"Come, let's have it over," she said, and then, one by one, Greeba read out the names.
"Daniel Kinvig, twelve pounds," Greeba read, and thereupon an elderly man with a square head stepped forward.
"Kinvig," said Mrs. Fairbrother, fumbling the neck of the linen bag, "you borrowed a hundred pounds for two years, and I charged you twelve per cent. Six per cent. was enough, and here is the difference back to your hand."
So saying, she counted twelve pound notes and held them out in her wrinkled fingers, and the man took them without a word.
"Go on," she cried, sharply.
"Mrs. Corlett, two pounds," read Greeba, and a woman in a widow's cap and a long cloak came up, wiping her eyes.
"Bella Corlett," said Mrs. Fairbrother, "when I took over Ballacreggan for my unpaid debt, you begged for the feather bed your mother died on and the chair that had been your father's. I didn't give them, though I had enough besides, so here are two pounds to you, and God forgive me."
The woman took the money and began to cry.
"God reward you," she whimpered. "It's in Heaven you'll be rewarded, ma'am."
But Mrs. Fairbrother brushed her aside, with an angry word and a fretful gesture, and called on Greeba for the next name on the list.