At length, one day a new idea struck him. He had been reading the story of his namesake, Benjamin, in the Old Testament, and the question occurred to him, how many among his purchasers of the poorer class--and all who came to his shop personally were of that class--would bring back a piece of money they might find among their meal, and he thought he should like to try a few of them that were his regular customers. The experiment would amuse his mind, and the money he might lose by it he did not care for. So he began with shillings, slipping one among the flour before he handed it to the purchaser. But the shillings never came back--perhaps people did not think so small a sum worth returning; so he went on to half-crowns and crowns, and now and then, in very particular cases, he even ventured a guinea; but it was always with the same luck, and the longer he tried, the more he distrusted there being any honesty in the world, and the more disposed he felt to leave all his money to Leah Leet, who had lived with him so long, and to his belief, had never wronged him of a penny. "What's this you have put into the gruel, Mary?" said a pale, sickly-looking man, one evening, taking something out of his mouth, which he held toward the feeble gleams emitted by a farthing rush-light standing on the mantle-piece. "What is it, father?" inquired a young girl, approaching him. "Isn't the gruel good?" "It's good enough," replied the man; "but here's something in it: it's a shilling, I believe." "It's a guinea, I declare!" exclaimed the girl, as she took the coin from him and examined it nearer the light. "A guinea!" repeated the man; "well, that's the first bit of luck I've had these seven years or more. It never could have come when we wanted it worse. Show it us here, Mary." "But it's not ours, father," said Mary. "I paid away the last shilling we had for the meal, and here's the change." "God has sent it us, girl! He saw our distress, and He sent it us in His mercy!" said the man, grasping the piece of gold with his thin, bony fingers. "It must be Mr. Benjamin's," returned she. "He must have dropped it into the meal-tub that stands by the counter." "How do you know that?" inquired the man with an impatient tone and a half-angry glance. "How can you tell how it came into the gruel? Perhaps it was lying at the bottom of the basin, or at the bottom of the sauce-pan. Most likely it was." "Oh, no, father," said Mary: "it is long since we had a guinea." "A guinea that we knew of; but I've had plenty in my time, and how do you know this is not one we had overlooked?" "We've wanted a guinea too much to overlook one," answered she. "But never mind, father; eat your gruel, and don't think of it: your cheeks are getting quite red with talking so, and you won't be able to sleep when you go to bed." "I don't expect to sleep," said the man, peevishly; "I never do sleep."