"And after he died—why didn't you speak out then?" demanded the farmer.
"I couldn't!" was all she said. Her eyes sought the Squire still, oddly, as if asking his approval.
"And the painting—and the likeness—and the name—and the peck o' lies!" groaned Farmer Paine.
"That was all of a piece, uncle. It's no use to half do things. I'm no story-teller, not in a common way. But if a thing's got to be done, I do it thorough. And this had got to be done."
She folded one hand again over the other, and was silent. Mr. Stirling seemed lost in consideration.
"Could you ever have thought it of our Molly, sir?" the farmer asked.
"I should like a few words with Mrs. Morris in another room." The speaker glanced towards Morris, who muttered—
"I'd best be off. Don't see as I'm wanted here. I've got to look for work."
The Squire paused.
"What kind?"