"Very like she did," returned Jenny sharply. "And when she died hadn't Abel's father, what was her eldest son, the best right to 'em? And when he went to his long home they was Abel's, and now they'm mine--and the warmin'-pan too," she added defiantly. "Well, of all the oudacious--" Susan was beginning, when Jenny cut her short, continuing to read in a high clear voice-- "'And half-a-dozen silver spoons, also the hearth-rug what was made out o' my old clothes--'" "I'm--I'm blowed if you shall get the hearthrug," cried Susan explosively. "That's mine whatever the rest mid be. Them clothes was only fit to put on a scarecrow, an' I cut 'em up, and picked out the best bits, and split up a wold sack and sewed on every mortial rag myself; and I made a border out of a wold red skirt o' mine." "And a handsome thing it is too, my dear," said Betty admiringly. "They was Abel's clothes, though," said Jenny; "ye can't get out o' that, Miss Vacher." "No, but there's one thing _you_ can't get out of, Miss Jenny, so clever as ye think yerself," cried the outraged possessor of the hearthrug. "You be a-comed here on false pertences. Even if my nevvy _be_ dead you han't a-got no right to these 'ere things now. He wrote it plain, 'I leave 'em all _to my sweetheart_ if I'm killed.' Well, you wasn't his sweetheart when he was killed--you was a-walkin' out wi' this 'ere chap." "Abel Guppy did mean I to have they things," said Jenny. "I was his sweetheart at the time he wrote it, and if I left off bein' his sweetheart 'twas because I felt he was too good to live. I knowed he wouldn't come back--as I tell you I had a porsentiment. I were forced to take up wi' Sam because I knowed Abel 'ud never make any livin' maid his bride." "That's the third time!" cried Sam, ramming on his hat, and making for the door. "I've had about enough o' this. I'll look out for another maid as hasn't got a sweetheart i' th' New House--you be altogether a cut above the likes of I." Susan obligingly opened the door for him, and in a moment he was gone, leaving Jenny staring blankly after him. The banging of the garden-gate seemed to restore her to her senses. With a scream she threw the paper on the floor, and rushed out of the house, calling wildly on her lover. Soon the sound of the hurrying steps was lost in the distance, and the two women simultaneously turned to each other, eyes and mouth equally round with amazement. At last Betty, slowly extending her forefinger, pointed to the will. "I know," said Susan, finding voice all at once. "I've a good mind to pop it i' the fire." Betty shook her head admonishingly. "I wouldn't do that," she said, with a note of reproof in her voice. "'T'ud be real dangerous. Folks could be sent to prison for meddling wi' wills, an' sich." Susan, who had grasped the document in question, dropped it as if it burnt her. "My very spoons!" she said with a groan. "I tell 'ee, Betty, I'd a deal sooner bury 'em nor let her have 'em."