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When speaking of the future, you cannot help but grin, even in your mourning clothes. Your ambitions are nothing to those of her father's in scope, you are, after all, only a fisherman. But in degree, you'd wager they exceed any man of the village. You tell Amelia excitedly of your intentions to buy the fishing boat off her father, to make repairs and to fit a new sail and to wander further into the sea than any villager has ever dared. There are many unexplored islands between this coast and the distant one where the heathens dwell and you desire to cast your nets in the perimeter of each of them and to sail up their rivers to the lakes that lie in their bosoms. And by the rare, unseen fish you'll catch there, you'll make your fortune.
Before you can ramble further about a fleet of boats over which you are the captain, Amelia's father arrives. He has a stern expression on his face (even more stern than usual). He barks at his daughter to leave your side and come quickly over to his own, looking around suspiciously, as if it were a scandal for the two of you to be seen together.
Amelia obeys, though not before giving you a small, secret smile, placed there by your relentless optimism. Not secret enough, though, for her father spies it and furrows his brow still further, so that he looks almost like a rabid dog.
He does not bandy words. From the folds of his cloak he takes out a small purse of silver coins. He explains that, in examining the accounts, he discovered that his father, the former reeve, had been "putting aside a few coins every season" on behalf of your father. By the way he looks down shamefacedly at his feet, you'd guess this was done without your father's knowledge. He tries to justify it by saying it is a common practice, an insurance against a bad season when the rent cannot be paid, but, as your father never had a bad season, and as "everyone knows, the reeve is a fair-dealer", that money must now pass to you. It comes to one-hundred and twenty silver pieces, more money in hand than you have ever seen in your whole life. But here, the crafty reeve, citing various taxes, tithes, funeral costs, boat repairs, late fees, and even service fees ("for handling all these affairs on your behalf"), takes the lion share of the coins, leaving you with just twenty pieces of silver. He seems to take no small satisfaction at your crestfallen expression. It is a small bit of revenge for daring to make eyes at his daughter, never mind that she approached you first.
You react:
>With resigned gratitude. Even this much was more than you expected.
>With righteous fury, threatening to expose his father's black dealings and mar his own good name
>With servile flattery, hoping to win a few more coins by appealing to his vanity
>Write-in
