“Whose?”
“Thou knows.”
Mrs. Garth gave her son a quick glance.
“It's like they're still at Fornside. I must see to 'em again.”
The blacksmith responded eagerly,—
“Do, mother, do.”
There was another pause. Joe made some pretence of scraping a file which he had picked up from a bench.
“Thou hasn't found out if old Angus made a will?” said Mrs. Garth.
“No.”
“No, of course not,” said Mrs. Garth, with a curl of the lip. “What I want doing I must do myself. Always has been so, and always will be.”