Grace smiled, because she knew the school Osborn meant and the type it
produced. She was grateful to her mother for a better start.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, but with a hint of resolution. "I
don't want to criticize, but Bell is greedy and cunning, and now he
has got both coal yards will charge the farmers more than he ought.
He has already got too large a share of all the business that is done
in the dale."

"It's obvious that you have learned less than you think," Osborn
rejoined, feeling that he was on safer ground. "You don't seem to
understand that concentration means economy. Bell, for example, buys and
stores his goods in large quantities, instead of handling a number of
small lots at different times, which would cost him more."

"I can see that," Grace admitted, "But I imagine he will keep all he
saves. You know the farmers are grumbling about his charges."

Osborn frowned. "You talk too much to the farm people; I don't like it.
You can be polite, but I want you to remember they are my tenants, and
not to sympathize with their imaginary grievances. They're a grumbling
lot, but will keep their places if you leave them alone."

He got up abruptly and when he went off across the lawn Mrs. Osborn gave
the girl a reproachful glance.

"You are very rash, my dear. On the whole, your father was
remarkably patient."