“Na, na, lad; Allenders has plenty siller bye the land, ye may take my word for it,” said the slow voice of Geordie Paxton, speaking out of the hay-field at the end of the mall, opposite to Rose’s favourite oak. “I spoke to him mysel about that grand new harrow, and an improvement o’ my ain in the plough-graith, when he started farming, and he never boggled at it a minute, though they baith cost siller. Then he has a free hand himsel, and keeps a plentiful house; and you’ll no tell me that a man like Allenders--a fine lad, but apt to gang ajee whiles like ither folk--doesna take a good purse to keep himsel gaun, let alane the house and a’ thae braw leddies. And so I have reason in my ain mind, as guid as positive knowledge--which I could only have, if he telled me himsel, Rob--to say that Allenders has a guid income coming to him, forbye the land; ten hunder a year--ay, twelve ye may ca’ it--would not do more than keep up that house.” Agnes started in dismay, and instinctively put her hand in her pocket for her little book; but, unfortunately, Agnes always forgot to put down her housekeeping in this little book, though she had bought it herself expressly for the purpose; and it was not Agnes’s housekeeping that was called in question. “Sir John’s man telled me,” said Geordie’s companion, with the deliberation of certainty, “that Allenders was naething but a writing clerk in an office afore he got the estate, and that he hasna a penny o’ his ain; the story is no mine, but I would like to hear wha should ken if it wasna Sir John’s man?” “I dinna believe a word o’t,” said Geordie, hastily. “Would Sir John keep that auld body of an uncle of mine useless about the house, do you think, and gie him a’ his ain gait, and cleed him, and feed him, for the auld family’s sake, and because he’s been a faithful servant? I trow no; and folk that live in glass houses shouldna throw stanes. I reckon Sir John’s no fashed wi’ ower muckle siller himsel.” “That’s naething to the question,” returned his dogmatical opponent, after one or two sweeps of the scythe among the fragrant grass bore witness that they had resumed their work. “What I say is, that Allenders has naething but the estate, and there’ll be a great smash some of thir days; ye can believe me or no, just as you like.” “He has his faults, puir lad, but he’s young, and he’ll mend,” said Geordie; “and you wadna ask me to believe that Allenders is clean mad, and out of his wits, which is just the same as saying that he lives at this rate, and has nae siller o’ his ain.” The listeners withdrew in dismay and alarm. To Martha this gossip only confirmed many previous fears, but to the others it came like a revelation.