"Oh, aye, to be sure there is, lass," he agreed. "To-morrow'll be a busyish day, of course, for I expect there'll be half the countryside here at the burying, and, of course, they all expect refreshment. However, there'll be no stint of that, and, after all, they'll only want a glass of wine and a funeral biscuit. And as for the funeral dinner, why—there'll only be you and me, and Stephen and his wife, and your father and mother, and Stephen's wife's father and mother, and the lawyer."
"The lawyer!" exclaimed Miriam. "What lawyer?"
"What lawyer? Why, Mr. Brooke, o' Sicaster, to be sure," answered Michael. "Who else?"
"What's he coming for?" asked Miriam.
"Coming for? Come, my lass, your wits are going a-woolgathering," said Michael. "What do lawyers come to funerals for? To read father's will, of course!"
"Is there a will?" she asked.
"Made five years ago, Mr. Brooke said this afternoon," he replied.
"Do you know what's in it?" she asked.
Michael laughed—laughed loudly.
"Nay, come, love!" he said. "Know what's in it! Why, nobody knows what's in a will until the lawyer unseals and reads it after the funeral dinner."