CHAPTER VI.

The miser’s wife.

‘I must have money,’ said Howel Jenkins as he sat alone with his mother in their little parlour, the evening after Mrs Prothero had left them.

’My dear, there will be plenty when we can find it, be you sure of that.  I do know well enough that your poor father was having a chest full, only he was keeping his door locked and barred so that I couldn’t see him at it.’

’But surely, mother, you must have some idea where my father kept his gold.  If I don’t pay a man in London by tomorrow’s post, I shall be in jail before a week is over my head.’

‘Mercy!  Howel, bach!  Now don’t you be spending the mint o’ money that’ll be coming to you, there’s a good boy, before you do know what it is.  Remember Netta!  You’ll be as grand as any of ’em now, if you do only begin right, and are being study and persevaring, and sticking to your business.  I ’ouldn’t wonder if you was to be a councillor some day.  Only to think of me, mother of Councillor Jenkins!  You may be looking higher than Netta, and be marrying a real lady, and be riding in your coach and four, and be dining with my Lord Single ton, and be in the London papers; and I ’ouldn’t wonder if you was to be visiting the Queen and Prince Albert again, and behaving your picture taken to put into your own books and the “’Lustrated.”  I always was saying I ’ould be making a gentleman of you, and I have.’

’But, mother, before I can do anything like this I must pay my debts and make a new beginning.  I will marry Netta, now, in spite of the whole tribe of Davids and Jonathans, and they shall see us as much above them as—­as—­money can make us.  Now, mother, we must have a search for the money.’

’Not whilst your father is in the house, Howel; I should be afraid.  Be you sure his spirit’ll be looking after the money till the funeral’s over.’

’Nonsense; where are the keys?  We’ll have a turn at the old bureau anyhow.  Money I must have, at once, and Rowland is as obstinate as a pig about what the governor told him.’

’Indeet, and indeet, Howel, you had better don’t.  Suppose it ’ould bring him to life again?’

‘I’ll risk that.  Give me the keys.’

Mrs Jenkins handed a bunch of keys to her son with trembling fingers.

’Tak you a drop of spirits first.  It do show how rich they are thinking us now.  There’s Jones, the Red Cow, and Lewis, draper, are letting us have as much credit as we like; and they ’ouldn’t let us have as much as a dobbin or a yard of tape before poor Griffey died.’