"Half-a-crown a week, sir."
"Half-a-crown a week?" repeated Squire Trevlyn, his mouth curling with displeasure. "How have you lived?"
"It have been a poor living at best, sir," was the simple answer. "Ann works hard, at home or out, but she don't earn much. Her eyes be bad, sir; happen you may call to mind they was always weak and ailing. The Squire fixed my pay here at five shillings a week, and Chattaway changed it when he come into power. Miss Diana's good to us; but for her and the bit o' money Ann can earn, I don't see as we could ha' got along at all."
"Would you like the half-a-crown changed back again to five shillings, Mark?"
"I should think it was riches come to me right off, Squire."
"Then you may reckon upon it from this day."
He moved to the staircase as he spoke, leaving the old man in an ecstasy of delight. Ann Canham, who had shrunk into hiding, came forward. Her father turned triumphantly.
"Didn't I tell ye it was the Squire? And you to go on at me, saying I was clean off my wits to think it! I know'd it was no other."
"But you said it was the dead Squire, father," was poor Ann's meek response.
"It's all the same," cried old Canham. "There'll be a Trevlyn at the Hold again; and our five shillings a week is to come back to us. Bless the Trevlyns! they was always open-handed."