"It didn't come out of our Sark rocks any way, mon gars."
"Good thing for us if it had, ma fé! But, see you here, mother, if I sell the farm it's not you and Nance that need trouble. If I pay out your dowers in hard cash you're both of you better off than you are now, and I'm better off too. It's only Tom could complain, and—"
"It's hard on the lad."
"Bidemme, it's no more than he deserves for his goings-on! Maybe it'll do him good to have to work for his living."
"And you would do that to get your bit more money to throw into those big holes?"
"Never you mind me. I'll take care of myself, and we'll see who's wisest in the end. Now, will you agree to it?"
"I'll talk it over with Nancy again," and the big black sun-bonnet nodded with sapient significance. "Send her to me."
"It's from you I got my good sense," said old Tom approvingly, and went off in search of his wife, while the clever old lady pondered deep schemes.
"Here's the way of it, Nancy," she said, when Mrs. Hamon came in. "He's crazy on these silver mines, and he's willing to pay out our dowers, yours and mine, so that he may throw the rest into the big holes at Port Gorey. Ch'est b'en! Your money and mine take more than half of what he gets. If you'll put yours to mine I'll make up the difference from what I've saved, and we'll retraite the farm, and it shall go to Nance and Bernel when the time comes."
"I can't help thinking it's rather hard on Tom," suggested Mrs. Hamon, with less vigour than before.