money." Suddenly she looked troubled. "If there is any to hand," she
added.

"I want you to tell me something and be quite frank about it."

Fanny shot a glance at him. Her lashes were long, and she could look
through them with liquid fire of dark eyes.

"Well?" said she. She threaded a needle with pink silk.

"Is Brookville a very poor village?"

Fanny inserted her pink-threaded needle into the square of linen.

"What," she inquired with gravity, "is the past tense of bust?"

"I am in earnest."

"So am I. But I know a minister is never supposed to know about such
a word as bust, even if he is bust two-thirds of is life. I'll tell
you. First Brookville was bust, now it's busted."

Wesley stared at her.

"Fact," said Fanny, calmly, starting a rose on the linen in a career
of bloom. "First, years ago, when I was nothing but a kid, Andrew
Bolton--you have heard of Andrew Bolton?"

"I have heard him mentioned. I have never understood why everybody
was so down on him, though he is serving a term in prison, I believe.