"Yes, my boy, yes; it is a deal of money is n't it?" . . . said Gudule's brother, accompanying his words with a sounding slap on his massive thigh. "I should rather think it is. With that you can do something, at all events . . . and shall I tell you something? In Bohemia the oat crop is, unfortunately, very bad this season. But in Moravia it's splendid, and is two groats cheaper. . . . So there's your chance, Ephraim, my child; you've got the money, buy!" All at once a dark cloud overspread his smiling face.
"It's a lot of money, Ephraim, that I am giving you . . . many a merchant can't lay his hands on it," he said, hesitatingly;" but if . . . you were to . . . gam—"
The word remained unfinished, for upon his arm he suddenly felt a sensation as of a sharp, pricking needle.
"Uncle Gabriel!" cried Viola—for it was she who had gripped his arm—and the child's cheeks were flaming, whilst her lips curled with scorn, and her white teeth gleamed like those of a beast of prey. "Uncle Gabriel!" she almost shrieked, "if you don't trust Ephraim, then take your money back again . . . it's only because you are our mother's brother that we accept it from you at all. . . . Ephraim shall repay you to the last farthing. . . . Ephraim does n't gamble . . . you sha 'n't lose a single penny of it."
With a shake of his head the farmer regarded
