e, that is all," said Mrs. Crump, modestly.

"By the way, Mary," said the cooper, with a sudden thought, "I quite
forgot that I have something for you."

"For me?"

"Yes, from Mr. Merriam."

"But he don't know me," said Mrs. Crump, in surprise.

"At any rate, he asked me if I were married, and then handed me this
envelope for you. I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow gentlemen
to write letters to my wife."

Mrs. Crump opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and uttered
an exclamation of surprise, as a bank-note fluttered to the carpet.

"By gracious, mother," said Jack, springing to get it, "you're in luck.
It's a hundred dollar bill."

"So it is, I declare," said Mrs. Crump, joyfully. "But, Timothy, it
isn't mine. It belongs to you."

"No, Mary, it shall be yours. I'll put it in the Savings Bank for you."

"Merriam's a trump, and no mistake," said Jack. "By the way, father,
when you see him again, won't you just insinuate that you have a son?
Ain't we in luck, Aunt Rachel?"

"'Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall,'"
said Rachel.

"I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once," said Jack, under his
breath; "and that was at a funeral."

CHAPTER VII. EIGHT YEARS. IDA'S PROGRESS.

EIGHT years slipped by, unmarked by any important event. The Crumps were
still prosperous in an humble way. The cooper had been able to obtain
work most of the time, and this, with the annual remittance for little
Ida, had enabled the family not only to live in comfort, but even to
save up one hundred and fifty dollars a year. They might even have saved
more, living as frugally as they were accustomed to do, but there was
one point upon which none of them would consent to be economical. The
little Ida must have everything she wanted. Timothy brought home daily
some little delicacy for her, which none of the rest thought of sharing.
While Mrs. Crump, far enough from vanity, always dressed with exceeding
plainness, Ida's attire was always rich and tasteful. She would
sometimes ask, "Mother, why don't you buy yourself some of the pretty
things you get for me?"

Mrs. Crump would answer, smiling, "Oh, I'm an old woman, Ida. Plain
things are best for me."

"No, I'm sure you're not old, mother. You don't wear a cap."

But Mrs. Crump would always playfully evade the child's questions.

Had Ida been an ordinary child, all this petting would have had an
injurious effect upon her