Then Tom informed
Uncle Chirgwin that his cart with a full load of oar-weed was waiting at
the door. Whereupon the old man got his hat, loaded his pipe, wished
Thomasin good-by, and drove sorrowfully away. Mrs. Tregenza had secretly
inquired after Joan's health and wealth. That the first was excellent, the
second carefully put away in the lawyer's hands, caused her satisfaction.
She told Mr. Chirgwin to make Joan write out a will.
"You never knaws," she said. "God keep the gal, but they do die now an'
agin. 'Tweer better she wrote about the money 'cordin' to a lawyer's way.
And, say, for the Lard's love, not to leave it to Michael. So well light a
fire wi' it as that. He bawled out as the money had lit a fire a'ready,
when I touched 'pon it to en--a fire as was gwaine to burn through
eternity; but Michael's not like a human. His ideas 'pon affairs is all
pure Bible. You an' me caan't grasp hold o' all he says. An' the money's
done no wrong. So you'll drop in Joan's ear as it might be worldly-wise to
save trouble by sayin' what should be done if anything ill failed 'pon
her--eh?"
Uncle Chirgwin promised that he would do so, and Mrs. Tregenza felt a
weight off her mind which had distressed it for some while. She was
thinking of Tom, of course. She knew that Joan loved him, and though the
prospect of his ever coming by a penny of the money appeared slender, yet
to think that he might be in a will, named for hundreds of pounds, was a
shadowy sort of joy to her.
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