, and Stubley--each wanted to know -what she was going to do, each had a proposal for coming in. The squire -wanted to start a limited liability company for founding a colliery to -work the district, with himself as the chairman; the vicar was anxious -about royalties on the coal which no doubt lay beneath his glebe lands; -Stubley came to warn Jeckie to make sure. Jeckie listened to each and -said nothing; it was impossible to get a word out of her that gave any -indication of what she had in her mind. The only persons with whom she -held conversation at that time were Mortimer and his friend Farebrother; -with them she was closeted in secret every evening; Farnish, told off to -act as watch-dog, had strict orders that no other callers were to be -admitted. The result of the conference was that within a fortnight -Jeckie had acquired a vast mass of useful information, which she -carefully memorised. And, as Mortimer remarked, at the end of one of -these talks, there was now nothing to do but to arrange the financial -matters for beginning work. Money--capital--that was all that was needed -now. To that remark Jeckie made no answer--she already had her own ideas -about the matter, and she was resolved to keep them carefully to -herself. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -_Birds of a Feather_ - - -Close countenance though Jeckie Farnish kept to all the world, her -thoughts had never been so many nor so varied as at this eventful stage -of her career. She spent many a sleepless night considering -possibilities, probabilities, eventualities. She thought over ways and -means; she reckoned up her resources. She tried to look ahead as far as -possible; to take everything into account. But, in all her reflections -and plans and schemings, there was one dominant note--the desire to make -money out of her lucky discovery--money, more money than she had ever -dreamed of possessing. She was in no hurry. She made Mortimer and -Farebrother continue their boring operations until she became as certain -as they were themselves. They had made these boreholes, so as to test -the whole of Jeckie's property, and had kept a careful journal of the -boring, which was punctiliously entered up--Jeckie made a point of -inspecting that journal, and of examining the cores which the boring -cylinders brought up and were duly labelled and laid out under cover. -But she was not satisfied with this, nor with merely taking the opinions -of Mortimer and his friend. At her own instance and expense she called -in two acknowledged mining experts and a professor of geology from one -of the local universities; to these three she submitted the whole -matter, only impressing upon them that she wanted an opinion that could -be relied upon. All three agreed with Mortimer and Farebrother--coal was -there, under the otherwise unpromising surface of the forty acres, in -vast quantity. So, as Mortimer was constantly saying, there was nothing -to do but to arrange the financial side of the affair, and to get to -work on the construction of the necessary mine. - -Jeckie was not going to be hurried about that, either; she had her own -ideas. In spite of Mortimer's exhortations and Farebrother's hints, she -kept them to herself until she was ready to act. But upon one point she -was determined, and had been determined from the very first. Neither -squire, nor parson, nor Stubley, nor Merritt, nor any Savilestowe party -was going to come in with her--no, nor was Mortimer, of whom, all -unknown to him, she was making a convenience. She was going to keep this -El Dorado to herself as far as ever she could--to be chief controller of -its destinies, to be master. Nevertheless, knowing, after her various -consultations with Mortimer and Farebrother, that she did not possess -sufficient capital of her own to establish a colliery, she had decided -to take in one partner who could contribute what she could not find. She -had that partner in her mind's eye--Lucilla Grice. - -Lucilla, as Jeckie well knew, had long been top dog in the Grice menage. -Albert, from the day of his marriage, had become more and more of a -nonentity; as years went by he grew to be of no greater importance than -one of his wife's umbrellas; a thing that had its uses now and then, but -could at any moment be tossed into a corner and disregarded for the time -being. Lucilla managed everything. Lucilla invested the money which he -got for his partnership and received the dividends; Lucilla kept the -purse; Albert had no more concern with cash than the cob in his stable; -all he knew of money was that he was allowed three-and-six a day to -spend as he liked. Jeckie Farnish knew all this, and more. She knew that -Lucilla's marriage portion of two thousand pounds, and Albert's -partnership money of five thousand, both secure and untouched in -Lucilla's hands, had been added to of late by legacies from Lucilla's -father, the Nottingham draper, and her maternal uncle, a London -solicitor, which had materially increased Mrs. Albert Grice's fortune. -The Nottingham draper had left his daughter ten thousand -pounds--one-third of his estate; the maternal uncle, an old bachelor, -regarding her as his favourite niece, had bequeathed to her all he died -possessed of, some fourteen or fifteen thousand; Lucilla, therefore -(Albert being ruled clean out of all calculations), was worth at the -very least thirty thousand pounds. And there were psychological reasons -why Jeckie fixed on Lucilla as the proper person to come in with her. -From the very first she had recognised in Lucilla, a kindred spirit--a -lover of money for money's sake. Jeckie had known it at their first -interview; she had seen signs of it in their business dealings; she had -been quick to observe that when Lucilla received her important influx -of money from her father and uncle, whose deaths had occurred about the -same time, she had not launched out into greater expenditure. She and -Albert still occupied the same villa residence, just outside Sicaster; -still kept the same modest establishment; still stuck to the one cob and -the same dog-cart; still pursued the same uneventful course of life. And -as she spent no more than she had ever spent, Lucilla, according to -Jeckie Farnish's reckoning, must, since her receipt of the family -legacies, have added considerably to her capital. But--and here was -another and more important psychological reason--Jeckie knew, by -instinct as much as by observation, that Lucilla, like herself, was one -of those persons who, having much, are always feverishly anxious to have -still more. There were few details of the life of that neighbourhood -with which Jeckie was not thoroughly familiar, and she knew intimately -the habits and customs of the Grice household. She was well aware, for -instance, that Albert, who had now grown a beard and become a somewhat -fat man, more easygoing than ever, went into Sicaster every morning to -spend his three-and-six and pass the time of day with his gossips in the -bar-parlours of the two principal hotels; he left his door punctually at -ten o'clock for this daily performance and returned--even more -punctually--at precisely one o'clock. It was, therefore, at half-past -ten one morning that Jeckie, armed with an old-fashioned reticule full -of papers, presented herself at the villa and asked to see its mistress; -Lucilla, she knew, would then be alone. - -Lucilla had a certain feeling for Jeckie; a feeling closely akin to that -which Jeckie had for Lucilla; it centered, of course, in money. Lucilla -knew how Jeckie had made money, and how Jeckie could stick to money, and -for money and anything and anybody that had to do with money Lucilla had -instincts of respect which almost amounted to veneration. Accordingly, -she not only welcomed her visitor with cordiality, but showed her -pleasure at receiving her by immediately producing a decanter of port -and a sponge cake, and insisting on Jeckie's partaking of both. - -"You'll have heard, no doubt, of what's been happening down our way?" -said Jeckie, plunging straight into business as soon as she had accepted -the proffered hospitality. "About finding coal under my land, I mean. -It's generally known." - -"I have heard," assented Lucilla. "A sure thing, they say. Well!--if you -aren't one of the lucky ones, Miss Farnish! Everything you touch turns -to gold. Why--you'll make a fortune out of it! I suppose it's dead -certain, eh?" - -Jeckie finished her port, shook her head as her hostess pointed to the -decanter, and began to pull her papers out of the old silk reticule. - -"Aye, it's as dead certain as that I'm sitting here, Mrs. Grice," she -said. "That is, unless all them that ought to know is hopelessly wrong. -To tell you the truth, and between ourselves, I've come to see you about -it, and I'll give you the entire history of the whole affair. You'll ha' -seen that smart London chap that's been staying at the 'Coach-and-Four' -for some time now--Mortimer, Mr. Mallerbie Mortimer? Aye, well, it was -him put me on to it. He's a mining expert--a member of the Institute of -Mining Engineers--and he came down to these parts prospecting. He told -me, in confidence, that there was coal, no end of it, under Savilestowe, -and particularly under forty acres o' poor land that belonged to Ben -Scholes. Well, I said naught to nobody, but I bought that bit o' land -fro' Ben--I gave him next to naught for it and had it properly conveyed -to me. And then I told this here Mortimer to bore, and he got machinery -and men, and another expert fro' London--a man called Farebrother. And -they sunk these borings, at different spots' i' my land, and the result -was splendid. But I worn't going to go on their word--right as it is. I -got two independent experts, t'best I could hear of, and a professor o' -geology fro' Clothford University, and had them to go thoroughly into -the matter. And they all agreed with the other two--they tell me that -under my forty acres there's coal of the very best quality, that it'll -take many and many a year to exhaust, and that there's a regular big -fortune in it. So--there's no possible doubt. But cast your eye over -these papers yourself--you'll be quite able to understand 'em." - -Lucilla readily understood the typewritten sheets which Jeckie handed to -her. They were all technical reports, signed by the five men whom Jeckie -had mentioned--differing in phraseology and in detail, all were alike in -asserting a conviction, based on the results of the borings, that coal -lay under Savilestowe Leys in vast quantity and of the best quality. -Lucilla handed them back with obvious envy. - -"Well, if ye aren't lucky!" she exclaimed. "It's as I said--all turns to -gold that you handle. Then--what's going to happen next! You'll be for a -company, I suppose?" - -"No!" said Jeckie grimly. "I'll ha' no more fingers in my pie than I can -keep an eye on, I'll warrant you, Mrs. Grice! I've had no end o' -suggestions o' that sort--the squire, and the parson, and Stubley, and -Merritt, they'd all like to come in--the squire wanted to get up a big -limited liability company, with him as chairman, and do great things. -But I shan't have aught to do wi' that. I know what there is under my -land, according to these papers, and as I say, it's a pie that I'm not -going to have a lot o' fingers poked into. But, I'll tell you what--and -it's why I come here--I don't mind taking in one partner, just one. -You!--if you like the notion." - -Lucilla blushed as if she had been a coy maiden receiving a first -proposal of marriage. - -"Me!" she exclaimed. "Lor', Miss Farnish!" - -"Listen to me!" said Jeckie, bending forward across the bearskin -hearthrug. "You and me knows what's what about money matters--nobody -better. I know--for I know most o' what goes on about here--that you're -now a well-to-do woman, what with what you had and with them legacies -you've had left. Now, so am I, to a certain extent. What I propose is, -let's you and me--just ourselves and nobody else--go into partnership to -work this coal-mine. Farnish and Grice, Savilestowe Main--that's how it -would be. You and me--all to ourselves?" - -"Goodness gracious! It 'ud cost an awful lot of money, wouldn't it?" -said Lucilla, in an awe-struck whisper. "To make a colliery! Why----" - -"Aye, and think what we should get out of it!" interrupted Jeckie. -"It'll take many a long year, they say, to exhaust what there is just -under my land. And it'll not be so expensive as in some cases, the -making of a mine. I've gone into that, too, and had estimates. It's the -character of the, what do they call 'em--strata; that's the various -stuffs, soils, and stones, yer know, they have to get through. They say -this'll be naught like so difficult as some, and that we could be -working in less nor two years." - -Lucilla, perched on her sofa, was already regarding Jeckie with dilated -and avaricious eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, but she said -nothing, and Jeckie presently bent still nearer and whispered. - -"There's hundreds o' thousands o' pounds worth o' that coal!" she said. -"And we've naught to do but to get it out!" - -Lucilla found her tongue. - -"How much should we have to put in?" she asked faintly. - -"Well, I've thought that out," answered Jeckie, readily enough. -"Supposing we put in twenty-five thousand each, to make a starting -capital o' fifty thousand? Then, as regards profits--as the land's mine, -and the coal, too, you wouldn't expect to share equally. One-third of -the profits to you, and the other two-thirds to me--that's what I think -'ud be fair, and right, and reasonable. Even then, you'd have a rare -return for your outlay. You know I could find a hundred people 'at 'ud -just jump at such an offer. The squire 'ud fair leap at it! But I came -to you because I know that you understand money, same as I do, and I'd -rather have a woman for a partner nor a man. But look here. I'm a rare -hand at figures, and I've worked this out. You come to this table, and -go into these figures wi' me." - -Jeckie had only just left the villa residence, when Albert returned to -the midday dinner. His wife said nothing of her visitor, and Albert was -too full of his usual bar-parlour gossip to notice that Lucilla was -remarkably preoccupied and absent-minded. He remained innocent and -unconscious of what was going on, nor was he aware that Jeckie Farnish -visited Lucilla during several successive mornings, and that on the last -two, both women went into town, and were closeted for some time with, -first, solicitors, and, second, bankers. Albert, indeed, never entered -into the thoughts of either Lucilla or Jeckie; he was not even a -circumstance to be taken into account. There was, however, a man in the -neighbourhood who had Miss Jecholiah Farnish very much in his thoughts -at this time. This was Farebrother, a more observant man than Mortimer, -and Farebrother at last tackled his friend definitely as they sat dining -one night in the parlour of the "Coach-and-Four." - -"Look here!" he said, suddenly. "It's about time you knew what this -Farnish woman's going to do. If you want the plain truth, Mortimer, I -don't trust her." - -"Oh, she's all right," exclaimed Mortimer. "A keen business woman, no -doubt, but not the sort to----" - -"My lad!" interrupted Farebrother, "you're always too optimistic, and -too ready to believe in people. The woman's just the sort to do anybody -out of anything--she did both you and Scholes over the land. It's -hers--and so is all that's beneath it, to the centre of the earth. You -should have bought it yourself." - -"I?--a complete stranger!" protested Mortimer. "Impossible! There would -have been suspicion with a vengeance!" - -"Then you should have made an arrangement with her before she got it," -said Farebrother. "She's got it now--and all that it implies. And my -belief is that she's up to something. The last two or three times I've -been in the town I've seen her coming out of solicitors' offices--she's -at some game or another. She'll do you out of any share that you want to -get in this very promising mine unless you're careful, and if you take -my advice you'll put it straight and unmistakably to her, and ask her -what she's going to do." - -Mortimer protested and explained, but when dinner was over he went round -to Jeckie's private door, and after a slight interchange of casual -remarks, asked her point-blank what she was going to do about starting -a company to work the mine. Jeckie pointed to a large, legal-looking -envelope which lay on the table. - -"It's done," she said calmly. "There'll be no company. Me and a friend -of mine have gone into partnership to work it--there's the deed, duly -signed to-day. We're going to start operations very soon." - -Mortimer felt his cheeks flush--more from the memory of what Farebrother -had said than with his very natural indignation. - -"But what about me?" he exclaimed. "Why--I gave you the idea! I said -from the first that I'd find money towards the company and knew others -who would. It was my idea altogether--mine entirely. I only gave you the -chance of coming in--I----" - -"Whose land is it?" demanded Jeckie, coolly. "Did I buy it? Is it mine? -If you wanted it why didn't you buy it? I bought it; it's my land. -And--all that's beneath it. Do you think I was going to do that for -other folks? We do nowt for nobody hereabouts, unless there's something -to be made at it, my lad! But, of course, I'll pay you and your friend -for your professional services--you must send your bill in." - -Mortimer rose from his chair and looked at the woman in whom, -half-an-hour previously, he had expressed his belief. - -"So you've done me, too?" he said, simply. "You know well enough what my -intentions were about this mine--of which you'd never have known, never -have dreamed, if I hadn't told you of it. Do you call that honest--to do -what you are doing?" - -"Send in your bill--and tell Farebrother to send in his," said Jeckie, -in her hardest voice. "You'll both get your cheques as soon as I see -that you've charged right." - -Mortimer went away, worse than chagrined, and told Farebrother of his -dismissal; Farebrother forbore to remind him of what he had prophesied. - -"All right!" he said. "I see what it is. She learnt all she can from -us--now she's going to be what such a woman only can be--sole master! -All right!" - -And being a practical man, he sat down to make out, what Jeckie styled, -his bill. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -_The Yorkshire Way_ - - -During the course of the next morning Jeckie received a large oblong -envelope delivered to her by the stable-boy of the "Coach-and-Four." It -was handed to her over the counter of the shop, and she opened it there -and then, in the presence of her assistants and of several customers, -all of whom were surprised to see the usually hard, unmoved face flush -as its owner glared hastily at the two enclosures which she drew out. -Within an instant Jeckie had hurried them into the envelope again, and -had turned angrily on the stable-boy. - -"What're you waiting for?" she demanded sharply. - -"Mestur Mortimer, he said I wor to wait for an answer," replied the lad. -"That's what he telled me." - -"Then you can tell him t'answer'll come on," retorted Jeckie. "I can't -bother with it now. Off you go!" - -The stable-boy stared at the angry face and made a retreat; Jeckie -retreated, too, into her private parlour, where she once more drew out -the two sheets of excellent, unruled, professional-looking paper whereon -the two mining engineers had set down their charges for services -rendered. - -"Did ever anybody see the like o' that!" she muttered. "They might think -a body was made o' money! All that brass for just standin' about while -these other fellers did the work, and then tellin' me what their -opinions were! It's worse nor lawyers!" - -She had no experience, nor knowledge, even by hearsay, of what -professional charges of this sort should be, for the two experts and the -professor of geology whom she had engaged, in order to get independent -opinion, had not yet rendered any account to her. But she remembered -that they would certainly come in, and that she would just as certainly -have to pay them, whatever they might amount to, for she had definitely -engaged the three men, from whom they would come, writing to request -their attendance with her own hand. - -"And if them three charge as these two has," she growled, looking black -at what Mortimer demanded on one sheet of paper, and Farebrother on the -other, "it'll come to a nice lot!--a deal more nor ever I expected. And -as if they'd ever done aught for it! I'm sure that there Mortimer never -did naught but stand about them sheds, wi' his hands in his pockets, -smokin' cigars without end--why it's as if he were chargin' me so many -guineas for every cigar he smoked! And if these is what minin' -engineers' professional charges is, it's going to cost me a pretty penny -before even we've got that coal up and make aught out of it!" - -No answer, verbal or otherwise, went back from Miss Farnish to the -London gentlemen at the "Coach-and-Four" that day. But, early next -morning, Jeckie, who had spent much time in thinking hard since the -previous noon, got into her pony-tray (an eminently useful if not -remarkably stylish equipage) and drove away from the village. Anyone who -had observed her closely might have seen that she was in a preoccupied -and designing mood. She drove through Sicaster, and away into the mining -district beyond, and after journeying for several miles, came to -Heronshawe Main, an exceedingly flourishing and prosperous colliery -which was the sole property of Mr. Matthew Revis, and was situated on -and beneath a piece of land of unusually black and desolate aspect. -Revis, a self-made man, bluff, downright, rough of speech, had had -business dealings with Jeckie Farnish in the past in respect of some -property in which each was interested, and of late she had consulted him -once or twice as to the prospects of her new venture; she had also -induced him to drive over to Savilestowe during the progress of the -experimental boring. She wanted his advice now, and she went straight to -his offices at the colliery. She had been there before, and on each -occasion had come away building castles in the air as regards her -projected development of Savilestowe. For to sit in Revis's handsome, -almost luxurious private room, looking out on the evidences of industry -and wealth, to see from its windows the hundreds of grimy-faced -colliers, going away from their last shift, was an encouragement in -itself to go on with her own schemes. Already she saw at Savilestowe -what she actually looked on at Heronshawe Main, and herself and Lucilla -Grice mistresses of an army of men whose arms would bear treasure out of -the earth--for them. - -Revis came into his room as she sat staring out on all the unloveliness -of the colliery, a big, bearded man, keen-eyed and resolute of mouth, -and nodded smilingly at her. He already knew Jeckie for a woman who was -of a certain resemblance to himself--a grubber after money. But he had -long since made his fortune--an enormous one; she was at a stage at -which he had once been, a stage of anxious adventure, and therefore she -was interesting. - -"Well, my lass!" he said. "How's things getting on? Made a start yet -with that little business o' yours? You'll never lift that coal up if -you don't get busy with it, you know!" - -He dropped into an easy chair beside the hearth, pulled out his -cigar-case, and began to smoke, and Jeckie, noting his careless and -comfortable attitude, wished that she had got over the initial stages of -her adventure, and had seen her colliery in full and prosperous working -order for thirty years. - -"Mr. Revis," she answered, "I wish I'd got as far as you have! You've -got all the worst of it over long since. I've got to begin. Now, you've -been very good to me in giving me bits of advice. I came to see if you'd -give me some more. What's the best and cheapest way to get this colliery -o' mine started?" - -Revis laughed, evidently enjoying the directness of her question. He -knew well enough that it did not spring from simplicity. - -"Why!" he answered. "You've got them two London chaps at Savilestowe -yet, haven't you? I saw 'em in Sicaster t'other day. They're mining -engineers, both of 'em. Why not go to them--I thought you were going to -employ them." - -"I don't want to have naught more to do with 'em, Mr. Revis," said -Jeckie earnestly. "They're Londoners! I can't abide 'em. They seem to me -to do naught but stand about and watch--and then charge you for -watching, as if they'd been working like niggers. I don't understand -such ways. Aren't there mining engineers in Yorkshire that 'ud see the -job through. Our own folk, you know?" - -"I see--I see!" said Revis, with a smile. "Want to keep work and money -amongst our own people, what? All right, my lass!--I'm a good deal that -way myself. Now, then, pull your chair up to my desk there, and get a -pen in your hand, and make a few notes--I'll tell you what to do about -all that. And," he added, with a laugh that was almost jovial, "I shan't -charge you nowt, either!" - -An hour later Jeckie went away from Heronshawe Main filled to the brim -with practical advice and valuable information. It mattered nothing to -Matthew Revis if a hundred new collieries were opened within his own -immediate district; he had made his money out of his own already, and to -such an extent that no competition could touch him. Therefore, he was -willing to help a new beginner, especially seeing that that beginner was -a clever and interesting woman, still extremely handsome, who certainly -seemed to have a genius for money-making. - -"Come to me when you want to know aught more," he said, as he shook -hands with his visitor. "Get hold of this firm I've told you about, and -make your own arrangements with 'em, and let 'em get on with the -sinking. With your capital, and the results o' that boring, you ought to -do well--so long as naught happens." - -Jeckie started, and gave Revis a sharp, inquiring look. - -"What--what could happen?" she asked. - -"Well, my lass, there's always the chance of two things," answered -Revis, becoming more serious than he had been at any time during the -interview. "Water for one; sand for the other. In these north-country -coal-fields of ours, water-logged sand has always been a danger. -But--you'll have to take your chance: I had to take mine! None of us 'ud -ever do aught i' this world if we didn't face a bit o' risk, you know." - -But Jeckie lingered, looking at him with some doubt in her keen eyes. - -"Did you have any trouble yourself in that way?" she asked. - -"Aye!" answered Revis, with a grim smile. "We came to a bed of -quicksand--a thinnish one, to be sure, but it was there. Two thousand -gallons o' water a minute came out o' that, my lass!" - -"What did you have to do?" inquired Jeckie. "All that water!" - -"Had to tub it with heavy cast-iron plates," replied Revis. "But you'll -not understand all these details. Leave things to this firm I've told -you about; you can depend on them." - -All the way from Heronshawe Main to Sicaster, Jeckie Farnish revolved -Revis's last words. Water!--sand! Supposing all her money--she gave no -thought to Lucilla Grice's money--were swept away once for all by water, -or swallowed up for ever in sand? That would indeed be a fine end to her -ventures! But still, Revis had met with and surmounted these -difficulties; no, she meant to go on. And she had saved a lot of money -that morning by getting valuable advice and information from Revis for -nothing--nothing at all--and she meant to get out of paying something -else, too, before night came, and with that interesting design in her -mind, she drove up to Palethorpe and Overthwaite's office, and went in, -and laid before Palethorpe, whom she found alone, the charges sent in to -her the day before by Mortimer and his friend Farebrother. Palethorpe, -whose keenness had not grown less as he had grown older, elevated his -eyebrows, and pursed his lips, when he glanced at the amounts to which -Jeckie pointed. - -"Whew!" he said. "These are pretty stiff charges, Miss Farnish!" - -"Worse nor what yours are!" said Jeckie, showing a little sarcastic -humour. "And they're bad enough sometimes." - -"Strictly according to etiquette, ma'am!" replied Palethorpe, with a -sly smile. "Strictly regular. But there----" - -"Aye, there!" exclaimed Jeckie. "All that brass for just hearing them -two talk a bit, and for seeing 'em stand about watching other fellers -work! And I want to know how I can get out o' paying it?" - -Palethorpe put his fingers together and got into the attitude of -consultation. - -"Just give me a brief history of your transactions with these -gentlemen," he said. "Just the plain facts." - -He listened carefully while Jeckie detailed her knowledge and experience -of Mr. Mallerbie Mortimer and his friend, and, when she had finished, -asked her two or three questions arising out of what she had told him. - -"Now, you attend closely to what I say, Miss Farnish," he said, after -considering matters for awhile. "First of all, would you like me to see -these two, or would you rather see them yourself? You'll see them -yourself? Very well; now, then, when you go, just do and say exactly -what I'm going to tell you." - -There was no apter pupil in all Yorkshire than Jeckie Farnish when it -came to learning lessons in the fine art of doing anybody out of -anything, and by the time she walked out of Palethorpe and Overthwaite's -office she had mastered all the suggestions offered to her. And it was -with an air in which cleverly assumed surprise, expostulation, and -injured innocence were curiously mingled that she walked into the -parlour of the "Coach-and-Four" that evening, just as Mortimer and -Farebrother finished dinner, and laid down on an unoccupied corner of -the table the two folded sheets of foolscap which they had sent her the -previous day. - -Farebrother gave Mortimer a secret kick, and spoke before his too -easygoing friend could get in a word. - -"Good evening, Miss Farnish," he said, politely. "Won't you take a -chair, and let me give you a glass of wine; it's very good. I hope you -found these accounts correct?" - -"Thank you," replied Jeckie. "I'll take a chair, but I won't take no -wine. Much obliged to you. And as to these accounts, all I can say 'at I -never was so surprised in my life as when I received 'em! It's -positively shameful to send such things to me, and I can't think how you -could do it, reckoning to be gentlemen!" - -Farebrother gave Mortimer another kick and looked steadily at their -visitor. - -"Oh!" he said, very quietly. "Now--why?" - -"Why?" exclaimed Jeckie. "What! amounts like them? You know as well as I -do 'at I never employed either of you! You haven't a single letter, nor -paper, nor nothing to show 'at I ever told you or engaged you to do -aught for me; you know you haven't. It's all the fault o' Mr. Mortimer -there if there's been any misunderstanding on your part, Mr. -Farebrother, but I'd naught to do with it. I know quite well what part -Mr. Mortimer's played!" - -Mortimer received a third kick before he could speak, and Farebrother, -who was gradually becoming more and more icy in manner, asked another -question. - -"Perhaps you'll give me an account of Mr. Mortimer's doing?" he -suggested. "I shall like to hear what you have to say." - -Jeckie favoured both men with an injured and sullen stare. - -"Well!" she said. "Mr. Mortimer came to me, unasked, mind you, and said -he was having a holiday down here, and who he was, and that he'd a -suspicion there might be coal under this village. He talked a lot about -it in my parlour, though I'm sure I never invited him to do so. I didn't -know him from Adam when he came to my house! It's quite true 'at I -bought land from Ben Scholes on the strength of what he said, but he'd -naught to do with that. I paid for it with my own money. And then he -goes and sends me in a bill like that there?--a bill three or four times -as much as yours, though, from what I've seen of both of you, I reckon -you're a more dependable man than what he is, and----" - -"Mr. Mortimer has been employed by you four times as long as I had," -interposed Farebrother. "Therefore----" - -"He was never employed by me at all!" exclaimed Jeckie, emphatically. -"Where's his papers to show it? I always reckoned that he was just a -Londoner down here for a holiday--that's what he told t'landlord and his -wife when he came to this house--and that, being interested in coal, he -was telling me what he knew or thought he knew. And I never gave him -any reason to think that I was employin' his services, nor yours either, -for that matter. It's naught but imposition to send me in bills like -them!" - -"Here, I can't stand this any longer!" said Mortimer, suddenly rising -from his chair. He turned on Jeckie and confronted her angrily. "You -know as well as I do that you constantly consulted me, and that you told -me to get Mr. Farebrother down from London----" - -"Have you aught to prove it?" interrupted Jeckie, with a knowing look in -which she contrived to include both men. "You know you haven't! No! but -I can prove, 'cause you're a great talker and over-ready with your -tongue, mister, that you gave it out all over t'village 'at your friend -Mr. Farebrother was coming down to have a holiday, too. And he came; -and, of course, I'd no objection if you both gave me advice, and I -should ha' been a fool if I hadn't taken it, but I never employed -neither of you. Didn't I get my own advisers when the time came? I -employed them, right enough, but not you. You know quite well, if you're -business men, 'at you haven't a scrap of writing nor a shred of evidence -to show that I ever gave you any commission to do aught for me. I just -thought you were amusing and interesting yourselves, and giving me a bit -of advice and information, friendly-like. But, of course, I'm willing to -make you a payment, in reason, and if ten pound apiece 'ud be----" - -Jeckie got no further. Before Mortimer could speak Farebrother suddenly -picked up the obnoxious accounts, tore them in two, flung the fragments -into the fire, and, opening the parlour door, made Jeckie a ceremonious -bow. - -"We'll make you a present of all we've done for you, my good lady," he -said. "Now, go!" - -Jeckie went, grumbling. She had honestly meant to part with twenty -pounds. It vexed her, temperamentally, to think of anybody doing -something for nothing. She would have liked to pay these two ten pounds -each. And she went home feeling deeply injured that they had scorned -her. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -_Obsession_ - - -Before noon the next day the two Londoners, for whom Jeckie Farnish had -no further use, had shaken the Savilestowe dirt from off their feet, to -the sorrow of Beckitt and his wife and the frequenters of the -bar-parlour, and Jeckie told her partner, Lucilla Grice, of how cleverly -she had done them. Lucilla applauded her cleverness; what was the use, -she said, of paying money if you could get out of paying it?--especially -as there was such a lot of spending to be done that she and Jeckie could -not by any possible means avoid. The mere pointing out of that undoubted -fact made Jeckie sigh deeply. - -"Aye!" she said, almost lugubriously. "That's true enough!--we're just -starting out on what can't be other than the trying and unpleasant part -of the business--laying money out in bucketfuls with no prospect of -seeing aught back for some time! However, there's no doubt about seeing -it back in cart-loads when it does start coming, and now that I've got -this advice and information from Mr. Revis--free, gratis, mind -you!--we'd best set to work. Revis, he says that these engineers and -contractors that he's recommended'll do the whole job twenty per cent. -cheaper than those London chaps would ha' done, so you see I've saved a -lot already. And now there's naught for it but to work--and wait." - -"We shall have our hands full," remarked Lucilla sententiously. -"But--let's start." Savilestowe--its mouth agape and eyes wide -open--witnessed the start of the Farnish-Grice enterprise before many -weeks had gone by. Until then--save for Jeckie's boring operations, -which were, comparatively, hole-and-corner affairs--it had never been -roused out of its bucolic life since the Norman Conquest. It had always -been a typical farming village, a big and important one, to be sure, but -still a purely rural and agricultural settlement. Within the wide -boundaries of its parish--one of the largest in England--there were fine -old country-houses in their parks and pleasure grounds; roomy and -ancient farmsteads in their gardens and orchards; corn-lands, -meadow-lands, woods, coppices, streams; industry other than that of -spade and plough had never been known there. But now came a -transformation, at which the older folk stood aghast. The quiet roads -became busy and noisy with the passage of great traction engines drawing -trains of wagons filled with all manner of material in steel and iron, -wood, stone, and brick; vast and unfamiliar structures began to arise on -the forty acres wherein Ben Scholes's half-starved cattle had once tried -to add to their always limited rations; smoke and steam rose and passed -away in noisome clouds over the cottages which had hitherto known -nothing but the scent of homely herbs and flowers. And with all these -strange things came strangers--crowds upon crowds of workmen, navvies, -masons, mechanics, all wanting accommodation and food and drink. Hideous -rows of wooden shanties, hastily run up on the edge of Savilestowe Leys, -housed many of these; others, taken in by the labourer's wives, drove -away the primitive quietude of cottage life; it was, as the vicar's wife -said in her most plaintive manner, an invasion, captained by Jeckie -Farnish and Lucilla Grice. The old order of things was gone, and -Savilestowe lay at the mercy of a horde of ravagers who meant to tear -from it the wealth which its smiling fields had so long kept safely -hidden. - -And now the Savilestowe folk talked of nothing but the marvellous thing -that was going on in their midst. The old subjects of fireside and -inn-kitchen conversation--births, deaths, marriages, scandals, big -gooseberries, and two-headed lambs--were forgotten. There was not a man, -woman, or child in the village who was not certain that wealth was being -created, and that its first outpourings were already in evidence. Money -was being spent in Savilestowe as it had never been spent within the -recollection of the oldest inhabitant, and there was the more glamour -about this spending in that the discerning knew whence this profusion -came. - -"There niver wor such times as these here 'at we're privileged to live -in!" said one of the assembly which usually forgathered round the -blacksmith's forge and anvil of an afternoon. "Money runs like water i' -t'midst on us. I un'erstand at wheer t' 'Coach-and-Four' used to tak' -six barril o'ale it now needs eighteen, and t'landlord o' t' 'Brown -Cow,' up at t'top end o' t'village, says 'at he mun build a new tap-room -for t'workmen to sit in, for his house is filled to t'brim wi' 'em ivery -neet. An' they say 'at Farnish's shop hez more nor once been varry near -selled clear out o' all 'at there wor in it, and 'at they've hed to send -to Sicaster for new supplies. An' it's t'same wi' t'butcher--he's -killin' six or eight times as many beasts and sheep as he used to, and -t'last Frida' neet he hadn't as much as a mutton chop nor a bit o' liver -left i' t'place. Now, there is some brass about, and no mistak'!" - -"Why, thou sees, it's what's called t'circulation o' money," observed -the blacksmith, leisurely leaning on his hammer. "It goes here and it -goes theer, like t'winds o' heaven. Now, ye were sayin' 'at Jecholiah -Farnish's shop's varry near been cleaned out more nor once--varry weel, -if ye'd nobbut think a bit, that means 'at Jeckie wor gettin' her own -back wi' summat added to it--that's what's meant by t'circulation o' -money. We all on us know 'at this here army o' fellers, all at their -various jobs, is paid bi Jeckie and her partner, Mrs. Albert Grice, all -on 'em. Twice a week they're paid--one half on 'em o' Mondays, and -t'other half o' Fridays. Varry weel, they get their brass--now then, -they hev to lig it out, and it goes i' various ways--and a good deal on -it goes back to Jeckie for bread and bacon and cheese and groceries, -d'ye see? She pays out wi' one hand and she tak's in wi' t'other; -they've niver had such an amount o' trade at her shop as they hev now. -Stan's to reason!--ye can't hev three or four hundred stout fellers -come workin' in a place wi'out 'em liggin' brass out. They mun ate and -drink--same as what t'rest on us does. And so t'money goes back'ard and -forrards." - -"Aye, but theer's one i' t'place 'at'll tak' good care 'at some on it -sticks in' her palm!" said an individual who leaned against the door and -watched the proceedings out of a squinting eye. "Theer'll be a nice bit -o' profit for Jeckie Farnish out o' all that extry grocery trade--tak' a -bit o' notice o' that!" - -"Varry like--but when all's said and done," answered the first speaker, -"theer's no denyin' t'fact 'at all this here brass 'at's bein' paid out -and spent i' t'village hes what they call its origin wi' her and t'other -woman. They hef to pay t'contractors, ye know. And a bonny-like sum it -mun be an' all, wi' all that machinery, and t'stuff 'at they've browt -here i' building material, and t'men's wages--gow, I couldn't ha' thowt -'at her and Albert Grice's wife could ha' had so much brass!" - -"Now, how much will they reckon to mak' a year out o' t'job when it's -fully established, like?" asked a man who had shown his keen interest by -watching each preceding speaker with his mouth wide open and his eyes -turning and staring from one to another. "Is there a deal to be made out -o' this here coal trade? 'Cause mi mother, 'at lives close to Mestur -Revis' colliery, yonder at Heronshawe Main, as they call it, she niver -pays no more nor five shillin' a ton for her coal. I reckon ye'd hev to -sell a lot o' tons o' coal at that figure before ye'd get enew o' brass -to pay for all 'at's bein' laid out here--what?" - -"Thy mother lives close to t'scenes o' operations, fathead!" retorted -the blacksmith. "She's on t'threshold, as it were--nowt to do but buy it -as it comes out o' t'pit. But if thy mother lived i' London town, what -dusta think she'd hev to pay for her coal then? I've read pieces i' -t'papers about coal bein' as much as three and four pounds a ton i' -London--what's ta think o' that?" - -"Why, now, that's summat like a price!" assented the questioner. "I -shouldn't hev no objection misen to sellin' coal at four pound a ton. -But they hev to get it to London town first, hevn't they, afore they can -sell?" - -Before the blacksmith could give enlightenment on this economic point, -the jack-of-all-trades, who, on a previous similar occasion, had warned -Ben Scholes of what Jeckie was after in buying his land, put in one of -his caustic remarks. - -"Aye, and afore Jeckie Farnish gets her coal to London town--which there -isn't no such place, 'cause London's a city--she'll hev to get it -somewheer else!" he said. "Don't ye forget that!" - -"I thowt ye'd ha' summat to say," sneered the blacksmith. "Wheer hes she -to get it, like?--ye'll knaw, of course." - -"I dew knaw," affirmed the wiseacre. "She'll hev to get it to t'surface! -It's i' t'bowels o' t'earth yet, is that coal--it's none on t'top." - -"What's to prevent it bein' browt to t'top, clever 'un?" demanded the -blacksmith. "Aren't they at work sinkin' t'shafts as fast as they can?" - -"Aye--and I've knawn wheer they sunk t'shafts deeper nor wheer ye heerd -on!" said the clever one. "And then they niver got no coal! Not 'cause -t'coal worn't there--it wor theer, reight enough wor t'coal. But it -niver rase to t'top!" - -"And for why, pray?" asked an eager listener. "What wor theer to prevent -it?" - -But the hinter at evil things, having shot his shafts, was turning on -his heel, bound for the tap-room at the "Brown Cow." - -"Niver ye mind!" he said darkly. "Theer's been no coal led away fro' -Jeckie Farnish's pit mouth yit! An' happen ther niver will be!" - -If he really had some doubts on the matter the Jack-of-all-trades formed -a minority of one on the question of Jeckie Farnish's success. Everybody -in the village believed that within a comparatively short time the pit -would be in full working order, and coal would be coming up the winding -shaft in huge quantities. And there were not wanting those in -Savilestowe who were eager to get some share in the fortune which Jeckie -and Lucilla had so far managed to monopolise. The squire, and the vicar, -and Stubley, and Merritt as principals, and some of the lesser lights of -the community as accessories, began putting their heads together in -secret and discussing plans and schemes of money-making, all arising out -of the fact that work was going ahead rapidly at the Farnish-Grice pit. -Now, it was almost impossible for anything to be discussed, or for -anything to happen in Savilestowe without the news of it reaching -Jeckie--and one day she went to Lucilla with a face full of information -and resolve. - -"It's always the case!" she began, with a dark hinting look. "Whenever a -big affair like ours is started, there's sure to be them that wants to -get a bit of picking out of it by some means or other, fair or foul. -I'll not say 'at this isn't fair, but it doesn't suit me!" - -"What is it?" asked Lucilla anxiously. "Nothing wrong?" - -"Not with our concern," replied Jeckie. "That's going all right, as you -know very well--we shall be getting coal in another twelve month. No, -it's this--it's come to my ears that the squire and Stubley and some -more of 'em, knowing very well that there'll have to be a bit of housing -accommodation provided, are forming themselves into a society or a -company, or something, with the idea of building what they call a model -village that'll be well outside Savilestowe but within easy reach. Now, -you and me's not going to have that!" - -"But--the miners'll have to live somewhere!" said Lucilla. - -Jeckie gave her partner a queer look. - -"Do you think I don't know that?" she said. "Why, of course! And I've -made provision for it, though I thought we'd time enough. But -now--before ever this lot can get to work--we'll start. We'll have our -men in our own hands--on our own property." - -"But how?" inquired Lucilla. - -"I never told anybody until now," answered Jeckie, "but I have some land -in Savilestowe that I bought years before I got that land of Ben -Scholes's. There's about thirty acres of it--I bought it from James -Tukeby's widow for next to naught, on the condition that she was to have -the rent of it till she died. It was all properly conveyed to me, and, -of course, I can do what I like with it. Now then, we'll build three or -four rows of cottages on that--of course, as the land's mine, it's -value'll have to be reckoned in our partnership account--and we'll let -'em to our own miners, d'you see? I'll have none of our men livin' in -model villages under the squire and the parson--it's all finicking -nonsense. We'll have our chaps close to their work! Good, substantial, -brick cottages--bricks are cheap enough about here--with a good water -supply; that's all that's wanted. Model villages!--they'll be wantin' to -house workin' fellers i' palaces next!" - -"It'll cost a lot of money," observed Lucilla. She had never considered -the housing of the small army of miners which would troop into -Savilestowe at the opening of the new pit. "And you know what we're -already laying out!" - -"We shall get it all back in rents," said Jeckie. She pulled some papers -out of the old reticule. "See," she continued, "I've worked it out--cost -and everything; I got an estimate from Arkstone, the builder, at -Sicaster, yesterday. There's no need to employ an architect for places -like they'll be--just five roomed cottages. Come here, and I'll show you -what it'll cost, and what it'll bring in." - -Lucilla was always an easy prey to Jeckie, and being already deeply -involved, was only too ready to assent to all the plans and projects -which her senior partner proposed. Moreover, Albert, when the two women -condescended to call him into counsel, invariably agreed with his -one-time sweetheart; he had the conviction that whatever Jeckie took in -hand must certainly succeed. He himself was so full of the whole scheme -that he had long since given up his daily visit to Sicaster. Ever since -the beginning of active sinking work at the pit, he had driven Lucilla -over to Savilestowe every morning after breakfast, and there they had -remained most of the day, watching operations; in time Albert came to -believe that he himself was really a sort of _ex-officio_ manager of the -whole thing, and in this belief Jeckie humoured him. And so it was easy -to gain Lucilla's consent to the cottage-building scheme (which -eventually developed into one that included the construction of houses -of the villa type for the more important officials), and once more the -two partners paid visits to solicitors and bankers. - -The money was rushing away like water out of a broken reservoir. As in -most similar cases, the expenditure, when it came to it, was greater -than the spenders had reckoned for. More than once Lucilla drew back -appalled at the sums which had to be laid out; more than once the -bankers upon whom the partners were always drawing heavy cheques, took -Jeckie aside and talked seriously to her about the prospects of the -venture; Jeckie invariably replied by exhibiting the opinions of the -experts and the professor of geology, and by declaring that if she had -to mortgage her whole future, she was going on. She would point out, -too, that the work had gone on successfully and smoothly; there had been -nothing to alarm; nothing to stay the steady progress. - -"I'll see it through to success!" she declared. "Cost what it may, I'm -going to put all I have into it. I've never failed yet--and I won't!" - -The work in her forty acres and in the land where the rows of ugly -cottages were being built came to fascinate her. She began to neglect -her shop, leaving all its vastly increased business to a manager and -several sorely-taxed assistants, and to spend all her time with the -engineers and contractors, until she came to know almost as much about -their labours as they themselves knew. She would wander from one of the -two shafts to the other a dozen times in a day; she kept an eye on the -builders of the cottages and on the men who were making the road that -would lead from the pit to the main street of the village; she had a -good deal to say about the construction of the short stretch of railway -which would connect it with the line that ran behind the woods, whereon -she hoped to send her coal all over the country. In her imagination she -saw it going north and south, east and west, truck upon truck of it--to -return in good gold. - -But meanwhile the money went. More than once she and Lucilla had to -increase their original capital. A time came when still more money was -needed, and when Lucilla could do no more. But Jeckie's resources were -by no means exhausted, and one day, after a sleepless night during which -she thought as she had never thought in her life, she went into -Sicaster, determined on doing what she had once vowed she never would -do. The shop must go. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -_The Last Throw_ - - -It was a conversation with Farnish that sent Jeckie, grim and resolute, -into Sicaster, determined on selling the business which she had built up -and developed so successfully. Until the day of that conversation the -idea of giving up the shop had never entered her mind; she had more than -once foreseen that she might have to raise ready money on the strength -of her prosperous establishment, but she had not contemplated -relinquishing it altogether, for she knew--no one better--that as the -population of Savilestowe increased because of the new industry which -she was founding in its midst, so would the trade of the Golden Teapot -wax beyond her wildest dreams. But certain information given her by her -father brought matters to a crisis, and when Jeckie came to such -passages in life she was as quick in action as she was rapid in thought. - -Farnish, since the beginning of his daughter's great adventure, had -grown greatly in self-importance. Like Albert Grice, he believed himself -to be a sharer, even a guiding spirit, in the wonderful enterprise. Long -since promoted from his first position as a sort of glorified errand-boy -to that of superintendent of transit and collector of small accounts, -he now wore his second-best clothes every day, and was seen much about -the village and at Sicaster. Jeckie had found out that he was to be -trusted if given a reasonable amount of liberty; consequently, she had -left him pretty much to his own devices. Of late he had taken to -frequenting the bar-parlour of the "Coach-and-Four" every evening after -his early supper, and as he never returned home in anything more than a -state of quite respectable up-liftedness, Jeckie said nothing. He was -getting on in years, she remembered, and some licence must be permitted -him; besides, she had for a long time given him an increased amount of -pocket-money, and it now mattered nothing to her how or where he laid it -out so long as he behaved himself, and did his light work faithfully. -They had come to be better friends, and she had allowed him, in some -degree, to make evident his parental position, and had condescended now -and then to ask his advice in small matters. And in the village, and in -Sicaster, he was no longer Farnish, the broken farmer, but Mr. Farnish, -father of one of the wealthiest women in the neighbourhood. - -The problem of Jeckie's wealth--and how much money she really had was -only known to her bankers and guessed at by her solicitors--had long -excited interest in Savilestowe and its immediate surroundings. It was -well known that she had extended her original business in such -surprising fashion that her vans and carts now carried a radius of many -miles; she had been so enterprising that she had considerably damaged -the business of more than one grocer in Sicaster and Cornchester; the -volume of her trade was at least six times as great as that which George -Grice had ever known in his best days. Yet the discerning knew very well -that Miss Farnish had not made, could not have made, all the money she -was reputed to possess out of her shop, big and first-class as it was. -And if Jeckie, who never told anybody everything, could have been -induced to speak, she would have agreed with the folk who voiced this -opinion. The truth was that as she had made money she had begun to -speculate, and after some little practice in the game had become -remarkably proficient at it; she had found her good luck following her -in this risky business as splendidly as it had followed her in selling -bacon and butter. But, it was only a very few people--bankers, -stockbrokers, solicitors--who knew of this side of her energetic career. -What the Savilestowe folk did know was that Jecholiah Farnish had made -no end of brass; some of them were not quite sure how; some suspected -how. Jeckie said and did nothing to throw any light on the subject. It -pleased and suited her that people knew she was wealthy, and her own -firm belief--for she was blind enough on certain points--was that she -was believed to be a great deal richer than--as she herself knew, in -secret--she really was. - -It fell to Farnish to disabuse her on this point. - -Farnish, returning home one night from the customary symposium at the -"Coach-and-Four," found Jeckie peacefully mending linen by the parlour -fire. It had come to be an established ceremony, since more friendly -relations were set up between them, that father and daughter took a -night-cap together before retiring, and exchanged a little pleasant -conversation during its consumption; on this occasion Farnish, after the -gin-and-water had relapsed into a moody quietude. He was usually only -too ready to talk, and Jeckie glanced at him in surprise as he sat -staring at the fire, leaving his glass untouched. - -"You're very quiet to-night," she said. "Has aught happened?" - -Farnish started, stared at her, and leaned forward. - -"Aye, mi lass!" he replied. "Summat has happened! I've been hearin' -summat; summat 'at's upset me; summat 'at I niver expected to hear." He -leaned still nearer, and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Jecholiah, mi -lass!" he went on, in almost awe-struck tones. "Folks is--talkin'!" - -"Folks! what folks?" exclaimed Jeckie in genuine amazement. "An' -talkin'? What about?" - -"It's about you, mi lass," answered Farnish. "I heerd it to-night, i' -private fro' a friend o' mine as doesn't want his name mentionin', but's -a dependable man. He tell'd me on t'quiet, i' a corner at t' -'Coach-and-Four'; he thowt you owt to know, this man did. He say 'at -it's bein' talked on, not only i' Savilestowe here, but all round -t'neighbourhood. Dear--dear!--it's strange how long a tale tak's to get -to t'ears o' t'person 'at's chiefly concerned!" - -"Now then--out with it!" commanded Jeckie. "What's it all about?" - -Farnish glanced at her a look which was half fearful, half-inquiring. -"They're sayin' 'at you and Lucilla Grice hes come to t'end o' your -brass, or close on it," he whispered. "Some on 'em 'at reckons to know -summat about it's been reckonin' up what you mun ha' laid out, and -comparin' it wi' what they knew she hed, and what they think you hed, -and they say you mun be about at t'last end. An' they say, 'at it'll be -months yet afore t'pit'll be ready for working, and 'at ye'll niver be -able to keep up t'expense, and 'at ye'll eyther hev to sell to somebody -'at can afford to go on wi' it, or gi' t'job up altogether, and lose all -t'brass--an' it mun be a terrible amount bi' now--'at you've wared on -it. That's what's bein' whispered about, mi lass!" - -"Aught else?" demanded Jeckie. - -"Well, theer is summat," admitted Farnish. "They say 'at ye never paid -them two London gentlemen 'at did such a lot at t'beginning o' things; -'at they went away thro' t'place wi'out their brass, an'----" - -"That'll do!" interrupted Jeckie. "Is that all?" - -"All, mi lass," assented Farnish. "Except 'at it's a common notion 'at -ye'll niver be able to carry t'job through! Now, what is t'truth, mi -lass? I'm reight fair upset, as you can see." - -"Sup your drink and go to bed and sleep sound!" said Jeckie -contemptuously. "An' tell any damned fool 'at talks such stuff again to -you 'at he'd better wait and watch things a bit. Money! I'll let 'em see -whether I haven't money! More nor anybody knows on!" - -Farnish went to bed satisfied and confident; but when he had gone Jeckie -sat by the fire, motionless, staring at the embers until they died out -to a white ash. She was thinking, and reckoning, and scheming, and when -at last, she too retired, it was to lie awake more than half the night -revolving her plans. She was up again by six o'clock next morning, and -at seven was with the manager of the works--a clever, capable, -thoroughly-experienced man who had been recommended to her by Revis, of -Heronshawe Main, and in whom, accordingly, she had every confidence. He -stared in astonishment as Jeckie, who had wrapped head and shoulders in -an old Paisley shawl, came stalking into his temporary office. "I want a -word with you," said Jeckie, going straight to the point after her usual -fashion. She shut the door and motioned him to sit down at his desk. "I -want plain answers to a couple of questions. First--how long will it be -before we get this pit into working order?" - -The manager reflected a moment. - -"Barring accidents, ten months," he answered. - -"Second," continued Jeckie, "how much money shall we want to see us -through? Take your time; reckon it out. Carefully, now; leave a good -margin." - -The manager nodded, took paper and pencil, and began to figure; Jeckie -stood statue-like at his side, watching in silence as he worked. Ten -minutes passed, then he drew a thick line beneath his last sum total of -figures, and pointed to it. - -"That," he said. "Ample!" - -Jeckie picked up the sheet of paper, folded it, slipped it under her -shawl, and turned to the door. - -"That's all right," she said. "I only wanted to know. Get on!" - -This it was that sent her, dressed in her best, a fine figure of a -woman, just on the right side of middle age, into Sicaster that morning. -But before she reached the town she called in at Albert Grice's villa. -It was still early, and Albert and Lucilla were seated at their -breakfast table. Jeckie walked in on them, closed the door, after making -certain that the parlour-maid was not lingering on the mat outside, -declined to eat or drink, pulled a chair up to the table, and produced -the sheet of paper on which the manager had made his reckoning. - -"Look here!" she said. "You know that this--what with that building -scheme and one thing and another--is costing us a lot more nor ever we'd -reckoned on; things always does. Now then, I've made Robinson work -out--carefully--exactly how much more we shall have to lay out yet -before that pit's in full working order. Here's the amount. Look at it!" - -Albert and Lucilla bent their heads over the sheet of paper. Albert made -a sound which expressed nothing; Lucilla screamed. - -"Mercy on us!" she exclaimed. "I can't find any more money; it's -impossible! Why----" - -"Never said you could," interrupted Jeckie. "I'll find it; all t'lot. -But ... bear in mind, when I've found that, as I will, at once, my share -in our united capital'll be just eight times as much as yours. So, of -course, your share in the profits'll be according. D'you see!" - -Lucilla made no answer, but Albert immediately assumed the air of a wise -and knowing business man. - -"Oh, of course, that's right enough, Lucilla!" he said. "That's -according to strict principles. Share in profits in relation to amount -of capital held by each partner. You'll be able to find this capital?" -he continued, turning to Jeckie. "It 'ud never do for things to -stop--now!" - -"I'll find it--at once," declared Jeckie. "Naught's going to stop. But -your wife must sign this memorandum that the sharing's to be as I've -just said, and we'll have the deed of partnership altered in accordance. -After all, it'll make no difference to you. You'll get your profits on -your capital just the same." She produced a typewritten document which -she had prepared herself after her interview with the manager, and when -Lucilla had signed it, went off in silence to the town. Her first visit -was to the bank, where she asked for a certain box which reposed in the -strong-room; she opened it in a waiting-room, took from it a bundle of -securities, gave the box back to the clerk, and going out, repaired to a -stock and share broker's. Within half an hour she was back at the bank, -and there, in the usual grim silence in which she usually transacted -similar business, paid in to the credit of Farnish & Grice a cheque -which represented a very heavy amount of money. - -And now came the last desperate move. She had just sold every stock and -share she possessed; she had only one thing left to sell, and that was -the business in which she had been so successful. She walked twice round -the old market place before she finally made up her mind. It was fifteen -years since she had caused the golden teapot to be placed over the door -of the house which she had rented from Stubley, and she had prospered -beyond belief. There was no such business as hers in that neighbourhood. -And there were folk who would be only too willing to buy it. She turned -at last and walked determinedly into the shop of the leading grocer in -Sicaster, a man of means, who was at that time Mayor of the old borough. -If anybody was to step into her shoes he was the man. - -He was just within the shop, a big, old-fashioned place, when Jeckie -walked in, and he stared at her in surprise. Jeckie showed neither -surprise nor embarrassment; now that her mind was made up she was as -cool and matter-of-fact as ever, and her voice and manner showed none of -the agitation which she had felt ten minutes before. - -"I want a few minutes' talk with you, Mr. Bradingham," she said. "Can -you spare them?" - -"Certainly, Miss Farnish!" answered the grocer, an elderly, -prosperous-looking man, who only needed his mayoral chain over his smart -morning coat to look as if he were just about to step on the bench. -"Come this way." - -He led her into a private office at the rear of the shop and gave her a -chair by his desk; Jeckie began operations before he had seated himself. - -"Mr. Bradingham!" she said. "You know what a fine business I have -yonder at Savilestowe?" - -Bradingham laughed--there was a note of humour in the sound. - -"We all know that who are in the same trade, Miss Farnish," he answered. -"I should think you've got all the best families, within six miles -round, on your books! You're a wonderful woman, you know." - -"Mr. Bradingham," said Jeckie, "I want to sell my business as it stands. -I want to devote all my time to yon colliery. I've made lots o' money -out of the grocery trade, and lots more out o' what I made in that way, -but that's naught to what I'm going to make out o' coal. So--I must -sell. Will you buy?--as it stands--stock, goodwill, book debts (all -sound, you may be sure, else there wouldn't be any!), vans, carts, -everything? I'd rather sell to you than to anybody, 'cause you'll carry -it on as I did. You can make a branch of this business of yours, or you -can keep up the old name--whichever seems best to you." - -Bradingham looked silently at his visitor for what seemed to her a long -time. - -"That's what you really want, then?" he said at last. "To concentrate on -your new venture." - -"I don't believe in running two businesses," answered Jeckie. "I'm -beginning to feel--I do feel!--that it's got to be one or t'other. -And--it's going to be coal!" - -"You've sunk a lot in that pit, already?" he remarked. - -"Aye--and more than a lot!" responded Jeckie. "But it's naught to what -I mean to pull out of it!" - -Bradingham continued to watch his visitor for a minute or two and she -saw that he was thinking and calculating. - -"I've no objection to buying your business," he said at last. "Look -here--I'll drive out to Savilestowe this afternoon, and you can show me -everything, and the books, and so on, and then we'll talk. I'm due at -the Mayor's parlour now. Three o'clock then." - -As Jeckie drove back to Savilestowe she remembered something. She -remembered the day on which she had run down from Applecroft to get old -George Grice's help, and how he had come up and found poverty and ruin. -Now, another man was coming to see and value what she had created--he -would find a splendid trade, a rich and flourishing business--all made -by herself. But it must go. The pit was yawning for money--more -money--still more money. And as in a vision, she saw sacks of gold, and -wagon loads of silver, and bundles of scrip, and handfuls of banknotes -all being hastened into the blackness of the shaft and disappearing -there. It was as if Mammon, the ever-hungry, ever-demanding, sat at the -foot, refusing to be appeased. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -_The Commination Service_ - - -At five o'clock that afternoon, by mutual agreement, Jeckie Farnish sold -to John Bradingham the stock and goodwill of her grocery business, and a -few days later she paid in another heavy cheque to the credit of Farnish -and Grice, and, at the same date, secured the alteration in the deed of -partnership which made matters straight between her and Lucilla. There -was something of a grim desperation in Jeckie's face as she walked out -of the solicitor's office whereat this transaction had been effected; -she was feeling something that she had no desire to speak of. But -Lucilla felt it, too, and said it. - -"Well!" she remarked in a low tone as the two partners walked away from -the town. "I don't know how it is with you, but I've put my last penny -into that pit! Me and Albert's got just enough to live comfortably on -till we begin to get some returns, but I can't ever find any more -capital!" - -"No need!" said Jeckie, almost fiercely. "Wait! as I'm doing." - -She herself knew well enough that she, too, had thrown in her last -penny; there was nothing for it now but to see the additional capital -flow out steadily, and to wait in patience until the first yields -brought money. In the meantime, she was not going to waste money on -herself and her father. Selling most of the furniture which she had -gradually accumulated, and leaving the house behind the shop, which had -become an eminently comfortable dwelling, she transferred Farnish and -herself to a cottage near the pit, told him that there they were going -to stop until riches came, and settled down to watch the doings of the -little army of workers into whose pockets her money was going at express -speed. Wait--yes, there was nothing else to do. - -There was not a man amongst all that crowd of toilers, from the -experienced managers to the chance-employed navvy, who did not know -Jeckie Farnish at that stage of her career. She was at the scene of -operations as soon as work began of a morning; she was there until the -twilight came to end the day. Here, there, everywhere she was to be met -with. Now she was with the masons who were building the cottages on her -bit of land outside the Leys; now with the men who were constructing a -solid road from the pit-mouth to the highway; now with the navvies who -were making the link of railway that would connect Savilestowe Main -Colliery with the great trunk line a mile off behind the woods; now, -careless of danger and discomfort, she was down one or other of the twin -shafts, feverishly eager to see how much farther their sinkers were -approaching to the all-important regions beneath. Sometimes she had -Lucilla in her wake; sometimes Albert; sometimes Farnish. But none of -these three possessed her pertinacity and endurance; a general daily -look round satisfied each. Jeckie, when she was not in her bed or -snatching a hasty meal, was always on the spot. Her money was at stake, -and it behoved her to see that she was getting full value for every -pennyworth of it. - -She was not the only perpetual haunter of Savilestowe Leys at that time. -The men who worked there at one or other of the diverse jobs which the -making of a coal-mine necessitates--all of them strangers to the place -until the new industry brought them to it--became familiar with a figure -which was as odd and strange as that of Jeckie Farnish was grim and -determined. Morning, noon, and night a man forever hung around the scene -of operations, a man who was not allowed to cross the line of the -premises and had more than once been turned out of them, but whom nobody -and nothing could prevent from looking over fences and through gaps in -the hedgerows and haunting the various means of ingress and egress, a -wild, unkempt bright-eyed man, who was always talking to himself, and -who, whenever he got the chance, talked hard and fast and vehemently to -anyone he was able to lay a mental grappling-iron upon; a man with a -grievance, Ben Scholes. He was always in evidence. While Jeckie -patrolled her armies within, Scholes kept his watch without; he was as a -man who, having had a treasure stolen from him, knows where the thief -has bestowed it, and henceforth takes an insane delight in watching -thief and treasure. - -The first result of Scholes's discovery that Jeckie Farnish had done -him over his forty acres of land was that he took to drink. Immediately -after leaving the sign of the Golden Teapot he turned in at the -"Coach-and-Four," and found such comfort in drinking rum-and-water while -he retailed his grievances to the idlers in the inn-kitchen that he went -there again next day, and fell into the habit of tippling and -gossiping--if that could be called gossiping which resolved itself into -telling and retelling the story of his woes to audiences of anything -from one to a dozen. Few things interest a Yorkshireman more than to -hear how Jack has done Bill and how Jack contrived to accomplish it, and -while Scholes never got any sympathy--every member of his congregation -secretly admiring Jeckie for her smartness and cleverness--he never -failed to attract attention. There were many houses of call in that -neighbourhood; Scholes began a regular round of them; he had a tale to -tell which was never likely to pall on folk whose one idea was to get -money by any means, fair or foul, and the sight of his lean face and -starveling beard at the door of parlour or kitchen was enough to arouse -an eager, however oft repented, invitation. - -"Nah, then, Scholes!--come thi ways in, and tell us how Jeckie Farnish -did tha' out o' thi bit o' land--here, gi' t'owd lad a drop o' rum to -set his tongue agate! Ecod, shoe's t'varry devil his-self for smartness -is that theer Jecholiah! Nah, then, Scholes, get on wi' t'tale!" - -Scholes had no objection to telling his tale over and over again, and -there was not a pair of ears in all that neighbourhood which had not -heard it; if not at first, then at second hand--nor was there a soul -which did not feel a certain warmth in recognising Jeckie Farnish's -astuteness; Scholes himself recognised it. - -"Ye see, shoo hed me afore iver shoo come to t'house!" he would say. -"Knew t'coal wor theer afore iver shoo come reck'nin' to want to buy mi -fotty acre and mak' an orchard on't! But niver a word to me! Buyin', -shoo wor, not fotty acre o' poor land, d'ye see, but what they call -t'possibilities 'at ligged beneath it! T'possibilities o' untold wealth! -As should ha' been mine. Nowt but a moral thief--that's what shoo is, -yon Jecholiah. Clever' 'er may be--I don't say shoo isn't, but a moral -thief." - -"Tha means an immoral thief," said one of his listeners. - -"I mean what I say!" retorted Scholes. "I know t'English language better -nor what thou does. A moral thief!--that's what yon woman is. I appeal -to t'company. If ye nobbut come to consider, same as judges and juries -does at t'sizes, how shoo did me, ye'll see 'at, morally speakin', shoo -robbed me o' my lawful rights. Ye see--for happen ye've forgotten some -o' t'fine points o' t'matter, it wor i' this way----" - -Then he would tell his tale all over again, and would afterwards argue -it out, detail by detail, with his audience. In that part of Yorkshire -the men are fond of hearing their own tongues, and wherever Scholes -went the companies of the inn-kitchens were converted into debating -societies. - -One night, Scholes, full of rum and of delight in his grievance, went -home and found his wife dead. As he had left her quite well when he went -out in the morning, the shock sobered him, and certain affecting -sentences in the Burial Service at which he was perforce present a few -days later turned his thoughts toward religion. The truth was that -Scholes, already half mad through his exaggeration of his wrongs, -developed religious mania in a very sudden fashion. But no one suspected -it, and the vicar, who was something of a simpleton, believed him to -have undergone a species of conversion; Scholes, anyhow, forsook the -public-house for the house of prayer, and was henceforth to be seen in -company of a large prayer-book at all the services, Sunday and week-day. -Very close observers might have noticed that he took great pleasure in -those of the Psalms which invoke wrath and vengeance on enemies, and, on -days when the choir was not present and the service was said, manifested -infinite delight in repeating the Psalmist's denunciation in an -unnecessarily loud voice. But no one remarked anything, and if the vicar -secretly wished that his new sheep would not bleat quite so loudly, he -put the excess of vocalisation down to the fact that Scholes was new to -his job and anxious to obey the directions of the Rubrics. Moreover, he -reflected, the probability was that Scholes would soon tire of -attendance on the services, and would settle down to the conventional -and respectable churchmanship of most of the folk around him. - -Scholes, however, developed his mania. He suddenly got rid of his farm, -realised all that he was worth, and went to live, quite alone, in a -small cottage near the churchyard. From that time forward he divided his -time between the church services and the doings on Savilestowe Leys. -Whenever there was a service he was always in church--but so soon as -ever any service was over he was off to the end of the village, to haunt -the hedgerows and fences, and button-hole anybody who cared to hear his -story. This went on for many an eventful month, and at last became a -matter of no moment; Ben Scholes, said all the village, was a bit -cracked, and if it pleased him to spend ten minutes in church, and all -the rest of the day hanging about the outskirts of Jeckie Farnish's pit, -why not? But in the last months of the operations at the new pit, the -first day of another Lent came round, and the vicar, with Scholes and a -couple of old alms-women as a congregation, read the Commination -Service. Scholes had never heard this before, and the vicar was somewhat -taken aback at the vigour with which he responded to certain -fulminations. - -"Cursed," read the vicar in unaffected and mellifluous tones, more -suited to a benediction, "cursed is he that smiteth his neighbour -secretly!" - -"Amen!" responded Scholes, suddenly starting, as if a thought struck -him. "Amen!" - -"Cursed," presently continued the vicar, "is he that putteth his trust -in man...." - -"Amen, amen!" said Scholes fervently. "Amen!" - -"Cursed," continued the vicar, glancing round at his respondent -parishioner, and nervously hurrying forward, "are...." - -"Covetous persons, extortioners!" exclaimed Scholes, anticipating -certain passages to come. "Amen, amen! So they are--amen!" - -Then without waiting to hear what it was that the prophet David bore -witness for, he clapped his prayer-book together with a loud noise, and -hurried from the church; through one of the windows the vicar saw him -walking among the tombs outside, gesticulating, and evidently talking to -himself. When the service was over, he went out to him. "I fear the -service distressed you, Scholes," he began, diffidently. "You are----" - -Scholes waved his arms abroad. - -"Nowt o' t'sort!" he exclaimed. "I wor delighted wi' it! I could like to -hev that theer service read ivery Sunda'! I wor allus wantin' to mak' -sure 'at a certain person 'at I could name wor cursed. An', of course, -wheer theer's cursin' theer's vengeance--vengeance, vengeance!" - -"Don't forget, Scholes, that it has been wisely said, 'Vengeance is -Mine: I will repay, saith the Lord,'" answered the vicar, in his mildest -tones. "You must remember----" - -"Now, then, I forget nowt!" retorted Scholes. "I know all about it. But -t'Lord mun use instruments--human instruments! Aw, it's varry -comfortin', is what ye and me read together this mornin'--varry -comfortin' to me. Cursed! 'Covetous persons'! Aw!--ye needn't go far -away to find _one_!" - -The vicar was one of those men who dislike scenes and enthusiasm, and he -left Scholes to himself, meditating among the gravestones, and went home -to tell his wife that he wished somebody would give the man a quiet hint -that loud upliftings of voice were not desirable in public worship. But -next Sunday Scholes was not in his accustomed place--the front pew in -the south aisle--nor did he come to church again. The clauses in the -Commination Service had set his crazy brain off on another tack, and -from the day on which he heard them he forgot the temporary anæsthetic -which religious observance had brought to him, and sought out his older -and more familiar one--drink. He took to frequenting the "Brown Cow," a -hostelry of less pretensions than the "Coach-and-Four," and there he -would sit for hours, quietly drinking rum and water--as inoffensive, -said the landlady, as a pet lamb in a farm-house kitchen. - -For Scholes no longer talked about his grievance. He became strangely -quiescent; sharper observers than the landlady would have seen that he -was moody. He never talked to anybody at this stage, though he muttered -a great deal to himself, and occasionally smiled and laughed, as if the -thought of something pleased him. But one night, as he sat alone in a -corner of the "Brown Cow," there came in a couple of navvies whom he -recognised as workers at the hated pit, and a notion came into his -mentality, which, crazy as it was rapidly becoming, yet still retained -much of its primitive craftiness. He treated these men to liquor; they -came to be treated again the following night, and the night after that; -they and Scholes henceforth met regularly of an evening in their corner, -and drank and whispered for hours at a time. - -There came a day whereon these men and Scholes no longer forgathered at -the "Brown Cow." Instead, they met at Scholes's cottage. It was a lonely -habitation, a tumbled-down sort of place in the lee of the old -tithe-barn, and had been empty for years before Scholes took it and -furnished it with odds and ends of seating and bedding. It stood well -out of the village, and could be reached unobserved from more than one -direction. Here the two navvies with whom he had made friends at the -"Brown Cow" began to come. Scholes laid in a supply of liquor for their -delectation. And here, round a smoky lamp and a spirit bottle, the three -were wont to talk in whispers far into the night. - -Had Jeckie Farnish or Lucilla Grice known of what it was that these -three men talked--one of them already obsessed with the belief that he -was the Lord's chosen instrument of vengeance, the other two cunningly -anxious to profit by it--neither would have slept in their beds, nor -felt one moment's peace until Scholes and his companions were safely -laid by the heels. But they knew nothing; nothing, at any rate, that was -discomposing or threatening. Ever since the time of putting more capital -into the concern the making of the colliery had gone on successfully and -even splendidly. The two shafts, up-cast and down-cast, had been sunk -to depths of several hundreds of feet without any encountering of more -than the ordinary difficulties; the two great dangers, water and running -sand, had not presented themselves. On the surface the building of the -various sheds and offices had proceeded rapidly; some were already -roofed in; in one the winding machinery and engines had been installed. -The connection road was made; the link of railway finished; and on the -high ground above the Leys three rows of ugly red-brick cottages were -steadily approaching completion. The man who made his silent -calculations that morning when Jeckie Farnish stood by him in grim -silence came to her one day with a sheepish smile on his face. - -"I was a bit out in my reckoning, Miss Farnish," he said. "But it was on -the right side! At the rate we're going at now we'll be finished, and -the pit'll be working from six to eight weeks sooner than I thought. -You'd better hurry those builders on with the cottages; you'll be -wanting to fill them before so long." - -Jeckie needed no admonition to hurry anything. She was speeding up all -the work as rapidly as she could, for good reasons which she kept to -herself. Once more the outlay was proving greater than had been -anticipated, and she knew that if the manager's final reckoning of ten -months from the time of her sale of the grocery business had been kept -to she would have had to raise more capital. She was secretly overjoyed -when Revis, of Heronshawe Main, drove over one day, made a careful -inspection of all that had been done, and was then being done, and -corroborated Robinson's revised opinion--the pit would be at work six -weeks sooner than she had thought. - -"And I reckon you'll be rare and glad to see the first tubs o' coal -wound, my lass!" he said heartily as he drove off. "I know I was!" - -Jeckie nodded and smiled; she was too thankful for his opinion to put -her feelings into words. That night she was wakeful--not from anxiety, -but from satisfaction and anticipation. Two months more, and the money -that had been sunk in that pit would be coming out of its depths again, -multiplied, increased.... - -In the middle of that night a brilliant flash of lurid flame followed by -a roar that shook her cottage to its foundations and left it rocking, -sent her headlong from her bed. And as she stood sick and trembling, -grasping at the lintel of her window, she heard, in the deadly silence -that followed, a sudden outburst of the big bell of the church, pealing -as if for victory. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -_The Bell Rings_ - - -Jeckie Farnish was a strong woman; physically as well as mentally she -was the strongest woman in all those parts. She had scarcely ever known -what it was to feel a sudden giving way of strength; the end of a long -day's toil usually found her fresh and vigorous, ready for and gladly -anticipating the labours of the morrow. Nor had she ever known what it -was to experience a mental giving way; the nearest approach to it--only -a momentary one--had been on that day, long years before, whereon George -Grice had turned his back on her and her father's fallen fortunes. She -had felt mentally sick and physically weak then, as though all the -strength had been dashed out of her mind and body. But the feeling had -quickly passed under the reviving fire of her anger and resentment, and -since then she had rarely felt a qualm that affected her in either -sense--determination and resolution had always kept her going. There -were folks in the parish who were fond of saying that she was moulded of -beaten iron with a steel core in the middle--it was their way of -expressing a belief that nothing on earth below or in heaven above could -move or bend her. - -But as the vivid flash of flame and the infernal roar which followed it -passed away, Jeckie standing in her night-clothes between her bed and -her curtained window, felt herself stricken from head to foot; she was -sick, in heart and brain. She suddenly realised that she was shaking -throughout her strongly-fashioned frame, that her knees were knocking -one against the other, her feet rattling on the floor, her fingers -working as from a terrible shock. And in the silence she heard her heart -thumping and thumping and thumping--it made her think of the engines at -the pit which pumped up the leaking water as the shafts were driven -deeper and deeper into the earth. She tried to lift a hand towards her -heaving breast; it dropped back, nerveless, to her side. - -"Oh God!" she breathed at last. "What is it? What is it?" - -The hurrying of folk in the street outside roused her out of her -momentary paralysis, and with an effort she stumbled rather than walked -to the window-place, drew aside curtain and blind, flung open a -casement, and leaned out into the night. And at what she saw, a moan -burst from her lips, and she began to tremble as with a violent attack -of ague. For the night was one of brilliantly clear moonlight, and from -her window she could see all across the Leys and the buildings upon -which she had expended such vast sums. And over the newly made pit, so -rapidly approaching completion, hung a great umbrella-shaped cloud of -dun-coloured smoke, thick and rolling, and from the pit mouth itself -issued spurts and flickers of bright flame, which, as she stared, -horror-stricken, began to gather at one place into a steady, spreading -blaze. Thitherwards men were already beginning to hasten from the open -doors of the cottages, calling to each other as they ran. And above -their voices, never ceasing, sounded the frantic ringing of the big bell -of the church, maddening in its insistence. - -She leaned farther out of the window and called to the folk who were -hurrying past; called several times before she attracted attention. But -at last a white face looked up and a voice hailed her--the voice of one -of the principal foremen in the machinery department at the pit. - -"Miss Farnish!" he called. "Miss Farnish!--it's an explosion! The -down-cast shaft! And look there!--the pit's on fire!" - -He pointed a shaking arm across the flat expanse of land before the -cottage, and Jeckie saw that the gathering flame about the mouth of the -shaft had suddenly leaped into a great mass of lurid light. Its -brightness illumined the whole area around it, and she saw then that the -surface works which had steadily grown up around the excavations had -either been blown away or were left in shapeless bulks of ruinous -masonry. Towards these from all directions men were running like ants -swarming about a broken down nest. - -She turned away from the window, and with no other light than the glare -from without, sought for and huddled her shaking limbs into the first -garments that came to hand. And as she fastened them about her, scarce -knowing how, a hand began to beat upon her door, and Farnish called to -her, once, twice, thrice, before she realised that the sounds were human -and had any significance. - -"Jeckie, mi lass!" Farnish was calling. "Jeckie! Jeckie!" - -"What is it?" she asked at last in a dull, strained voice, so strange in -its sound that she found herself wondering at it. "What do you want?" - -"Yon noise?" cried Farnish, who slept at the back of the cottage. -"What's it about, mi lass? What's it mean?" - -"The pit's blown up," answered Jeckie, with almost sullen indifference. -"It's on fire, too. You can come in and see for yourself." - -Farnish pushed the door open and entered; he was half whimpering, half -moaning as he crossed the floor towards the window. But Jeckie, now -wrapped in a thick ulster coat and tying a shawl round her head and -neck, said nothing. Her heart had resumed its normal action by then; she -was only conscious that she felt sick and faint. She stared stupidly at -her father's figure, darkly outlined against the glow of the fire. - -"God ha' mercy on us!" groaned Farnish. "A bad job! a bad job! Howiver -can it ha' come about, and what mun be done? It's all of a flame, -and----" - -"Come out!" commanded Jeckie. "I must see for myself what's----" - -She had laid a hand on the half-open door of the bedroom, when it was -suddenly wrenched out of her grasp, and she herself thrown backwards -across the bed by a second and apparently more violent explosion, which -came simultaneously with another vivid burst of orange-coloured flame. -Jeckie remembered afterwards what curious and vivid impressions she had -in that moment. As she herself was flung over the edge of her thick -feather-bed she saw Farnish thrown away from the window, his arms -whirling in the air like the sails of a wind-mill; she heard a musical -tinkle of falling glass, making a sort of background to his startled -outcry. And she saw things. The vividness of the glare lit up a -glass-fronted case on the bedroom wall wherein was a stuffed squirrel; -it also lit up a framed text of Scripture, set in a floral bordering of -hideous design, and a little weather-glass, furnished with two figures, -one of which, a man, came out for fine weather, while the other, a -woman, emerged for wet; years afterwards she had vivid recollections of -how these two quaint puppets were violently agitated at the end of their -wires. And then there was gloom again, and silence, and she heard -Farnish gathering himself up from the floor, moaning. - -"Are you hurt?" she asked, dully and indifferently. "Is aught wrong?" - -"T'window were blown right in on mi face," answered Farnish, "I'm -bleedin' somewhere. What about yoursen, mi lass?" - -Jeckie was seeking for matches and a candle. The candle had been blown -out of its tin holder and had rolled into a corner. When she found and -lighted it it was to reveal Farnish with a trickle or two of blood on -his cheeks and scarce a pane of glass left in the window. She pointed -him to a towel, and turned to the door. "That 'ud be the other shaft," -she said in a low voice, and in a fashion that made Farnish afraid. -"It's been a put-up job. I've enemies! But I'll best 'em yet! I'll not -be bet!" - -Without another word she went downstairs and out into the street, and -Farnish, left alone, looked dolefully at his face as envisaged to him in -Jeckie's mirror. Something glittered on one of his projecting -cheekbones, and he groaned again as he picked out a sliver of glass. -Then he wiped his face with the towel, and, still moaning and bewailing, -descended to the living-room. In those days Jeckie no longer locked up -the spirits, and he, accordingly, went to the cupboard, got out the gin, -and mixed himself a stiff drink. And as he stood sipping it he muttered -to himself. - -"A bad job!" said Farnish. "A bad, bad job! All that theer brass--gone -i' th' twinklin' of an eye, as the sayin' is! An' who can ha' done it?" - -He, too, went into the street at last. By that time the whole village -was out of bed and abroad, and while the more active of the men folk -were flocking towards the scene of the explosion, the older men and the -women were hanging in groups about the doors of the houses and cottages, -gazing fearfully at the great cupola of smoke that hung over the Leys. -Farnish joined one such group, the members of which were already -recounting with great zest their own particular private experiences. - -"Our Sarah's little lad, Albert James, wor flung fair out o' t'bed and -ageean t'wall!" declared one woman. "And his father's heead wor jowled -ageean t'chest o' drawers! An' our cottage rocked same as if it wor a -earthquake--I made sure 'at all t'place 'ud come tummlin' down about wor -ears!" - -"Aye, an theer isn't a pane o' glass left whole in our front windows!" -said another. "Blown reight into t'kitchen they wor, and I would like to -know who's goin' to pay for t'mendin'! This is what comes o' mekkin' -coal-pits i' a quiet, peaceable place same as what this wor afore Jeckie -Farnish started on at t'game! I allus did say 'at no good 'ud come o' -t'job, and 'at we should all on us be blowed up i' wor beds some fine -night, and if we hevn't been to-night it nowt but a merciful -dispensation o' Providence 'at we hevn't! An' I hope 'at t'job's -finished, and 'at we shall hev' no more on't--theer's nowt 'ud suit me -better nor to see all t'coal-miners tak theer-sens off and leave us i' -peace as we used to be, for I'm sure----" - -"Hod this wisht!" broke in one of the few men who had kept back from the -Leys. "That's talkin' like a fooil!--doesn't ta see 'at this here'll -mean no end o' money lost to them 'at's mekkin' t'pit, and theer's -Mestur Farnish stannin' theer? How is it, Mestur Farnish?--d'ye knaw owt -about how it happened like?" - -"I know no more about it nor what you do," answered Farnish, who was -standing at the end of a group of cottages, staring blankly at the flame -and smoke which glared and rolled in front. "It's a bad job--a bad job! -An' what's yon theer bell ringin' for--is it somebody 'at's gone to -ring for t'Sicaster fire brigade, or what?" - -"Why, theer wor a young feller started off on his bicycle for that theer -purpose, as soon as t'first explosion wor over," answered the man. -"Besides, they wodn't hear our bell as far off as Sicaster--t'wind's i' -t'wrong quarter, an' all. I been wonderin' what t'bell wor ringin' for, -missen. How would it be if we stepped up to t'church, like?" - -Farnish, realising the hopelessness of going near the pit, joined the -two or three men who turned in the direction of the church. As they -hurried up the street, a dog-cart dashed past them; the young man who -had hastened to Sicaster for the fire brigade had called at Albert -Grice's house on his way, and Albert and Lucilla, panic-stricken, were -flying to what might be the grave of their hopes, and more than one man -who watched them pass noticed that Lucilla was driving, and flogging the -smart cob to the utmost limit of his speed, while Albert, pale and -frightened, cowered in the lower seat at her side. Behind them presently -came the Sicaster fire engine, its bell ringing clangerously as the -steaming horses clattered through the village; in its brazen loudness -the frantic ringing of the church bell was lost to hearing, and when -Farnish and his companions came to the churchyard and comparative -silence, it had ceased altogether. - -"Whoever wor ringin' must ha' been ringin' for t'fire engine," muttered -one of the men. "Ye see, he's stopped now 'at t'fire brigade's comed. It -mun ha' been t'sexton." But just then the sexton, accompanied by the -vicar, came hurrying through the little wicket-gate at the farther end -of the churchyard. Encountering the other men at the porch, they stopped -short. - -"Who is in there, ringing that bell?" demanded the vicar. "Who's -this?--you, Farnish? Did they send some one up from the pit to ring? If -so, they must have broken into the church." - -"Notwithstanding," interrupted the sexton, solemnly, "'at everybody in -t'parish know 'at t'keys is in my possession, and close by!" - -"I know naught about it," answered Farnish. "We come up here to find out -who it wor, and what he wor ringin' for, ye see." - -High over their heads the big bell once more gave tongue--loudly, -clamorously, insistently. It rang out a score of times; then stopped as -suddenly as it had begun. And one of the men, stepping back, as the -rest, headed by the sexton, made for the porch, and looking up towards -the head of the great square tower, let out a sharp exclamation. - -"There's a man up there, looking ower t'parapet!" he said. "See -yer!--there, wi' t'moon shinin' on his face! Look!" - -The other men fell back, and shading their eyes from the bright -moonlight, stared in the direction indicated. There, leaning over the -battlemented parapet of the tower, immediately above one of the most -grotesque of its gargoyles, appeared a weird and sinister figure--a man -whose unkempt hair and sparse beard were being blown about his face by -the light breeze. One of the younger men there, whose sight was keen, -suddenly uttered a sound of recognition. - -"Ecod!" he exclaimed. "It's Ben Scholes!" - -The vicar uttered a sound too--dismal, and full of foreboding. - -"Mad," he muttered. "Mad--undoubtedly! Scholes!" he went on, calling -upwards to the figure silhouetted against the sky. "Scholes! What are -you doing there? Come down, my good fellow, come down at once!" - -But Scholes shook his floating locks, vigorously and emphatically. - -"Naught o' t'sort, parson!" he answered, his voice coming with curious -force from his airy station. "T'job isn't half done in yet! Ye don't -understand--how should yer? Ye see, it wor you 'at put t'idee into mi -mind when ye read them comfortable passages t'other week, and I said -'Amen and Amen' to 'em. 'Cursed be covetous persons'--and sich like. I -knew then, d'ye see, 'at I wor what they call t'instrument o' vengeance -on yon theer Jecholiah. It hed to be, parson it hed to be! I wor doomed, -as it weer, to blow her and her devil's wark to perdition, as t'sayin' -is. Aye!--listen, all on yer--it wor through me 'at t'pit's been blown -up! Three hundred pound o' good money I wared to get it blown into -t'air. And I mun ring, I mun ring, all through the night, till t'sun -rises on t'scene o' desolation; ring, d'ye understand, to show how -t'Lord hes vengeance on bad 'uns like yon theer woman! Three hundred -pound!--but I gat it done! Flame and smoke, parson!--I see'd 'em rise -out o' t'pit. And then I rang, and rang, and rang--and I mun ring agen -till t'sun rises ower yon woods. So may all them 'at cheats poor folk -perish!" - -"Mad!" repeated the vicar, looking helplessly round him. "What does he -mean! And how can we get at him?" - -"He means, sir, 'at he's paid some of them miners three hundred pound to -blow t'pit up," answered the sexton, who was a sharp-witted man, "and as -to gettin' at him, it's none to be done till he chooses to come down. -There's naught but a straight ladder, and a man-hole at t'end on it, -into yon belfry, and if he stands on t'trap door i' that man-hole he can -keep all t'parish out as long as he likes. See you!--he's at it again!" - -Scholes had suddenly disappeared from the parapet, and a moment later -the big bell began clamouring once more. - -"Didn't he say he mun ring till sunrise?" said the sexton. "He will -ring!" - -Farnish went hurrying home through the crowds in the village street. -There was a light in the window of the living-room, and when he walked -in, he found Jeckie, white-faced and grim, standing by a newly lighted -lamp, staring at nothing. He went up and touched her timidly, and for -the first time in her life she started, as if in fear. But Farnish was -too full of news to notice that her nerves were gone. - -"Jeckie, mi lass!" he said. "It's yon man Ben Scholes's 'at's at -t'bottom o' this here! He paid some fellers three hundred pound to blow -t'pit up--and he's gone mad wi' t'glory on it--mad!" - - - - -CHAPTER X - -_Black Depths_ - - -The cottage to which Jeckie had removed her father and herself, and such -household belongings as were absolutely necessary to their simple -standard of comfort, faced due east; consequently, when the sun rose -above the fringe of woods that morning its beams shone direct into the -little living-room. And they fell full on Jeckie, who sat bolt upright -at the table, her hands stretched out and tightly clasped on its -surface, her eyes staring straight in front of her, her lips white and -set. So she had sat for hours--motionless, silent. The tall clock in the -corner had ticked away its record of minutes; the darkness had gone; the -grey light had stolen in; there had come a glow in the skies and a -gradual lighting of the window; finally, the sun had shown a ruddy, -round face above the tapering pines and firs on the hilltop behind the -Leys, and in the meadows and orchards the blackbirds and thrushes had -begun to pipe and trill. But the breaking of a new day had caused no -change in Jeckie Farnish's attitude. It was, said Farnish, talking of it -after to his cronies, as if she had been turned into stone. - -"Theer wor niver a word out on her, poor lass, after I'd telled her what -I'd gathered up at t'church porch," said he. "When she heeard 'at yon -Ben Scholes had paid fellers three hundred pound to blow up t'pit she -collapsed, as they call it, into t'chair and ligged her hand on t'table, -and theer she sat, starin' and starin', hour after hour, till I wor fair -afraid! I leeted t'lamp, and made t'fire, and brewed a pot a' tea, but I -couldn't get her to put her lips to it. Wheer I laid t'cup at her side -at four o'clock, theer it wor at seven--untasted. And not one word did -she spake, all that time--nobbut sat and stared and stared i' front on -her, as if she'd see summat. An happen she did see summat--how can I -say?" - -But Jeckie moved at last. As Farnish, well-nigh beyond his wits with -fear and anxiety, stood by the hearth, watching her, a hurried step -sounded on the flagged path outside the cottage, and Robinson, the -manager, came hastening in, grimy and dishevelled. She stirred then; but -it was only the stirrings of a burning eye and a dry lip. - -"Well?" she said, in such a faint whisper that both men started and -looked anxiously at her. "Well? Speak!" - -Robinson threw out both hands with a gesture of despair. "It's worse -than I thought!" he answered, huskily. "No use pretending it isn't; it's -far worse. We've made as thorough an examination as we could, and it's -terrible to see what damage has been done. Work of all this time--many a -long month!--all destroyed, in both shafts. They're blocked with -wreckage! Brickwork, ironwork, everything's been blown out in both. The -downcast's the worst. And--and that's not all!" - -"What is all?" asked Jeckie. "Say it! I want to know." - -Robinson glanced at Farnish, and Jeckie was quick to interpret the look. -She turned on her father as if he had been a house dog. - -"Go out!" she commanded. "Outside!--and shut the door. Now then," she -demanded as Farnish hurried into the garden and pulled the door tight -after him. "Say it straight out! What is--all?" - -Robinson dropped into a chair and for a moment rested his head on his -hands; when he raised it again his face was as white as Jeckie's. - -"I've been down that down-cast shaft, through the wreckage, as far as I -could--Hargreaves and I went down, an hour since," he replied. "You -never saw such a sight!--those fellows must have used some explosive -that's more powerful than anything we've ever used for ordinary -blasting. Those heavy cast-iron plates that we used for that stretch of -tubbing, now--twisted and curled as if they'd been sheets of -paper--ribs, brackets, flanges--I couldn't have believed that such -things could have been, well, just made into ribbons, as if they'd been -no more than putty. The timbering and the masonry, of course, are just -so much splinters and dust, but the ironwork--well, it beats me how it's -happened! Still, in time, all that could be put right--there'd be long -delay, to be sure, and awful expense--all would have to be done over -again--it's like starting all over again, but----" - -He paused, shook his head, shivered a little as if at some -recollection, and for a moment seemed as if he had lost the thread of -his story. - -"Get on to what there is of the rest of it!" commanded Jeckie. "There's -more!" - -Robinson started; the last word appeared to spur him up. - -"More!" he exclaimed, almost emphatically. "More? Yes more!--lots more. -The worst of it! My God!" - -"Will you get it out?" said Jeckie, in a low voice that betrayed her -concentrated anxiety. "Say it, man. I want to know." - -Robinson made an effort, and pulled himself together. He gave Jeckie a -queer, sidelong glance. - -"I went down, through the wreckage, as far as I could," he said. -"And--there's been more than the mere blowing up of timber and masonry, -and iron fittings. We heard it, down there; heard it unmistakably--me -and Hargreaves. I heard it; he heard it. Oh, yes; there's no doubt of -it. The explosion must have blown out a tremendous lot of wall surface -stuff in the lowest workings they'd got to, where they hadn't started -any masonry or tubbing, you understand. Because--we heard! No mistaking -it! Once--just once--I've heard it before. Never to be forgotten, -that--no!" - -"For God's sake, man, speak plainly!" said Jeckie. "Heard--what!" - -Robinson glanced fearfully around him as he bent nearer to her. He spoke -but one word, in a tense whisper. - -"Water!" - -Jeckie started back, and her drawn face grew white to the lips. She, -too, spoke the word he had spoken, in a lower whisper than his. - -"Water!" - -Robinson edged his chair near to the table and tapped the edge with a -forefinger on which there was both grime and blood. - -"I tell you we heard it--me and Hargreaves," he said. "I say--no -mistaking it. This explosion, now--it must have blown a pretty -considerable hole into the lowest part of the shaft, where they've been -at work this last week or two, and it's released--it may be a thin bed -of quicksand that we didn't suspect, or water-logged sandstone or sand, -or something of that sort, if you follow me, but there's the -fact--water! It's running into the shaft at, I should say, the rate of -thousands of gallons a minute; we could hear it fairly roaring down -there. It's no use; it's there!" - -"What'll happen?" asked Jeckie in a curiously hard voice. - -"The shafts'll be flooded to the brim in twenty-four hours," answered -Robinson. "To the brim!' - -"You said shafts!" exclaimed Jeckie. - -"It's running into the up-cast, too," said Robinson. "We examined that. -There must have been--must be--an extensive bed of quicksand lying -between both shafts. Anyhow, it's there. I tell you, they'll be flooded -to the brim!" - -Jeckie's mind went back to a certain conversation she had once had with -Revis, of Heronshawe Main. He too, had met with an obstacle in water, -and had surmounted it. - -"But it can be pumped out?" she suggested. - -"Aye!" assented Robinson. "But how long will it take as things are, and -how long after that to get matters put as straight as they were last -night, and how much will it cost? It's no use denying it--all that we've -done, all that we'd arrived at, is just--ruined!" - -Jeckie suddenly got up from the table. She went across to the window, -and pulling aside the half-curtain that veiled the lower panes, looked -out across the Leys. The surface works of the new pit were either -levelled with the ground or showing gaunt and ruinous against the -sky-line; crowds of curious sightseers were grouped about them; above -everything, a sinister blot on the otherwise sun-filled sky, a cloud of -yellow smoke still hung, heavy and significant, as if loath to float -away from the scene of destruction. And as suddenly as she had risen -from her seat so she turned on Robinson with a quick movement and with a -flash of her old spirit. "But the coal's still there!" she exclaimed. -"The coal's still there--to be got!" - -Robinson looked at her for a moment in silence. Of late she had taken -him into her confidence, pretty deeply, and she suddenly saw of what he -was thinking. Money!--always money! And she began to think, too, of the -money that had gone into the pit, and of how much more would be wanted -now to recover what had so gone. It was as if one had lost a sovereign -down some grating in the street, and must needs pay another to get it -back. - -"I say the coal's still there!" she repeated with fierce insistence. "To -be got, do you hear? It's got to be got--that water'll have to be pumped -out, and everything put in order again, and do you think I'm going to -lose all I've laid out?" she went on, suddenly beating her fist on the -table. "We must get to work at once!" - -Robinson moved his head from side to side; something in the movement -suggested difficulty, perhaps hopelessness. - -"It's for you to decide," he said, dully. "It'll cost--I don't know what -it won't cost. If you'd hear that water pouring in! And as things are, -the shafts cumbered up with ruin; we can do nothing to stop it." - -Jeckie snatched up her ulster, and began to put it on. - -"Come on!" she said, turning to the door. "I'm going there myself." - -Robinson sighed heavily as he pulled himself out of his chair and -followed her into the sunlight. And he sighed again and shook his head -as they set out across the Leys in the direction of the wrecked pit. - -"There's naught to be done at present," he said, dejectedly. "It'll be -days before we know the full extent of the damage. And we shall have to -wait till we find out how high this water's going to rise--we don't know -yet what weight there is behind it, down there. We're all in the dark." - -"Something's got to be done!" declared Jeckie. Badly shaken though she -was, a flash of her old indomitable spirit still woke to life at odd -moments. "We can't stand about doing nothing," she went on. "The coal's -there, I tell you!" - -There were plenty of people standing about, doing nothing, on the edge -of the scene of disaster, and among them Albert and Lucilla Grice. -Lucilla was in tears, and Albert was in apparently heated argument with -some of the officials, who turned to Robinson as he and Jeckie drew -near. - -"Mr. Grice is blaming us because he says there ought to have been a -watch kept over these shafts," said one of them. "I've told him there -were watchmen." - -"Then how comes it that somebody could get down there and place these -explosives where they did," demanded Albert. "Don't tell me! There's -been no proper watch kept at all, or this couldn't ha' happened. And all -my wife's money invested in this!--and blown to pieces!" - -He gave Jeckie a sidelong glance, as if laying the blame on her -shoulders. He chanced to be in her way where he stood, and she -unceremoniously elbowed him aside. - -"Your wife's money!" she snarled as she passed him. "What's her bit o' -money compared to what I've put in? Come on, Robinson--I'm going down -that shaft as far as I can--to find out how things are." - -"It's dangerous," said Robinson. "We risked a lot, me and Hargreaves." - -"Where you've been I can go--and I'm going," declared Jeckie. "Come -on--we'll go together." - -The others, standing round, watched Jeckie's descent into the tangled -mass of iron, wood, masonry; she herself, following her manager, cared -nothing for danger, and was only intent on listening for the dread sound -of which he had spoken. And, at last, when they had made their way a -good two hundred feet into the shaft, penetrating through broken and -twisted plates and girders, Robinson paused and held up the lantern he -was carrying as a sign that they could go no farther. - -"Listen!" he said in a whisper. "You'll hear!" - -Jeckie steadied herself among the wreckage, looking down the darkness -beneath it. And suddenly, in the silence that hung all round them, she -heard, far below, in the gloomy depths which her imagination pictured -the steady, heavy rush of water. It was unmistakable--and once again she -felt sick in heart and brain, and weak of body. - -"It's increased in volume since I was down," muttered Robinson as he -stood at her side. "It's as I said before--the pit'll be flooded out. -There's no help for it. It must be rising fast, that water." - -He tore away a loose piece of iron from the wreckage close by, and -dropped it through the twisted mass beneath their standing place. The -sound of its heavy splash came almost at once. - -"You hear!" he exclaimed. "It's within thirty or forty feet of us now! -It'll be up here before long; it'll rise to the brim. There's nothing to -be done, Miss Farnish--we'd best make our way up again." - -When Jeckie climbed out of the last mass of wreckage at the mouth of -the shaft, it was to find Revis standing close by, talking to the men -who hung about. He came up to her with a face full of grave concern. - -"This is a bad job, my lass!" he said in low tones. "I'm as sorry for -you as I can be!" He turned from her to Robinson. "Water rising?" he -asked. - -"Aye, fast as it can!" answered Robinson. "There must have been a -tremendous lot released right down where they'd got to. And we were -close on to the seam, too!" - -"Rising in both shafts?" inquired Revis. - -Robinson gave him a significant look. - -"Both!" he answered. - -Revis drew him aside; the others, watching them, heard the two men -talking technicalities; Jeckie caught chance terms and expressions here -and there--"water-laden bed"; "dangerous feeder"; "water-logged trias"; -"drainage tunnel"; "Poetsch's method"; "Gebhardt and Koenig's method"; -"Kind-Chaudron system"; "winding and pumping"--she understood little or -nothing of it, and at that moment did not care to inquire; all that she -realised was that the work into which she had put so much energy, and -whereon she had laid out all her beloved money, was in danger of utter -ruin. She let Albert grumble and growl to the men, and Lucilla weep -fretfully; she herself stood silent and motionless, watching Revis and -the manager. - -Revis came to her at last, motioning Albert and Lucilla to join them. -He looked graver than before. - -"This is a very bad job!" he said in a low voice. "There seems to be no -doubt that this explosive, whatever it was--and it must have been of -extraordinary force--has tapped an exceptionally heavy lot of water. The -mine'll be flooded--that is, these two shafts will. It's a good job you -hadn't got the whole thing finished and opened out, for in that case, if -this explosion had happened, you'd have had all the workings flooded, -and there'd probably have been serious loss of life. As it is----" - -Jeckie interrupted him--the question of what might have been had no -interest for her. - -"Can't the water be pumped out?" she asked. "You had trouble yourself -that way?" - -"Aye, you can pump!" agreed Revis. "But--you don't know what amount of -water there is yet. It looks to me, from what Robinson says, as if there -was a sort of subterranean lake down there. Pump, aye!--but ... a long -and terrible job. And--now don't be frightened!--the thing is--will it -be worth it?" - -"The coal's there!" exclaimed Jeckie, dogged and determined. - -Revis looked from her to the Grices. Lucilla was grasping a tear-soaked -handkerchief and gazing at him in the last throes of despairing anxiety; -Albert stood with his lips a little open, expectant of wisdom from the -man of experience. - -"Yes," said Revis, at last. "But--it's no use shirking -difficulties--this may be a quicksand that forms a thick cover all over -the measures of whatever extent they may be. The fact is--you don't know -what's happened down there, nor where you are." - -"The coal's there!" repeated Jeckie. "It's there, I say! We've got to -get it." - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -_The Sentence_ - - -On the evening of that eventful day--a day of comings and goings about -the ruined colliery--Farnish stayed later than usual at the -"Coach-and-Four." There had never been so much to talk about in the -whole history of Savilestowe as there was that evening, and he, as -father of Jeckie Farnish, was a person of consequence in the debate -which was carried on in the bar-parlour to the latest hours allowed by -the licensing laws. But he went home at last, to find the cottage in -darkness; there was not even the gleam of the last ashes of the usual -wood fire to welcome him when he opened the door which admitted to the -living-room. "I misdoubt yon poor lass o' mine is still hangin' about -them shafts!" he muttered, as he began to feel around him in the -darkness. "It's nat'ral on her part, an' all, but it'll do no good, no -good!" Then he struck a match, drawn from a box which was always handy -at the corner of the mantelpiece, and as he turned to where the lamp was -kept, saw Jeckie. She sat in an easy chair at the other side of the -hearth, but in no lounging attitude, such as is commonly affected by -folk who sit in easy chairs. Instead, she was bolt upright and rigid, -and for a moment Farnish wondered if she had been stricken with -paralysis, or was dead. But a sudden flash of her keen eyes showed him -that she was alive enough. - -"Why, Jecholiah, mi lass!" he exclaimed, as he lighted the lamp. "What's -this here? Sittin' there i' t'darkness?--no light, no fire! Ye mo'nt tek -on so, Jecholiah--it's o' no use, and bad for a body." - -"Who said aught about takin' on?" answered Jeckie, with a sombre stare -at him. "I was thinkin'--can't one think in t'dark as well as in -t'light?" - -"I dare say they can, mi lass," assented Farnish. "I done it misen, more -nor once, and a varry bad thing it is--what ye happen to think i' -t'dark's allus magnified, as it weer. Let me get you a drop o' summat, -now?--and then go to yer bed and try for a bit o' sleep--ye need it." - -"You can get something for yourself," answered Jeckie. "I want naught!" -Farnish had no objection to this invitation. He got out the bottle of -gin, mixed himself a tumbler to his liking, and sitting down in his own -chair, wagged his head over the glass. - -"I been tryin' to collect a bit o' information," he said. "Yon theer Ben -Scholes--as were at t'bottom o' this unfortunate episode, as t'term -is--he's clean disappeared. They laid wait for him to come down out o' -t'church tower; watched for him most o' t'day, but he niver come, and as -t'afternoon were drawing to an end, some on 'em stormed his citadel. -Went up t'ladder to t'chamber i' t'tower wheer they toll t'bells--but -t'bird hed flown. An' now they're sayin' 'at Scholes knew some secret -way in and out o' t'church, and 'at he's off wi' them fellers 'at he -bribed to blow t'pit up. Howsomeiver, Jecholiah, mi lass, t'police is on -t'track of all on 'em, and ye'll hev t'satisfaction o' seein' -malefactors browt to justice. There is them 'at I've been talkin' wi' -'at says 'at i' their opinion it's a hengin' matter--high treason, or -summat o' that sort, but chuse how, it'll mean 'at they'll be clapped i' -gaol for t'rest o' their lives, and never come out no more. So ye mun -cheer up!" - -Jeckie glowered at him in the dim light of the lamp. - -"What good'll that do me?" she demanded, contemptuously. "Will it repair -t'damage they've done? I don't care whether they catch Ben Scholes or -no! Him and them other devils can go where they like, for all I care! I -want to hear naught about 'em. They've done their job. It's over!" - -"Aye, why, mi lass," expostulated Farnish. "But theer's what t'scholars -terms poetic justice. It 'ud be nowt but right if these here chaps were -browt to it. Now, it 'ud nobbut be t'proper thing if they could be -henged--and happen drawn and quartered, same as yere done i' t'good old -times--on t'scene o' their misdeeds. But I doubt whether that theer 'ud -be allowed nowadays--we'm all too soft-hearted. Hev a drop o' comfort, -Jecholiah, mi lass, and then get to your bed." - -"No!" retorted Jeckie. "I haven't done thinking." - -Farnish left her thinking, and went to bed himself, and slept soundly. -But the habits of a lifetime had made him an early riser, and he was up -again and downstairs as the grey dawn broke over the village. And there -he found Jeckie still sitting just as he had left her, some hours -before, and in the light of his chamber candlestick he saw something -that made him start back in amazement. - -"The Lord ha' mercy on us, mi lass!" he exclaimed in awe-struck accents. -"What's come o' your hair? Look at yoursen!" - -The feminine instinct never wholly dies out, and Jeckie lifted herself -to her feet, and, taking the candle from her father's hand, looked into -the old mirror which hung above the mantelpieces. Then she saw what he -meant. Her hair, thick, luxuriant still, and till the day before black -and glossy as in her days of young womanhood, was now patched freely -with grey strands, and here and there with unmistakable threads of -white. She stood, looked, turned away, and set down the candle. - -"Aye!" she muttered, as if to herself. "Aye!--and there's a lot o' -thinkin', and plannin', and schemin' to do yet!" - -None knew that better than she did. Of all the folk who from personal -motives or from sheer natural curiosity discussed the present and future -situation of the unlucky mine, none were so keenly aware of the real -state of things as its principal proprietor. Lucilla might weep and -bewail, and Albert indulge in platitudes which he fondly believed to be -oracular sayings of the deepest wisdom, but Jeckie, essentially -practical and businesslike, knew what the real problem was. There was so -much capital left. It would have sufficed amply, if things had gone on -as they were going on before the explosions. But now the pit was ruined -in its upper and lower workings, and an immense amount of labour in -pumping, clearing, and restoring was absolutely necessary before it -could be brought back to the state in which it had been when Scholes -achieved his revenge. Could she last out? - -It was not in her to be idle. She sought the opinion of numerous -experts; she went carefully into the all-important question of the -money; at last she went to work once more. It was a fell and sinister -enemy that had to be encountered first, for the shafts, as Robinson had -prophesied, were flooded to the brim. But there the water had paused in -its upward progress, and she gave the word to start on its clearance. -Henceforth the village saw nothing but the progress of this grim fight. -There was now no more clanging of steel and iron about the place; no -more work at the rows of cottages which should soon have been filled by -miners and their families; there was nothing but the ceaseless clearing -of the shafts from the dark flood which had been released from its -unsuspected source in the bowels of the earth--and the fear lest, when -all this was accomplished, some further eruption might not break out and -render all the labour in vain. - -And as before, when hope was high and the fruition of her toiling and -scheming seemed certain, so now, when all was doubt and anxiety, Jeckie -Farnish haunted the scene from early morning till the evening shadows -fell. She aged rapidly in those days; the patches of white thickened in -the dark hair; the keen eyes grew harassed and hunted; about the firm -mouth lines and seams appeared which nothing would ever smooth away -again. She grew strangely silent; it seemed to those whose business -brought them into touch with her that all she did throughout the day was -to watch and watch and watch. She said little to Farnish; she ate and -drank mechanically--no more, observed Farnish to his cronies, than kept -the health in her body, now growing thin and gaunt; and at night she sat -alone in the cottage, always staring at the fire which her father took -care to keep going; if it had not been for him, he said, there would -have been no fire, for she had no interest in anything but the ceaseless -clearance of the dark floods which were being drawn and pumped away. It -was useless, too, he said, to sit with her and attempt to cheer her up; -she just sat, staring before her. So Farnish continued to attend the -nightly symposium at the "Coach-and-Four," and in the living-room of -their cottage Jeckie sat motionless, her eyes fixed on the bit of red -glow in the grate, thinking. - -She was so sitting one night, long after darkness had fallen, and when -there was no light in the place beyond a rapidly dying lamp and the dull -gleam of the fire, when, behind her chair, she heard the latch of the -door lifted, and a footstep which she knew to be a man's. She believed -it to be Farnish, who had come in an hour before his time, and she took -no heed. But then fell silence, a strange and frightening silence, and -at last she turned her head and looked. And there, half in shadow, half -in the light, staring at her out of glowing eyes, stood Scholes. - -The man whom Jeckie had so cunningly dispossessed of his lawful rights, -had always been more or less of an unkempt, carelessly attired -individual--the sort of man who neglected hair and beard, and wore his -clothes as if they had been thrown on with one of his own pitchforks. -But as he stood there now, motionless, staring at her, he reminded -Jeckie of pictures which she had seen; pictures of prophets, hermits, -anchorites. His head was bare, and his untrimmed, uncombed locks fell -about his ears and shoulders; even in that dim light she could see -leaves and straw in them, and in the straggling beard which mingled with -them. The rest of him, as she saw it, was wrapped in an ancient, -weather-stained ulster coat, in rags at all its extremities, and tied -about the waist with a piece of old cart rope. He carried a long staff -of hazel in one hand; the other clawed meditatively at his beard as he -stood fixedly staring at the woman who, in her turn, stared at him over -her shoulder. And, suddenly, Jeckie forgot hair, beard, the strange -garb, and saw nothing but the man's burning eyes, which never shifted -their intense gaze from her face. Before many seconds had elapsed she -would have given much to withdraw her own gaze--twice she tried to close -her eyelids, in the vain hope that this was a phantom, a bad dream. But -Scholes held her; and at last he spoke, in a queer, hollow voice which -sent a thrill of fear through her. For Jeckie Farnish, like all country -folk of her sort, and in spite of her hard-hearted, practical -temperament, was intensely superstitious, and it seemed to her that -this was either Scholes's ghost or that if he were really there in the -flesh he had become endowed with supernatural powers. And as he spoke -she cowered before him, trembling in every limb. - -"So ye're sittin' theer, Jecholiah, all bi yersen, doin' nowt but -thinkin'!" said the queer voice. "An' to be sure, when all's said and -done, that's t'inevitable end of all them 'at compasses evil. Ye've nowt -to do now but think, and think, and think! Here's t'end of all your -schemin' and contrivin' and sellin' yer soul for brass! Wheer's yer -brass, now? Gone!--and ye'll niver see one penny on it agen--niver! -Ye're doomed, Jecholiah! Ye've been doomed to destruction ever since -that day when yer carried yer bad heart into a poor man's house, wi' -full determination to cheat him. Ye reckoned to be buyin' one thing when -ye knew well 'at ye wor buyin' another. An' what ye wor doin' then wor -this--ye were sellin' yer soul to t'Devil! Ye cheated me to mi face; but -ye can't cheat him 'at put it into yer mind to cheat me! An' theer's -others powers beside him, and I've been their instrument. I wor nowt but -an agent i' bringing you to destruction. For ye're destroyed, Jecholiah! -Ye can work and tew, tew and work, labour and better labour, at yon -black water, but ye'll never clear it; it's t'flood o' vengeance 'at's -come down on yer! If ye'd been content to mak' yer brass honest and -straight, nowt would ha' happened to ye; and ye'd ha' had all 'at yer've -lost. Lost! lost! lost! Sit theer, and stare and stare at yer bit o' -fire till it dies out; yer last hopes'll die wi' that, for niver one -penny o' yer brass will ye iver see out o' that land 'at once were mine -and 'at ye cheated me out on. Ye ran t'race i' yer own way, Jecholiah, -and ye're beaten!" - -The burning eyes and strange figure suddenly vanished into the gloom -from which they had appeared, and at the same moment the light of the -lamp, which had been growing fainter and fainter while the queer voice -sounded, gave one leap, showed Jeckie that she was alone in the -living-room, and died out. Then came blackness, for at the same time the -red ashes in the grate sank into sombre grey, and with the blackness an -intense silence. She knew then that what she had seen was Scholes's -ghost, and with a lifting of her hands to her head and a sudden catching -of her breath, she half rose, and in the action fell forward across the -hearth. - -Farnish, coming home an hour later, found her lying there unconscious. -And, in unconsciousness or semi-consciousness, she lay in her bed for a -long time, hovering between life and death. One season had merged into -another before Jeckie came to herself. Farnish and his younger daughter -were at her bedside when her eyes first opened with full intelligence, -and for a moment she believed that the old days at Applecroft were back -again, and that they were all together. But in the next she remembered -and realised, and after one quick glance at Rushie she turned her face -to the wall with a gesture that seemed to implore silence. - -It takes much to kill a woman of such a constitution, and Jeckie began -to mend. But it was long before she spoke a word to any of those who -came about her as to the events that had led up to her illness. It was -to Farnish that she spoke at last; he had never failed in constant -attendance on her, and sat for hours in her room, watching her, waking -or sleeping. And as he sat by her side one grey afternoon she suddenly -turned her eyes on him with a flash of their old power. - -"How long have I been here?" she demanded. - -Farnish, mindful of the doctor's orders, tried to evade a direct answer. - -"Ye'd best not to bother about that theer, mi lass," he said, -soothingly. "Ye're mendin' varry weel now, and t'doctor says 'at if -ye're nobbut kept quiet, and hev nowt to worry yer, ye'll soon be up and -doin', so----" - -"I shall have plenty to worry about if you don't tell me what I want to -know," insisted Jeckie. "How long have I been ill? Out with it!" - -"Why, then, a matter o' two or three month, mi lass," replied Farnish. -"But ye've been well looked to. Me an' yer sister Rushie, we've been wi' -you all t'time--she's been a reight good 'un, has Rushie--never left -t'place, and----" - -Jeckie made a movement of impatience. - -"What's gone on across there?" she demanded, pointing a wasted hand to -the window. "What have they done? How are things?" - -Farnish, who sat by the bedside twiddling his thumbs in sign of deep -perplexity, shook his head. - -"Now, Jecholiah, mi lass!" he said, with a poor attempt at firmness. -"That's t'varry thing 'at t'doctor said ye worrn't to be allowed to talk -about. So----" - -"If you don't tell me, I'll get up and see for myself!" she retorted. -"You'd better say!" - -"Why, then," answered Farnish, "if I mun say, all I can say is, 'at you -were took badly Mestur Revis he's hed all t'affairs i' hand. He come -forrard and said 'at he'd tak it all on his shoulders, i' your interest. -And he's t'only man 'at can rightly say how things is--I can't. I know -nowt, mi lass--'ceptin' what I've telled you." - -"I must see him," said Jeckie. - -"Ye mun ha' t'doctor's consent first, mi lass," replied Farnish. - -She lay quiet for some time after that; then she suddenly asked a -question which made Farnish stare at her. - -"Has naught been heard of Ben Scholes?" - -Farnish made a curious exclamation. - -"Scholes!" he said. "Aye, for sure! He wor found dead, i' Wake Wood, -some time ago; they say he'd evidently been i' hiding theer, and theer -he'd died. Queer, worrn't it, mi lass?" - -But Jeckie made no answer. She knew now, for certain, that it was -Scholes's ghost that had come to her, and that all was lost. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -_The Second Exodus_ - - -Those who ministered to her in her convalescence found it difficult to -understand Jeckie Farnish's curious apathy and indifference to the -things about her. Once her sister was out of danger, Rushie had gone -home to Binks and her children; Binks was by that time a bustling -tradesman in Sicaster, and had prospered so well that Rushie wore a real -sealskin coat and sported gold chains and diamond rings. It had been -Binks's idea that his wife should go to the rescue when Jeckie was taken -ill; blood, said Binks, with the air of a Solomon, was thicker than -water when all's said and done, and bygones should be bygones, and in no -half-measures. So Rushie waited on Jeckie hand and foot, and Jeckie, -after she had come to herself, watched her going about the sick room and -said nothing. At that time, indeed, she said nothing to anybody, and -when Rushie had returned, leaving her sister in charge of Farnish and a -neighbour-woman, she said less. Farnish began to wonder if her illness -had affected her mind, and voiced his doubts to the doctor; the doctor -made him leave Jeckie alone; she would speak, he said, as soon as she -wanted to. - -There came a time when Farnish was obliged to speak, whether Jeckie -wanted to hear or not. He approached her bedside one day in a -shamefaced, diffident manner, looking doubtfully at her. - -"Jecholiah, mi lass," said Farnish, "theer's a little matter 'at I mun -mention to yer, though I'm sure I wouldn't trouble yer wi' it if it -could be helped. But ye see, mi lass, when ye were ta'en badly an' could -do nowt for yersen, I hed to tak things i' hand, and of course, I hed to -lay out money. I knew wheer you kep' a certain supply down theer i' -t'owd bewro i' t'kitchen corner, and I hed to force t'lock and lay hands -on it. That's three months and more since, and for all I've been varry -careful about layin' it out, it's come to an end, as all such -commodities, as they term 'em, does. What mun I do, mi lass?" - -Jeckie made an effort of memory, and remembered how much money there had -been in the old bureau of which her father spoke--something between -forty and fifty pounds, as far as she could recollect. She made a rapid -calculation and found that Farnish had spent between three and four -pounds a week during her illness. There was nothing extravagant in such -expenditure at such a time. But she gave him a sharp, searching look. - -"You made that do? You have borrowed aught from anybody?" she demanded. - -"Surely not, mi lass!" protested Farnish. "No!" - -"Not from them Binkses?" questioned Jeckie. - -"Nowt from nobody, Jecholiah," said Farnish. "It's panned out very well, -ower fourteen weeks. There's happen a pound or so left. But----" - -"Go downstairs, and come up again when I knock on t'floor," said -Jeckie. "I have a bit in my box." - -Farnish went away in his usual obedient fashion, and when he had gone, -Jeckie, who hitherto had been unable to get out of bed unaided, made -shift to rise, and to wrap a shawl round her shoulders. Weak as she was, -her first action was characteristic--to totter to the door and lock it. -That cost her trembling limbs an effort; she had to summon all her small -reserve of strength and to pause once or twice in order to cross the -floor to a heavy, iron-clamped box which stood in one corner of the -room, staying again on the way to extract a key from a certain -hiding-place beneath the carpet. And when this box was unlocked she -found it difficult work to lift out and lay aside the various things -that lay within; it took some time before she had got down to the bottom -and had there unearthed a smaller box, wherein, months before, when she -had been obliged to face possible contingencies, she had placed a -personal reserve fund. The key of that box was in an old satchel kept -within the larger one; she found it at last and laid bare her secret -store. - -Weak and trembling as she was, Jeckie could not forbear the satisfaction -of counting over this money. She had deposited there a thousand pounds -in banknotes, and fifty in gold, and she slowly counted paper and coin. -It was all there, all safe, and she took ten pounds in gold, put the -rest back, and with many tremblings and restings, locked up the two -boxes, unlocked the door, knocked loudly on the floor, and climbed back -into bed. - -"There's ten pound," she said when Farnish came up in response to her -summons. "Make it go as far as you can." - -She turned her face away then, as if wanting no talk on the matter, and -Farnish took the hint and the money and went quietly away. It astonished -him, as Jeckie grew stronger, that she asked no questions about his -expenditure; once upon a time, she would have made him account for every -penny. But now she seemed indifferent; she was indifferent, indeed, to -everything, and there came a time when she showed no interest in the -doctor's visits, as if she cared nothing whether he was doing her good -or not. But all that time she was steadily improving, and at last the -doctor told her, in Farnish's presence, that there was no need for him -to come again and that she could get up. - -"Ye'll be glad to take a look round, no doubt, mi lass," observed -Farnish, when the doctor had gone. "It'll liven you up." - -Jeckie made no reply. The neighbour-woman got her up next day, helped -her to dress, and bustled about in the hope of making her comfortable at -her first rising. When Jeckie was dressed this good Samaritan went -downstairs and returned with an easy chair and cushions. - -"I'll put this here agen t'winda, Miss Farnish," she said with cheery -officiousness. "Ye'll be able to look out theer ower t'pit, and see what -they're a-doin' on theer. Nowt so lively as it wor afore t'accident, but -theer is things bein' done theer, an' happen ye'll like to get a glimpse -on' em, for, of course, ye mun ha' been anxious, an'----" - -"Put that chair in that corner!" snapped Jeckie, with a sudden gleam of -her old temper. "An' hold yer wisht about t'pit! When I want to talk -about t'pit, I'll let you know." - -The woman had sufficient sense to see that her charge was irritable, and -she made no answer; she had enough wit, too, to place the easy chair in -a corner of the room from which it was impossible to see out of the -window. And in that corner Jeckie spent the first period of her -convalescence, at first doing nothing, afterwards occupying herself in -mending her linen. - -Farnish came upstairs every now and then, always with some question--was -she wanting aught? But Jeckie never wanted anything; she ate and drank -whatever was put before her without remark and with apparent -indifference, and so the days went by. And during the whole of that time -she never asked her father a question save once. - -"Where," she asked suddenly, one day, as Farnish hung about the bedroom -in his usual aimless, good-intentioned fashion, "where did they bury -Scholes?" - -"Why, i' t'churchyard, to be sure, mi lass!" answered Farnish, glad to -break the silence which he found so trying. "Wheer else? Ligged him i' -t'same grave as his missus--ye'll know t'spot; halfway down that new -piece o' ground 'at they took in fro' Stubley's ten-acre a few years -sin'. Aye, he wor buried all reight theer, wor Ben--same as anybody -else. Why, mi lass?" - -"Naught!" answered Jeckie, and relapsed into her usual silence. - -The same silence continued when she at last went downstairs. And there -Farnish noticed that she never went near the window of the living-room; -it, like that of her bedroom, overlooked the ill-fated colliery. For -awhile she accepted the help and ministrations of the neighbour-woman; -then one day she gave her some money and with the curt remark that in -future she and her father could fend for themselves, dismissed her. She -began to go about the cottage then, and to do the household work, and -Farnish, who was somewhat shrewd as regards observation, noticed that -one night, when the darkness had fallen, she fitted two muslin blinds to -the window of the living-room and the window of her chamber above; the -light could come in through them, but no one could see out. - -"It's t'same as if our Jeckie niver wanted to set her eyes on yon theer -pit an' its surroundings niver no more!" observed Farnish, narrating -this curious circumstance to his principal crony. "Shutten 'em clean -out, as it weer!" - -"An' no wonder, considerin' how things has befallen," remarked the -crony. "If things hed turned out wi' onny affair o' mine as that's -turned out wi' her, d'ye think I should want to hev' it i' front o' my -eyes, allus remindin' me o' what had happened? Nowt o' t'sort!" - -"Aye!" said Farnish, reflectively. "But--she knows nowt, as yet." - -There came a time when Jeckie had to know. One morning, when she was -fully restored to health, though now a gaunt and haggard woman, -grey-haired and spiritless, Farnish, who had been out in the village, -came in as she was washing up the breakfast things in the scullery and -approached her with evident concern. - -"Jecholiah, mi lass," he said, in a low voice, "theer's Mestur Revis -outside, i' his trap. He's called at t'doctor's as he came through -Sicaster, and t'doctor says you're now fit to hev a bit o' business -talk. And Mestur Revis is varry anxious to come in and hev it, now. How -will it be, mi lass?" - -Jeckie finished polishing her china before she answered, and Farnish -stood by, silent, anxiously waiting. - -"Happen I know as much as Revis or anybody else can tell," she said at -last in a queer voice. "And happen I got to know it in a way 'at neither -Revis nor you, nor anybody, 'ud understand. But--tell him to come in." - -Farnish went out to the colliery proprietor, who sat in his smart -dog-cart, meditatively surveying the scene on the other side of the -road. There were no signs of activity now about the pit on which Jeckie -had set such hopes; the surface buildings stood as ruinous as the -explosions had left them; on the hillside the cottages intended for the -miners were just as they were when all work had come to an end on them; -over the whole surface of the Leys there was ruin and desolation. And -Revis had just shaken his head and heaved a deep sigh when Farnish -emerged from the cottage. - -"She'll see you now, if you'll please go in, Mestur Revis," said -Farnish. Then he looked half entreatingly, half wistfully at the big -man. "Ye'll break it gentle to her, sir?" he added. "She's in a queer -state of mind, to my thinking." - -"Leave it to me, my lad," said Revis, as he got out of his dog-cart. -"I'll make it as easy as I can for her." - -He went up the path to the cottage door, tapped, and walked in. Jeckie -sat in her accustomed corner, in the shadows, but Revis saw how she had -changed, and it was with a curious mixture of pity and wonder and -interest that he went up and held out his hand to her. - -"Well, my lass!" he said, with a sympathetic effort to put some -cheeriness into his voice. "You've had a bad time of it, to be sure, -poor thing! But--you're better?" - -"Well enough to hear aught you've to say, Mr. Revis," answered Jeckie. -"And--sit down and tell me straight out, if you please. You know me!" - -Revis gave her a searching look and pulled a chair in front of her. - -"Aye!" he said. "I think I know! Well, it's not cheering news, but you'd -better know it. You know already that I've done what I could to look -after things for you while you've been ill?" - -"Yes, and I'm obliged to you," answered Jeckie. "You were always a good -friend." - -"It was this way," continued Revis. "When you were taken ill that -brother-in-law of yours, Binks, came to me and asked me if I couldn't do -something to help. I came over and consulted with him and your partner -and her husband. We went right into things. Of course you know that when -your illness came you were just at the end of your capital?" - -"Who should know better!" exclaimed Jeckie, bitterly. - -"Well, that was so," asserted Revis. "So--everything stopped, with those -shafts still half-full of water, and----" - -"I know how they were, and how all else was," interrupted Jeckie. "You -can't tell me anything about that!" - -"To be sure!" said Revis, humouring her. "Well, the question was--was it -worth while putting more capital--it would have had to be a lot more -capital!--to clear the mine, get all going again, and go on? Now, I had -some talk with two or three influential men in the district, and we -decided to come to your help if we could see that all the money you and -Mrs. Albert Grice had put in, and all that we should have to put in -would be got back--that, in short, the results would justify the -expenditure. In other words, what amount of coal is under this property -and close to it? You understand?" - -For the first time for many long months a faint flush of colour came to -Jeckie Farnish's haggard cheeks, and she spoke with some show of -interest. - -"You mean to say that there's a doubt?" she asked. - -"We'll leave doubts out," answered Revis. "That was the real problem. I -put aside all the investigations that you made before you started, and -made some of my own, at my own expense. You know what a thorough man I -am about such things. Well, I made, at once, more borings, in different -parts, not only of your property, but in the land round about. I've -known the truth now for a week or two; it's an unpleasant one. There's -without doubt a good bed beneath your land, but a small one. What you'd -have got out of it would possibly have given you back your capital and a -bit over. But there's none elsewhere! And your pit's been so ruined by -that explosion, and there's such a body of water that----" - -"I understand," said Jeckie, interrupting him with a significant look. -"It's useless!" - -"If you want plain words, my lass--yes!" answered Revis. "To get that -pit cleared and to go on again would cost far more than you'd ever get -back. I reckoned everything up, with your partner's assistance--you know -she'd power to act for you if you couldn't--and things were just -here--what with paying everything up to the time of stoppage and so on, -you've just come to the end of your capital, and--there you are! It's a -very sad thing, but it's one of these things that have to be faced." - -"The workmen and all the rest of them?" asked Jeckie. - -"All paid off--gone, weeks since," replied Revis, laconically. - -"And the stuffs about those shafts--material--the building material at -those cottages, and all that?" she inquired. - -"Sold--to settle things up," said Revis. "Your partner had power to do -all that, you know, as you couldn't. We all made the biggest effort we -could for you and for her. To put things in a nutshell--you owe nothing -to the bank or to anybody, and the whole concern is just a ruin which -anybody can take up and remake if they like. I would have liked, but it -isn't worth it." - -Jeckie looked steadily at her visitor for a long time. - -"Then," she said at last, in a low voice that was curiously firm, -"then--I've nothing?" - -Revis shook his head. - -"Nothing," he answered. "Nothing! except the forty acres that you bought -in the beginning." - -He was surprised to hear Jeckie laugh. He was something of a student of -human nature, this big, bluff man, but he could not gauge the precise -meaning of that laugh, and he looked at the woman before him, in some -slight alarm, which she was quick to recognise. - -"I'm not going mad, Revis," she said. "I was only thinking that at the -end of all that I've got--forty acres! Those forty acres!" - -"How much did you give for them?" he asked, inquisitively. "A lot? I'd -an idea it was for next to naught that you got them." - -Jeckie suddenly got up from her chair, and turned towards the hearth. -She stood looking into the fire for some time, and when, at last, she -glanced at her visitor there was a look in her eyes which Revis never -forgot. - -"What did I give for them?" she said in a low, concentrated voice. -"Man!--I don't know--yet!--what I gave for them!" - -Revis stood staring at her for a moment of wonder. Her answer was beyond -him. And as he had no reply to it he turned to go. But Jeckie stopped -him. - -"Wait a minute," she said. "A question--Lucilla Grice and her husband?" - -"They've left the neighbourhood," replied Revis. "They sold their house -and furniture and went away. I don't know where they've gone." - -Jeckie said no more, and Revis went out, said a few words to Farnish, -and drove off. And Farnish went indoors, and found Jeckie already -setting about the preparations for their early dinner. He was astonished -to find that she began to be talkative that day; still more astonished -that, when evening came, she cooked a hot supper, encouraged him to eat, -ate heartily herself, and before they went to bed mixed a goodly tumbler -of grog for each of them. It was, thought Farnish, like old times, and -he went to his chamber in high content. - -But as the grey dawn broke a few hours later, Farnish woke to find -Jeckie, fully dressed, standing at his bedside. He stared at her in -astonishment. - -"Get up; get dressed; come down; we're going away," said Jeckie. "Don't -talk, but do as I tell you. There'll be some breakfast ready by the time -you're down." - -Farnish obeyed; he was still as clay in his elder daughter's hands. And -an hour later, still obedient though wondering, he followed her out of -the cottage, and up the empty street of Savilestowe, past what had once -been Grice's, past what had once been the Golden Teapot, past the last -house, past the last tree. At the top of the hill, and as the morning -broke, he turned and looked back, having some strange intuition that he -was being taken away from a place which he had known long and would -never see again. He stood looking for some minutes; when he turned, -Jeckie, who had never once looked back, was marching stolidly ahead. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -_The Lustre Jug_ - - -Some eight or nine years after the morning on which Jeckie Farnish and -her father had walked out of their native village for the last time, -never to be heard of again in those parts, a man, who had just arrived -by train at Scarhaven, the time being seven o'clock of a bitterly cold -November evening, turned away from the railway station and betook -himself, shivering in the north-east wind that swept inland from the -sea, towards a part of the town wherein cheap lodgings were to be found. -In the light of the street lamps he showed himself to any who chanced to -look at him as a not over-well clad, somewhat shabby man, elderly, -greyish of hair and beard, who carried an old umbrella in one hand and a -much worn hand-bag in the other. Not the sort of man, this, anyone would -have said, who had much money to spend--nevertheless, when, after some -ten minutes of hard walking, he came to the end of a badly lighted -street in a dismal quarter, he turned into the bar-parlour of a corner -tavern and ordered hot whisky and a cheap cigar. In the light of the -place his shabbiness was more apparent, yet it was shabbiness of the -genteel sort. His overcoat was threadbare, but well brushed; his boots, -patched in more than one place, were sound of sole and firm of heel and -had been well cleaned and polished; his linen was clean and he wore -gloves. A keen observer of men and things would have said, after -inspecting him, that here was a man who had known better days. - -Under the cheering influence of his whisky and his cigar, this man shook -off the chill of the streets and the sea wind and began to feel more -comfortable in flesh and bone. - -He settled himself in a corner of the bar-parlour and picked up a -newspaper from an adjoining table, there was a good fire in the grate -close by, and he glanced at it approvingly as at the face of an old -friend, and occasionally stretched out a hand to it. In this fashion he -spent half an hour; at the end of that time he pulled out a watch, and -here again a keen observer would have noted something of significance. -The watch hung from a cheap steel chain, of the sort that you can buy -anywhere for a couple of shillings, but the watch itself was a good, -first-class article of solid gold, old, no doubt, but valuable. He -replaced it in his pocket with an air of indecision; then, apparently, -making up his mind about something, he had his glass replenished, and -for another half-hour he sat, gradually growing warmer and more -courageous. But soon after eight o'clock had struck from a neighbouring -church tower, he rose, buttoned his overcoat about his throat, and, -picking up bag and umbrella, made for the door. Ere he had reached it -another moment of apparent indecision came over him. It ended in his -returning to the bar and asking to be supplied with a bottle of whisky. -He counted out its price from a handful of silver which he drew from his -hip pocket, and, placing the bottle in the bag, made his exit and went -out again into the night. - -It was a badly-lighted street down which this man turned--a street of -small, mean houses, wherein there were few lights in the windows and the -gas lamps were placed far apart. Consequently, he had some difficulty in -finding the number he wanted, and was obliged to look closely within the -doorways to get an idea of its exact situation. But he got it at last, -and knocked--to wait until a slight opening of the door revealed a -dimly-lighted, narrow passage, and a girl between the lamp and himself. - -"Mrs. Watson in?" he asked, making as if to enter. The girl shook her -head. - -"Mrs. Watson's dead, sir--died three years ago," she answered. "Name of -Marshall here now." - -The inquirer appeared to be seriously taken aback. - -"Sorry to hear that," he said. "I used to get a night's lodgings with -her in years past. Do they let lodgings here now?" - -"No, sir," said the girl, "but there's plenty of houses where they do, -both sides of the street. You'll see cards in the windows, sir." - -The man thanked his informant and went away--to look for the cards of -which the girl had spoken. There were plenty of these cards in the -windows. He could see them, dismal and ghost-like in the gloom, and very -soon he paused, irresolute. - -"One's as good as another, I reckon," he muttered at last. "And when -you can't afford an hotel----" - -Then he knocked at the door by which he was just then standing. There -was some delay there, but when the door opened there was a strong light -in the passage behind it, and he found himself confronting a tall, -gaunt, white-haired woman, gowned in rusty black, over whose shoulders -were thrown an old Paisley shawl. He looked uninterestedly at her--one -landlady was pretty much as other landladies. - -"Can you let me have a room and a bit of supper and breakfast?" he -began. "I used to put up at Mrs. Watson's, lower down, but I find she -dead, so----" - -Then he suddenly stopped, hearing the woman catch her breath and seeing -a quick start of surprise in her as she leaned forward to stare at him. -And he, too, leaned nearer, and stared. - -"Good Lord!" he muttered. "Jeckie! Jeckie Farnish! Well, I never!" - -Jeckie held the door wider, motioning the applicant to step inside. - -"I knew you, Albert Grice, as soon as you spoke," she said, in a dull, -almost sullen voice. "Come in! I can find what you want. Where's your -wife?" she went on, as she pointed him to a hat-stand. "Is she here, -waiting anywhere, in the town, or is it just for yourself?" - -Albert set down his umbrella and bag, and began to take off his coat. - -"Lucilla's dead," he replied, shortly. "Five or six years since. I'd no -idea of coming across you! I was here, once or twice--business, you -know--for a night, some years since, at that Mrs. Watson's----" - -"Come this way," said Jeckie. She walked before him down the narrow -passage to a living-room at the end, a homely, comfortable place, where -there was a bright fire, something cooking on the range, and, in an -elbow-chair at the side of the hearth, an old, white-bearded man who -smiled and nodded as Albert walked in. "You remember him," continued -Jeckie, pointing to Farnish. "He's lost his memory--he wouldn't know you -from Adam!--he's forgotten all about Savilestowe, and he thinks he's a -retired farmer--wi' lots o' money!" she added, grimly. "Speak to -him--but take no notice of what he says--he talks all sorts o' soft -stuff." - -Albert went up to Farnish and offered his hand. - -"Ah, how do you do, sir?" he asked. "Hope I see you well, sir?" - -"Ah, how do you do, sir?" responded Farnish, with another infantile -smile. "I hope you're well yourself? Friend o' my dowter's, no doubt, -sir, and kindly welcome. Jecholiah, mi lass, what'll the gentleman tak' -to drink--ye mun get out the sperrits--and there'll be a bit o' tobacco -in the jar, somewhere, no doubt." - -"Sit you down," said Jeckie, motioning Albert to another elbow-chair. -"There's some hot supper in t'oven; plenty of it, and good, too, and -we'll have it in a minute, and then he'll go to his bed--he's quiet and -harmless enough, but his mind's gone--at least his memory has." - -"Does he ever take a glass?" asked Albert, staring curiously at Farnish. -"I see he's got his pipe handy." - -"Oh, I give him a drop every night before he goes to bed," said Jeckie, -already bustling about the hearth. "That does him no harm." - -Albert went back into the passage and returned with his bottle of -whisky. Seeing a corkscrew hanging on the delf-ledge, he drew the cork, -mixed two tumblers of grog, and handed one to Farnish and offered the -other to Jeckie. - -"Nay, drink it yourself," said Jeckie. "I don't mind one after supper, -but not now. You haven't made it over strong for him?" - -"It'll not hurt him," replied Albert, pointing to the label on the -bottle. "Sound stuff, that. Best respects, sir!" - -"And my best respects to you, sir, and many on 'em," answered Farnish. -"Allers glad to see a gentleman o' your sort, sir--friends o' my -dowter's." - -"He thinks all my lodgers are friends 'at come to see us," observed -Jeckie. "Poor old feller!--he's been like that this three year." - -Albert sat sipping his drink and watching father and daughter. Farnish -had become white and doddering; Jeckie's hair was as white as his, and -she was as gaunt as a scarecrow, and looked all the more so because of -her height and her strong-boned figure, but she was evidently as -bustling as ever, and not without some spark of her old fire. And -before long she set a smoking-hot Irish stew on the table, and bade -Albert to fall to and eat heartily; there was always plenty of good, -plain food in her house, she added, dryly, and nobody went with their -bread unbuttered. So Albert ate and grew warm and satisfied, and, when, -later on, Jeckie was seeing Farnish to his bed, he sat by the fire, and -drank more whisky, and wondered, in vague, purposeless fashion, about -the vagaries of life. - -Jeckie came back to him at last, and dropped into the chair which -Farnish had left empty. Albert indicated his bottle. - -"Well, I don't mind a drop," she said. "A woman 'at works as hard as I -do can do with a glass last thing at night. I've some good stuff o' my -own in that cupboard--you must try it when you've finished your glass." - -"Good health, then," said Albert. He looked speculatively at her as he -lifted his glass. "I was never more surprised in my life," he went on, -confidentially, "than when you opened that door! For--it's all a long -time ago!" - -Jeckie, holding the tumbler which he had given her in both hands, stared -meditatively at the fire for some time before replying. - -"Aye!" she said at last. "I've had more lives nor one i' my time! You've -never been back there?" - -"Never!" answered Albert. "Have you?" - -Jeckie shook her head. - -"There's naught could ever make me do that," she said. "It was over and -done with. Once I thought of emigrating and starting afresh, but there -was him"--she nodded towards the stairs. "I had to think of him. So I -came here, and furnished this bit of a house, and started taking in -lodgers--chance folk, like yourself. It's been--well, just a comfortable -living. T'old fellow upstairs is satisfied, especially since he lost all -his memory. And that's the main thing, anyhow, now. There's naught -else." - -Albert said nothing, and there was a long pause before Jeckie spoke -again. Then she asked a question. - -"What might you be doing?" - -"Bit o' travelling," replied Albert. "The old line--a patent food. No -great thing; but, as you say, it's, well, just a nice living. For a -single man, keeps one going; and I can manage a cigar now and then, and -a drop o' that," he added, with a knowing sidelong glance at the bottle. -"I don't complain." - -Jeckie shrugged her shoulders. - -"What's the use?" she said. - -Albert suddenly rose, went out into the passage, and came back with a -packet in his hand, which he presented to her. - -"This is the stuff," he said. "Invaluable for children, invalids, and -old people. You might try it on your father; it's grand stuff for old -'uns when they've lost their teeth. Lately I've done very nicely with -it. What I want is to get a bigger connection with leading firms in some -of these towns. I'm going to try a whole day here to-morrow. I've only -one of these Scarhaven firms on my list at present. Now, you'll have an -idea about where I should go, eh? Happen you can suggest...." - -They continued talking for an hour or two, facing each other across the -hearth, two broken things, with a past behind them, and a bottle between -them, each secretly conscious of mutual knowledge, and neither daring to -speak of it. They talked of anything but the past, any trifle of the -moment; yet the consciousness of the past was there, spectre-like, and -each felt it. And, at last, as the clock struck eleven, Jeckie rose and -lighted a candle. - -"I'll show you your room," she said. "You can depend on the bed being -well-aired; I'm always particular about that; and there's everything -you'll want. And I'll have a good breakfast ready at half-past eight." - -When she had shown Albert to his room she went downstairs again, and, -gathering the Paisley shawl about her, sat in front of the fire, staring -at it and thinking, until the red ashes grew grey, and the grey ashes -white. It was past midnight then, but she had so sat, and so heard the -clocks strike twelve for many a long year. - -"As sure as I'm a born woman," she muttered, she rose at last, "it was -Ben Scholes's spirit 'at I saw that night! And I were none wrong when I -said to Revis 'at I didn't know what I gave for that land! for who knows -what I'll have to pay for it yet! But I've kept paying, and paying, and -paying, on account; but what about t'balance?" - -She went slowly and heavily upstairs and looked in on Farnish. The old -man was fast asleep, his hands clasped over his breast. - -"He's all right," she muttered as she left his room. "He never had any -great love of money." - -Albert found a good breakfast of eggs and bacon ready for him when he -came down in the morning, and did justice to it. Jeckie stood by the -fire and talked to him while he ate, but again there was no reference to -the past. And before nine o'clock he had got into his coat and hat, to -start out on his round. - -"I want to get done by four," he said. "I must go on to Kingsport -to-night. So now--what do I owe?" - -"Why if you give me three-and-six, it'll do," answered Jeckie. With the -coins which he gave her still in her hand, she followed him to the -street door and looked out into a grey sea-fog that was rolling slowly -up the street. She continued to look when he had said good-bye and gone -quickly away ... she watched his disappearing figure until the sea-fog -swallowed it up. She went back to the living-room then, and took down -from the mantelpiece an old lustre-jug which she had treasured all -through her life, since the time of her girlhood at Applecroft, and in -which she now kept her small change. And as she dropped the -three-and-six in it, the lustre-jug slipped from her fingers, and was -broken into fragments on the hearthstone. Presently, she picked up the -fragments and went out into the yard behind the house and threw them -away on the dustheap; bits of pot, not more shattered than her own self. - - -THE END - - * * * * * - - _Novels by_ - - J. S. FLETCHER - - THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL - THE SECRET OF THE BARBICAN - THE MILL OF MANY WINDOWS - THE COPPER BOX - THE HEAVEN-KISSED HILL - EXTERIOR TO THE EVIDENCE - THE VALLEY OF HEADSTRONG MEN - THE LOST MR. LINTHWAITE - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Root of All Evil, by J. S. 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