44 ° 
Tilt STRAND MAGAZINE. 
wife re-entered the room and began to lay 
the table. ITis manner, however, when she 
let a Clip and saucer slip from her trembling 
fingers to smash on the floor left nothing to 
be desired. 
Ai it's nice to have money come to us in our 
old age/’ said Mrs. Gribble, timidly, as they 
sat at tea. “ It takes a load off my mind.” 
“ Old age I ” said her husband, disagree- 
ably. 14 What d’ye mean by old age ? I’m 
fifty-two, and feel as young as ever I did.” 
“ You look as young as ever you did,” said 
the docile Mrs. 'Gribble. “ I can’t see no 
change in -you. At least, not to speak of.” 
“ Not so much talk,” said her husband. 
“ When I want your opinion of my looks I’ll 
ask you for it. ’ When do you start getting 
this money ? ” 
“ Tuesday week ; first of May/’ replied his 
wife. “ The lawyers are going to send it by 
registered letter.” 
Mr. Gribble grunted. 
“ I shall be sorry to leave the house for 
some things,” said his wife, looking round. 
We’ve been here a good many years now, 
Henry.” 
“ Leave the house ! ” repeated Mr. Gribble, 
putting down his tea-cup and staring at her. 
Leave the house ! What arc you talking 
about ? ” 
“ but we can’t stay here, Henry,” faltered 
Mrs. Gribble. “ Not with all that money. 
They are building some beautiful houses in 
Charlton Grove now — bathroom, tiled hearths, 
and beautiful stained glass in the front door ; 
and all for twenty-eight pounds a year.” 
“ Wonderful ! ” said the other, with a 
mocking glint in his eye. 
“ And iron palings to the front garden, 
painted chocolate-colour picked out with 
blue,” continued his wife, eyeing him wist- 
fully. 
Mr. Gribble struck the table a blow with 
his fist. “ This house is good enough for me,” 
he roared ; “ and what’s good enough for me 
is good enough for you. You want to waste 
money on show ; that’s what you want. 
Stained glass and bow-windows ! 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 of the Grafton Arms ; of Sunday jaunts, 
and the Oval on summer afternoons. 
Pie 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. Cribble’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 
husban .. ' “He wasn’t my uncle, poor 
chap, but I’ve been thinking of him, off and 
on, all day. That bloater-paste you are 
eating now came from his kindness. I 
brought it home as a treat.” 
“ I was thinking of my clothes,” said Airs. 
Gribble, clenching her hands together under 
the table. “ When 1 found I had come in 
for that money, the first thing 1 thought 
was that I should be able to have a decent 
dress. My old ones are quite worn out, and 
as for my hat and jacket 
“ Go on,” said her husband, fiercely. “ Go 
on. That’s just what I said : trust you with 
money, and we should be poorer than ever. 
“ I’m ashamed to be seen out,” said Mrs. 
Gribble. 
“ A woman’s place is the home,” said Air, 
