“He died as you’ve lived,” said Becky with some asperity.
“But I’ve had the children, I’ve had the children—we won’t tell Lettie, Rebecca.”
“No ’m.” Rebecca left the room.
“You and Lettie will have the money,” said mother to me. There was a sum of four thousand pounds or so. It was left to my mother; or, in default to Lettie and me.
“Well, mother—if it’s ours, it’s yours.”
There was silence for some minutes, then she said, “You might have had a father——”
“We’re thankful we hadn’t, mother. You spared us that.”
“But how can you tell?” said my mother.
“I can,” I replied. “And I am thankful to you.”
“If ever you feel scorn for one who is near you rising in your throat, try and be generous, my lad.”
“Well——” said I.
“Yes,” she replied, “we’ll say no more. Sometime you must tell Lettie—you tell her.”
I did tell her, a week or so afterwards.
“Who knows?” she asked, her face hardening.
“Mother, Becky, and ourselves.”
“Nobody else?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a good thing he is out of the way if he was such a nuisance to mother. Where is she?”
“Upstairs.”
Lettie ran to her.
