"You're a fool--" and then the look on her quiet face--such a look as
she might have worn if he had struck her--penetrated the storm-cloud of
his anger. He remembered her years of wifely patience and faithful
service, "--a foolish woman. A Sark wife should know which side of her
bread the butter is on. Can't you see--"

"I know all that, Tom, but I hope you'll give up this notion of selling
the farm. Your mother feels just as I do about it. We've talked it
over--"

"I'll talk to her," and he went in at once to the old lady's room.

But Grannie gave him no time for argument.

"It's you's the fool, Tom," she said decisively, as he crossed the
threshold. "There's not enough silver in Sark to make a plate for your
coffin."

"I brought out more'n enough to make your plate and mine, myself
to-day," he said triumphantly.

"Ah, bah! You'd have done better for yourself and for Sark if you'd let
it lie."

"I'd have done better still if I'd got twice as much."

"If the good God set silver inside Sark, it was because He thought it
was the best place for it, and it's not for the likes of you to be
trying to get it out."