But this idea of selling the farm cut to the very roots of her
life.
For Nance's sake and Bernel's she must oppose it with all that was in
her. If the farm were sold the money would all go into those gaping
black mouths and bottomless pits at Port Gorey. The home would be broken
up--an end of all things. It must not be.
"I should think many times before selling the farm if I were you," she
said quietly, and left it there for the moment.
But old Tom, having made up his mind, and the necessities of the case
pressing, lost no time over the matter.
"I've been speaking to John Guille about that business," he said, next
day, in a confidently casual way.
"About--?"
"About the farm. He'll give me six hundred pounds for it and take the
stock at what it's worth, and he's willing we should stop on as tenants
at fifty pounds a year rent."
His wife was ominously silent. He glanced at her doubtfully.
"I shall stop on as tenant for the present and Tom can go on working
it. When we reach the silver, and the money begins to come back, we can
decide what to do afterwards.
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