xteen pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a month.
That's how he left it."

"Two hund--" began Mr. Gribble, forgetting himself. "Two hun----Go and
get my tea! If you think you're going to give yourself airs because
your uncle's left you money, you won't do it in my house."

He took a chair by the window, and, while his wife busied herself in the
kitchen, sat gazing in blank delight at the little street. Two hundred
a year! It was all he could do to resume his wonted expression as his
wife re-entered the room and began to lay the table. His manner,
however, when she let a cup and saucer slip from her trembling fingers
to smash on the floor left nothing to be desired.

"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!" said her husband, disagreeably. "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 are 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 wistfully.

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 gu