"He dug up two hundred pounds' worth last week. I had a letter from him this morning telling me that."
"And you remember Mr. Hunter?" George went on.
"I've just sent him a subscription for his new church," replied Miss Yard.
"Ah, that's somebody else. I mean Mr. Hunter, your family solicitor."
"Oh, yes, I remember him quite well. He came to see me when I lived somewhere else. It must have been a long time ago, because he's been dead for years."
"He's back again at his office now, and has written to me. He tells me I am to leave you," said George solemnly.
Miss Yard gasped and looked frightened at this message from the grave. She seized George's arm and ordered him to say it all over again, more slowly.
"Mr. Hunter is afraid that, if I live here, I may rob you; so he says I must go out into the world and make my own living. That's impossible at my time of life," said George warmly.
"You wouldn't do such a thing," cried Miss Yard, almost in tears. "You are so kind to me; you find my money when the others hide it away. If I break anything you are always the first to run for the doctor—I mean when I bump my head. I shall write to Mr. Hunter and tell him his new church will never prosper if he does this sort of thing."
"It is hard to be ordered out of my own house," said George.