"Where's Quirk of Claughbane?" asked Mrs. Fairbrother, turning to the parson.
"The poor man's gone, sister," said the parson, in a low tone. "He died only the week before last."
Mrs. Fairbrother's face assumed a darker shade, and she handed the paper to Greeba.
"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 witho
