letter.

"Why, Tom, that's about as much prize-money as I have made in all my
sarvice," said my father, "and you've been afloat only four months.
Come, missis, send for some beer, and let us drink Tom's health, and
success to him. God bless you, my boy! the papers say you deserved it,
and that's better than your getting it. I'm proud of you; I am, indeed,
my boy: your father's proud of you, Tom"--and here my father showed more
emotion than ever I witnessed in him before; however, he put his lips to
the porter-pot, and when he had drained it nearly to the bottom, he had
quite recovered himself.

"Well, Tom," said Ben, after he had finished the small modicum of beer
left him by my father, "and what do you mean to do with all that money?"

"I'm sure I don't know--I have no want of it--I have everything I wish
for."

"Come, missis," said my father, "we must have another pot, for I drank
deep, and Ben has been shared out." My mother very graciously sent for
another pot of porter, which, with the newspaper, occupied Ben and my
father till it was time for us to break up and go to bed.

The next morning when I went down I found Virginia alone, my mother
having returned to her room.

"Tom," said she, "what do you think my mother said to me when we were
going to bed last night?"

"Tell me."

"She said, `Tom says he don't know what to do with his money. I only
wish I had it; I would turn it into three times the sum in three years,
and have a better home for you, my dear.'"

"Did she say how?"

"Yes, I asked her how; she said that she should take a new house with a
shop up the town, and set up as a milliner, with apprentices; that, as
soon as she was fairly employed, she should give up getting up fine
linen, and only take in laces to wash and mend, which was a very
profitable business."

"Well," says I, "Virginia, my mother is a hard-working woman, and a
clever woman, and I dare say she would do very well, and, as she says
she would have a better home for you, I think I shall let her have the
money; but I won't say so yet. I must talk about it to Peter Anderson,
and if he don't say no, she shall have it with pleasure."

"That will be very kind of you, Tom; and I hope mother will feel it, for
you don't owe her much."

"Never mind that; after breakfast I'll see Peter Anderson: don't say a
word about it till I come back."

At breakfast-time my mother still appeared to be very thoughtful: the
fact was, that the