parlour, close by, watching him laboriously writing out a cheque. And she smiled almost gaily as the pony and its burden came to the side of the road along which she walked. "Now, mi lass!" said Mr. Stubley, looking her closely over out of his sharp eyes. "What're you doing down town this time o' day? Going to Grice's, I reckon? I were wanting a word or two wi' you," he went on, before Jeckie could get in a word of her own. "A word or two i' private, you understand. You're aware, of course, mi lass," he continued, bending down from his saddle. "You're aware 'at t'rent day's none so far off? What?" A sudden sense of fear sent the warm flush out of Jeckie's cheeks, and left her pale. Her dark eyes grew darker as she looked at the man who was regarding her so steadily and inquiringly. "What about the rent-day Mr. Stubley?" she asked. "What do you mean?" "I had a line from t'steward this morning," answered Stubley. "He just mentioned a matter--'at he hoped Farnish 'ud be ready with the rent; and t'last half-year's an' all. What?" The hot blood came back to Jeckie's cheeks in a fierce wave. She felt, somehow, as if some man's hand had smitten her, right and left. "The last half-year's rent!" she repeated. "Do--do you mean that father didn't pay it?" Stubley looked at her for an instant with speculation in his shrewd eyes. Then he nodded his head. There was a world of meaning in the nod. "Paid nowt!" he answered. "Nowt at all. Not a penny piece, mi lass." Jeckie's hands fell limply to her sides. "I didn't know," she answered, helplessly. "He--he never told me. I'd no idea of it; Mr. Stubley." "Dare say not, mi lass," said the farmer. "It 'ud be better for Farnish if he'd to tell a young woman like you more nor what he does, seemin'ly. But, now--is he going to be ready this time?" Jeckie made no answer. She stood looking up and down the street, seeing all manner of things, real and unreal. And suddenly a look of sullen anger came into her eyes and round her red lips. "How can I tell?" she said. "He--as you say--he doesn't tell me!" Stubley bent still lower, and, from sheer force of habit, glanced right and left before he spoke. "Aye, well, Jeckie, mi lass!" he said in low tones. "Then I'll tell you summat. Look to yourself--you an' yon sister o' yours! There's queer talk about Farnish. I've heard it, time and again, at market and where else. He'll none last so long, my lass--can't! It's my opinion there'll be no rent for t'steward; nowt but excuses and begging off, and such like; he's hard up, is your father! It 'ud be a deal better for him to give up, Jeckie; he'll never carry on! Now, you're a sensible young woman; what say you?"