He preceded her into the house, and led the way to a small parlour, empty save for a large yellow cat which lay curled up on the hearthrug. With a mysterious air which assorted with the cautious glance thrown round by Becky as she closed the door, he proceeded to unlock a large oak chest, and thrusting in his hand, drew forth a faded worsted stocking. As he handed this to the old woman the contents chinked with a portentous sound. Mrs. Melmouth’s eyes glistened, and her rosy wrinkled face wreathed itself with smiles, as she slowly undid the knot at the upper end, and thrust in her hand. A further chinking sound ensued, and she looked jubilantly up at the farmer. “There be a lot on ’em now,” she remarked. “Ah, sure!” he agreed. “An’ you be bringin’ two shillin’ more, you do say?” “Two shillin’ an’ a thruppenny bit,” corrected Becky gleefully. “I be doin’ uncommon well wi’ my eggs an’ chicken jist now.” “Dear heart alive! Keep the thruppence, ’ooman!” cried Mr. Hunt, with a certain amount of impatience. “It ’ull maybe buy you a relish of some sort as ’ull make ye fancy your victuals more. I reckon you do scrimp too much.” Becky pursed up her lips and shook her head. “I’d sooner save it,” said she. “Can I have the book, sir.” “Ah, sure ye can,” returned the farmer, and, after rummaging a moment in the chest, he produced a small account-book with a pencil attached to it by means of a much-worn bit of string. Becky meanwhile had been fumbling for her spectacles, and having now assumed them, she proceeded to enter the sum she had so proudly mentioned, to her banking account. “How much does that make?” she added, peering up at Mr. Hunt through her glasses; her toothless gums parted in a smile which was already rapturous. “Let me see,” returned he, taking the book from her hand; “last time I reckoned it up there was forty pound in it, an’ you’ve a-been here twice since--and again to-day. You’ve got in that there wold stockin’, Mrs. Melmouth, forty pound four shillin’ an’ ninepence. It do do ye credit,” he added handsomely; “ah! that it do. ’Tisn’t many a hard-workin’ body same as yourself would put by half so much. Ye’ve put in over nine pound since I took charge of it for ye.” “An’ that’s ten year ago come Michaelmas,” said Becky, with modest pride. “But Melmouth an’ me had been savin’ for thirty year afore that.” “An’ you yourself ’ull go on savin’ for another thirty year, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Mr. Hunt, with a jovial laugh. “There ye be so strong upon your legs as ever you was, an’ never sick nor sorry, be ye?” “Well, not to speak on, thanks be,” responded Becky. “But I could feel a deal easier-like in my mind if I could settle who it’s all to go to when I be gone. I be puzzled what to do--ah! that I be. Thicky wold stockin’ do lay upon my heart jist same as a lump o’ lead.” “It didn’t ought to be such a trouble to ye,” said Mr. Hunt. “Divide it, Mrs. Melmouth. Divide it fair and square among your nevvies and nieces.”