She shouldered her umbrella like an oar, and strode to the house door. Mrs. Sharland was there, white and trembling.
'Have you got my money?' asked Mrs. De Witt.
'Oh, mistress,' exclaimed the unfortunate widow, 'do have pity and patience. Mehalah has just gone to get it.'
'Gone to get it?' echoed Mrs. De Witt. 'Why, where in the name of wonder does she expect to get it?'
'She had gone to Parson Tyll to borrow it.'
'Then she won't get it,' said the drover. 'There's no money to be wrung out of empty breeches pockets.'
'Let me into the house,' said Mrs. De Witt. 'Let us all see what you have got. There's a clock. Drag it out, and stick it up under the tree near the cart. That is worth a few pounds. And take that chair.'
'It is my chair. I sit in it, and I have the ague so bad.'
'Take the chair,' persisted Mrs. De Witt, and Rebow's men carried it forth. 'There's some good plates there. Is there a complete set?'
'There are only six.'