“Well, I declare,” said I, smiling, “I had nearly thrown all this money away.”

“And now you see what induced the old woman to write those labels on the outside of it; in case she should be robbed, that the robbers might have thrown the papers away—­as you nearly did, and as very probably they might have done.”

“Well, Mr. Wilson, I have no further search to make.  Will you oblige me by taking care of this money for me?”

“Yes; that is, if you’ll carry the gold, which is rather heavy, up to my house, and then I will give you a receipt for the whole.”

Anderson then left us, and I followed Mr. Wilson home.  As soon as the money was all re-counted, and a note made of it, Mr. Wilson asked me what I wished that he should do with it.  I replied, what was the truth, that I really did not know what to do with it, but still I should like to lay it out in something tangible.

“You want to buy a farm, I suppose, and be a landed proprietor, like Bramble; but I’m afraid there is not enough.  But I tell you what, Tom; we lawyers know many things which do not come to everybody’s ears, and I know that the proprietor of the house in which your mother lives wishes to sell it; and I think, as he is much pinched for money, that this sum will about buy it.  Now your mother pays fifty-five guineas a year for it, and if it sells for six hundred pounds, that will give you more than nine per cent for your money.  What do you think?”

“Well, sir, I think it’s the very best thing I can do; if more should be necessary, I have saved a little besides which Bramble takes care of.”

“Well, then, I’ll see about it.”

A few days afterward Mr. Wilson told me that the house was to be had for five hundred and sixty pounds, and that he had closed the bargain.

“I thank you, sir,” replied I.  “Since I have been with you I have been thinking about it, and I wish now you would make it over to my father for his life.  You see, sir, my father does put my mother to some expense, and I should like him to be more independent of her.  If the house belongs to him, the rent will more than meet any demands he may make upon her purse—­and it will be pleasant for both parties—­and my mother will pay more respect to my father.”

“I shall do it with pleasure, Tom.  You deserve money, for you make a good use of it—­I must say that.  Come to me to-morrow.”

The next day I went to my father, and gave him the deed by which he was owner of my mother’s house.  “Well, now, Tom,” said he, after I had explained why I did so, “this is the kindest thing that ever was done, and God bless you, boy, and a thousand thanks.  I shan’t mind now calling for two extra pots of porter when I have friends—­and I say, Tom, is the garden mine, too?”

“Yes, and the summer-house, father, all your own property.”

“Well, then,” replied he, chuckling, “I have a bit of land of my own to stick my timber toe on after all.  Well, I never did expect that.  I must go up there, and stand upon it, and feel how I feel.”