You want a bow-window to loll about in, do you? Shouldn't wonder if you don't want a servant-gal to do the work." 

     Mrs. Gribble flushed guiltily, and caught her breath. 

     "We're going to live as we've always lived," pursued Mr. Gribble.  "Money ain't going to spoil me. I ain't going to put on no side just because I've come in for a little bit. If you had your way we should end up in the workhouse." 

     He filled his pipe and smoked thoughtfully, while Mrs. Gribble cleared away the tea-things and washed up. Pictures, good to look upon, formed in the smoke-pictures of a hale, hearty man walking along the primrose path arm-in-arm with two hundred a year; of the mahogany and plush of the saloon bar at the Grafton Arms; of Sunday jaunts, and the Oval on summer afternoons. 

     He ate his breakfast slowly on the first of the month, and, the meal finished, took a seat in the window with his pipe and waited for the postman. Mrs. Gribble's timid reminders concerning the flight of time and consequent fines for lateness at work fell on deaf ears. He jumped up suddenly and met the postman at the door. 

     "Has it come?"  inquired Mrs. Gribble, extending her hand. 

     By way of reply her husband tore open the envelope and, handing her the covering letter, counted the notes and coin and placed them slowly in his pockets. Then, as Mrs. Gribble looked at him, he looked at the clock, and, snatching up his hat, set off down the road. 

     He was late home that evening, and his manner forbade conversation. Mrs. Gribble, with the bereaved air of one who has sustained an irremediable loss, sighed fitfully, and once applied her handkerchief to her eyes. 

     "That's no good," said her husband at last; "that won't bring him back." 

     "Bring who back?" inquired Mrs. Gribble, in genuine surprise. 

     "Why, your Uncle George," said Mr. Gribble.  "That's what you're turning on the water-cart for, ain't it?" 

     "I wasn't thinking of him," said Mrs. Gribble, trying to speak bravely.     "I was thinking of——" 

     "Well, you ought to be," interrupted her husband.  "He wasn't my uncle, poor chap, but I've been thinking of him, off and on, all 

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