"
"Oh, you have?" said I, being so far out-brazened as to be incapable of
saying more.
"I have that--every plack and bawbee. 'Tis ten years come Michaelmas
since I took over the charge o' Appleby Hundred, and I'm ready to
account to ye for every season's crop--when ye'll pay down the bit
steward's fee."
"Truly," said I; "you are an honest man, Mr. Stair." Then, to humor him
to the top of his bent: "Haphazarding a guess, now; would this
accounting leave a balance in my favor, or in yours?"
He gave me a look like that of a costermonger weighing and measuring the
gullibility of his customer.
"Oh, aye; I'm no saying there mightn't be a bit siller coming to me; a
few hundred pounds, more or less--sterling, man, sterling; not Scots,"
he added hastily. And then, as if it were best to leave this nail as it
was driven, he changed the subject abruptly. "I've brought ye that last
will and testament ye signed," handing me the parchment. "No doubt
you'll let it stand; but when the bairns come, ye'll want to be adding a
codicil or two."
Leaving the matter of the estate, I thought it high time to cut to the
marrow of the bigger bone. So I said: "Let us be frank with each other
in this, Mr. Stair. How much has your daughter told you of the matter
between us?"
"She's a jade!" he rasped, lapsing for a moment into his real self. But
he recovered his self-control instantly. "Ye'd no expect a romantic bit
lassie wi' French blood in her veins to be confidencing wi' her old
dried-up wisp of a father, now, would ye? She's no tell't me everything,
I daresay.
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