She kissed her again, and going to pat her back once more, discovered that she had sunk down sufficiently low in her chair to obtain the protection of its back.

“Two thousand pounds,” said Mrs. Pullen, in an awestruck voice.

“Ten hundered pounds twice over,” said the carpenter, mouthing it slowly; “twenty hundered pounds.”

He got up from the table, and instinctively realizing that he could not do full justice to his feelings with the baby in his arms, laid it on the teatray in a puddle of cold tea and stood looking hard at the heiress.

“I was housekeeper to her eleven years ago,” said Mrs. Pullen.  “I wonder what she left it to me for?”

“Didn’t know what to do with it, I should think,” said the carpenter, still staring openmouthed.

“Tidger, I’m ashamed of you,” said his wife, snatching her infant to her bosom.  “I expect you was very good to her, Ann.”

“I never ’ad no luck,” said the impenitent carpenter.  “Nobody ever left me no money.  Nobody ever left me so much as a fi-pun note.”

He stared round disdainfully at his poor belongings, and drawing on his coat, took his bag from a corner, and hoisting it on his shoulder, started to his work.  He scattered the news as he went, and it ran up and down the little main street of Thatcham, and thence to the outlying lanes and cottages.  Within a couple of hours it was common property, and the fortunate legatee was presented with a congratulatory address every time she ventured near the door.

It is an old adage that money makes friends; the carpenter was surprised to find that the mere fact of his having a moneyed relation had the same effect, and that men to whom he had hitherto shown a certain amount of respect due to their position now sought his company.  They stood him beer at the “Bell,” and walked by his side through the street.  When they took to dropping in of an evening to smoke a pipe the carpenter was radiant with happiness.

“You don’t seem to see beyond the end of your nose, Tidger,” said the wife of his bosom after they had retired one evening.

“H’m?” said the startled carpenter.

“What do you think old Miller, the dealer, comes here for?” demanded his wife.

“Smoke his pipe,” replied her husband, confidently.

“And old Wiggett?” persisted Mrs. Tidger.

“Smoke his pipe,” was the reply.  “Why, what’s the matter, Polly?”

Mrs. Tidger sniffed derisively.  “You men are all alike,” she snapped.  “What do you think Ann wears that pink bodice for?”

“I never noticed she ’ad a pink bodice, Polly,” said the carpenter.

“No?  That’s what I say.  You men never notice anything,” said his wife.  “If you don’t send them two old fools off, I will.”

“Don’t you like ’em to see Ann wearing pink?” inquired the mystified Tidger.

Mrs. Tidger bit her lip and shook her head at him scornfully.  “In plain English, Tidger, as plain as I can speak it,”—­she said, severely, “they’re after Ann and ‘er bit o’ money.”