A shade of perplexed trouble crossed George’s face, and some creases appeared in his forehead; but he smoothed them away and laid down his paper. “Priscilla, put away your work for a moment and just listen.” Priscilla was making something in the shape of netting by means of pins and a long loop which was fastened under her foot. “I can listen, George; there is no occasion to put it away.” “Well then,” he answered, placing both his elbows on the table, and resting his face upon them, “all corn which comes into this country pays a duty—that you understand. Consequently it cannot be sold here for less than sixty shillings a quarter. Of course, if that is the case, English wheat is kept up to a higher price than it would fetch it there was no duty. Therefore bread is, as I calculate, about twopence a loaf dearer than it ought to be. And why should it be? That’s what I want to know.” “I believe,” said Priscilla, “we might save a good bit by baking at home.” “Yes, yes; but never mind that now. You know that foreign corn pays a duty. You do know that?” “Yes,” said Priscilla, because there was nothing else to be said. “Well, then, you must see that, if that be so, farmers can obtain a higher price for English corn.” Poor Priscilla really did her best to comprehend. She stopped her knitting for a moment, put her knitting-pin to her lips, and answered very slowly and solemnly “Ye-es.” “Ah; but I know when you say ‘Ye-es’ like that you do not understand.” “I do understand,” she retorted, with a little asperity. “Well then, repeat it, and let us see.” “No, I shall not.” “Dear Priscilla, I am not vexed: but I only wanted to make it quite plain to you. The duty on foreign corn is a tax in favour of the farmer, or perhaps the landlord, just as distinctly as if the tax-collector carried the coin from our till and gave it them.” “Of course it is quite plain,” she responded, making a bold stroke for her life. “Of course it is quite plain we are taxed”—George’s face grew bright, for he thought the truth had dawned upon her—“because the farmers have to pay the duty on foreign corn.” He took up his newspaper, held it open so as to cover his face, was silent for a few minutes, and then, pulling out his watch, declared it was time to go to bed. She gathered up her netting, looked at him doubtfully as she passed, and went upstairs.