"I couldn't eat," said Kenny. "Doctor," he added hoarsely, "would it—be possible—for me—to speak to you—alone?"
The doctor nodded. In a life made up of emergencies as his was, nothing astonished him.
"Annie," he said kindly, "just tell Mrs. Cole not to hurry down to breakfast. And close the door."
Kenny took the will from his pocket and spread it on the table.
The doctor wearily fumbled for his glasses and put them on.
"Hum!" he said. "The old man's will, eh? I've been wondering about it. Well, he didn't leave much but the farm, did he? And it might have been better for Don and Joan if he'd taken it with him. Nobody around here would buy it. A barn of a place! And the land's full of stone."
"Ah!" said Kenny significantly. "But Adam Craig was a miser!"
"Pooh!" said the doctor with a sniff. "Who told you that?"
Kenny stared.
"I found it out for myself," he said stiffly. "Since then I have learned that it is common rumor in the village. And the old man, even when I—I spoke of it directly to him, never troubled to deny it."