'Yes, sir.'
'Humph! And do you expect to manage the farm with only his help?'
'Not altogether, sir. I've'—
'What?' he interrupted. 'Come to give it up?'
'No,' said the widow firmly. 'I have come to pay the rent. I can hire a man. But I shall be the farmer, please God.'
She counted out the money on the table as she spoke, the fire in her eyes burning up the tears.
'And what sort of a farmer will you make?' he replied with a sneer. 'You'd better give up the holding at once.'
'You'd better wait and see, sir. When I cannot pay the rent I may give in, not before. I am wanting the receipt, look you.'
'Humph! Oh, ah, the receipt, sure!'
Had he counted on her being so ignorant, or simple, or careless as to pay rent and take no receipt, his quill pen went squeaking over the paper so reluctantly? At all events he watched her narrowly through his slits of eyes as she took it up and read it carefully over, before she folded it up and stowed it away in her needle-book for safe carriage in her capacious pocket.