‘Well, father, dear, how are you this morning?’

’I scarce know, Mary.  I’ve been dreaming; and it was so like reality, that I can hardly believe yet it was a dream;’ and his eyes wandered over the room, as if looking for something.

’What is it, father?  Do you want your breakfast?  It will be ready in five minutes.’

’I’ve been dreaming of a roast fowl and a glass of Scotch ale.  Mary, I thought you came in with the fowl, and a bottle in your hand, and said:  “See, father, this is what I’ve bought with the guinea we found in the meal!"’

’But I couldn’t do that, father, you know.  It wouldn’t have been honest to spend other people’s money.’

‘Nonsense!’ answered John.  ’Whose money is it, I should like to know?  What belongs to no one, we may as well claim as anybody else.’

’But it must belong to somebody; and, as I knew it was not ours, I’ve carried it back to Mr Benjamin.’

‘You have?’ said Glegg, sitting up in bed.

’Yes, I have, father.  Don’t be angry.  I’m sure you won’t when you think better of it.’

But John was very angry indeed.  He was dreadfully disappointed at losing the delicacies that his sick appetite hungered for, and which, he fancied, would do more to restore him than all the doctors’ stuff in London; and, so far, he was perhaps right.  He bitterly reproached Mary for want of sympathy with his sufferings, and was peevish and cross all day.  At night, however, his better nature regained the ascendant; and when he saw the poor girl wipe the tears from her eyes, as her nimble needle flew through the seams of a shirt she was making for a cheap warehouse in the Strand, his heart relented, and, holding out his hand, he drew her fondly towards him.

‘You’re right, Mary,’ he said, ’and I’m wrong; but I’m not myself with this long illness, and I often think if I had good food I should get well, and be able to do something for myself.  It falls hard upon you, my girl; and often when I see you slaving to support my useless life, I wish I was dead and out of the way; and then you could do very well for yourself, and I think that pretty face of yours would get you a husband perhaps.’  And Mary flung her arms about his neck, and told him how willing she was to work for him, and how forlorn she should be without him, and desired she might never hear any more of such wicked wishes.  Still, she had an ardent desire to give him the fowl and the ale he had longed for, for his next Sunday’s dinner; but, alas! she could not compass it.  But on that very Sunday, the one that succeeded these little events, Leah Leet appeared with a smart new bonnet and gown, at a tea-party given by Mr Benjamin to three or four of his intimate friends.  He was in the habit of giving such small inexpensive entertainments, and he made it a point to invite Leah; partly because she made the tea for him, and partly because he wished to keep her out of other society, lest she should get married and leave him—­a thing he much deprecated on all accounts.  She was accustomed to his business, he was accustomed to her, and, above all, she was so honest!