"It's about the mill, George; and don't you do nothing till you've spoke to me."
Then there came a solid look, almost of grief, upon George's face. There had been a word or two before this between him and the wife of his bosom as to the affairs of the mill.
"I've just been seeing somebody at Salisbury," began the Vicar, abruptly, as soon as they had crossed from the yard behind the house into the enclosure around the ricks.
"Some one at Salisbury, Muster Fenwick? Is it any one as I knows?"
"One that you did know well, Mr. Brattle. I've seen your sister Carry." Again there came upon the farmer's face that heavy look, which was almost a look of grief; but he did not at once utter a word. "Poor young thing!" continued the Vicar. "Poor, dear, unfortunate girl!"
"She brought it on herself, and on all of us," said the farmer.
"Yes, indeed, my friend. The light, unguarded folly of a moment has ruined her, and brought dreadful sorrow upon you all. But something should be done for her;—eh?"
Still the brother said nothing.
"You will help, I'm sure, to rescue her from the infamy into which she must fall if none help her?"
"If there's money wanted to get her into any of them places—," begun the farmer.