When tea was over, Mr. Preen shut himself into the Buttery; Mrs. Preen retired to the kitchen to look after Nancy, who had to be watched, like most young servants, as you watch a sprightly calf. Jane and Oliver went out again, Jane taking the way to the Inlets. This time she sat down facing the brook. The dark trees were behind them, the clear stream flowed past in a gentle murmur; nothing but fields beyond. It was a solitary spot. "What do you call this place--the Inlets?" cried Oliver. "Why is it called so?" "I'm sure I don't know: because of those two openings from the road, I suppose. I like to sit here; it is so quiet. Oliver, how came Aunt Emily to sink all her money in an annuity?" "For her own benefit, of course; it nearly doubled her income. She did it years ago." "And you did not know that she had nothing to leave?" "No one knew. She kept the secret well." "It is very unfortunate for _you_." "Yes--compared with what I had expected," sighed Oliver. "It can't be helped, Jane, and I try not to feel disappointed. Aunt Emily in life was very kind to me; apart from all selfish consideration I regret and mourn her." "You will hardly endure this dreary place after your gay and happy life at Tours, Oliver. Duck Brook is the fag-end of the world." "It does not appear to be very lively," remarked Oliver, with a certain dry sarcasm. "How was it that the Pater came to it?" "Well, you know--it was a living, and we had nothing else." "I don't understand." "When Uncle Gilbert died, there was no other of our uncles, those who were left, who could help papa; at least they said so; and I assure you we fell into great embarrassment as the weeks went on. It was impossible to remain in Jersey; we could pay no one; and what would have been the ending but for papa's falling in with Captain Falkner, I can't imagine. Captain Falkner owns a good deal of land about here; but he is in difficulties himself and cannot be here to look after it; so he offered papa the agency and a house to live in. I can tell you, Oliver, it was as a godsend to us." "Do you mean to say that my father is an agent?" cried the young man, his face dyed with a red flush. Jane nodded. "That, and nothing less. He looks after the estate and is paid a hundred pounds a-year salary, and we live rent free. Lately he has taken something else, something different; the agency of some new patent agricultural implements." Oliver Preen looked very blank. He had been living the life of a gentleman, was imbued with a gentleman's notions, and this news brought him the most intense mortification. "He will expect you to help him in the Buttery," continued Jane. "In the what?" "The Buttery," laughed Jane. "It is the room where papa keeps his accounts and writes his letters. Letters come in nearly every morning now, inquiring about the new agricultural implements; papa has to answer them, and wants some of his answers copied."