"I can believe that," cried Betsey eagerly. Gerald's offence was too recent to be forgotten or forgiven yet awhile. "He made us declare a div-- at the meeting to-day, though he knows there is nothing to divide, and that most all the metal in the mine has been dug out already. He expects to get shut of his shares that way without losing money, and he don't care what becomes of the concern after that, and he is just using us directors as cats-paws to save his chestnuts." "Quite likely. They are deep scheming men, both father and son. Just look at Gerald there, and the way he is going on with poor little Muriel! See how the little fool is hanging to his arm." "She's a fine little girl, Miss Muriel Stanley, and I can excuse anything a fellow does to win her, if only he is good to her afterwards. You think he's after the aunts' money I guess, Miss Betsey? That _would_ be mean, but he can't help liking, the sweet little thing herself all the same." "Sweet little humbug! And she isn't a Stanley after all! and not the Stanleys' niece. She's nobody's child, that I tell you, and nobody's niece. She was found inside a paper parcel. And as for their money, it's me and my uncle should get it by right, when they are done with it, and they won't sleep easy in their graves if they leave it past us that are their proper flesh and blood; and what's more, I mean to give them a bit of my mind about it, and that right smartly. I'd after them at once, but there's that old fool Considine holding the sunshade over Matilda's head, and we'd best keep family matters at home. Just look at the old thing! Faugh! It makes me sick to see a woman of her age, that should be at home making her soul, philandering about the country with an old dandy like that! Her sunshade lined with rose-coloured silk and no less, to mend her old complexion--while young girls like me must go without--and her curls like sausages flapping about half-way down to her waist. Ha! There they go in at auntie's door to get a drink of ice-water or something. I'll to them there. Good-bye, Mr. Webb! You may depend on me, and trust me fully;" and she hastened away with the "bit of her mind" she had spoken of already on her tongue tip waiting to be launched. The launching was scarcely a success, however, or so Joe Webb inferred, when, having claimed his horse at the stable, he rode past the rectory on his homeward way. The Misses Stanley were just then leaving the house, looking flushed and indignant, the wife following them to the door with deprecatory looks which changed into dismay as they departed without a sign of leave-taking, and Betsey in the background, too crushed and ashamed to be aware even that it was Joe as he went by.