“None.”
“Not so much as a remembrance?”
“Nothing. Everything goes to Mona.”
“We’ll leave it with her, then,” they said, and rose to go. As they passed out of the house Mona heard one of them say to another:
“It will be enough to make the man turn in his grave, though, if the farm goes to a Boche some day.”
That night, sitting late over a dying fire, Mona overhears a group of men and boys talking on “the street,” outside. They are her servants on the farm. Having heard her father’s denunciation of her on Christmas Eve they have since been circulating damaging reports, and now they are busy with their own plans for the future.
“She has killed the old man, that’s the long and short of it.”
“So it is.”
“I’m working no more for a woman that’s done a thing like that.”
“Me neither.”