"I want you to do something for me," answered Jeckie. She pulled the chair nearer to the table, and went on talking while the grocer steadily ate and drank. "I'll be plain with you, Mr. Grice. There's nobody knows I've come here, nor why. But it's this--I've come to the conclusion that it's no use my father going on any longer. He isn't fit; he's no good. I've found things out. He's been borrowing money from some, or one, o' them money-lenders at Clothford. He owes half a year's rent, and there's another nearly due. There's others wanting money. I think you want a bit, yourself. Well, it's all got to stop. I'm going to stop it! And as I'm going to be your daughter-in-law, I want you to help me!" Grice, carefully selecting the ripest of some conservatory-grown tomatoes from the bowl in front of him, stuck a fork into it, and began to peel it with a small silver knife which he picked up from beside his plate. His tight lip pursed itself while he was engaged; it was not until he had put the peeled tomato on his plate, and added the heart of a lettuce to it, that he looked at his caller. "What d'ye want, mi lass?" he asked. "I want you to lend me--me!--five or six hundred pounds, just now," replied Jeckie readily. "Me, mind, Mr. Grice--not him. Me!" "What for?" demanded Grice, stolidly and with no sign of surprise. "What for, now?" "I'll tell you," answered Jeckie, gaining in courage. "I want to pay off every penny he owes. Then I'll be master! I shall have him under my thumb, and I'll make him do. I'll see to every penny that comes in and goes out; and you mark my words, Mr. Grice, I can make that farm pay! If you'll lend me what I want I'll pay you back in three years, and it'll be then a good going concern. I know what I'm saying." "In less nor three years you and my son Albert'll be wed," remarked Grice. "I can keep an eye on it, and on my father and Rushie when we are wed," retorted Jeckie. "And there's another thing," said Grice. "When I gave my consent to your weddin' my son, it were an agreed thing between me an' Farnish, a bargain, that you should have five hundred pound from him as a portion. Where's that?" Jeckie gave him a swift meaning look. "I might have yet, if I took hold o' things," she answered. "But it 'ud be me 'at would find it, Mr. Grice. My father--Lord bless you--he'd never find five hundred pence! But--trust me!" Grice carved himself some more cold beef, and as he seemed to be considering her proposal, Jeckie resumed her arguments. "There'll be a good bit of money to come in this back-end," she said. "And if we'd more cows, as I'd have, we should do better. And pigs--I'd go in for pigs. Let me only clear off what debt he's got into, and----" Grice suddenly laughed quietly, and, seizing his tankard, looked knowingly at her as he lifted it to his lips. "The question is, mi lass," he said, "the question is--how deep has he got? You don't know that, you know!"