"It is a foolish way of managing money," said Meg, abrupt in her trouble, and only half-comforted.
"Can you tell me, Meg, how to manage money without reference to pay-day?" he asked.
"Will you do as I tell you?" she said, stopping short in her restless peregrinations.
He nodded.
"Take your money, all your money, and divide it into little parcels, as many parcels as there are days it must last, and every day spend just what is inside one of the little parcels, and not a bit more," said Meg with elucidating gestures.
Mr. Standish vowed she spoke like a chancellor of the exchequer; that the more he heard her the more he was determined on coming into the colossal fortune he was to enjoy some day, to appoint her his almoner, housekeeper, the dispenser of his bounties, the orderer of his dinners. This project to be his housekeeper was one dear to Meg's heart, the pacifier of her wrath. By what means Mr. Standish was to come into possession of this fabulous wealth remained vague. Sometimes he would announce his intention of getting it by marrying an heiress, a project always chillingly received by Meg. Sometimes she would suggest spitefully that the heiress would not marry him; but Mr. Standish overrode all objections, and would depict days of indolent delight for himself and his bride, while Meg managed the household. When the daydream reached this point it generally abruptly terminated by Meg plunging out of the room, and banging the door after her with an emphatic "Shan't!"
On the evening of the fish dinner Mr. Standish left the heiress out of the question, and Meg was softened.
The next day the young man supped at home. His tray, as usual on these occasions, was brought in by Meg. A burly German sausage and a pot of Scotch marmalade graced the board. Meg's answers were evasive concerning the source from which these dainties came. It struck Mr. Standish that Meg had bought them with the store of half-pence he had taught her to put away in a moneybox he had himself presented to her, with a view to inculcating economical instincts. Her fierce refusal to answer convinced him that he had guessed right.
The refusal to touch these dainties died on his lips. He could not hurt the child. He ate the supper she had provided with loud laudations of its excellence. Before it was finished an arrangement had been entered into between them. On pay-day Meg would henceforth receive a sum to be kept for him against the days of privation. The contract had been fulfilled. Meg had proved a stern treasurer, resisting the young man's entreaties to dole out portions of the money before the appointed time.
If the child had gained much by intercourse with an educated mind, if her English had grown by it more refined and correct, her mind stored with more definite and varied knowledge; if, above all, there had come to her by this affection a precocious womanliness, taming and sweetening her lonely life, Mr. Standish had gained as much by the tie between them. A sort of wonder, half-amused, half-tender, sometimes awoke in his heart at the thought of the child's devotion. His occupation led him to see rough sides of life, and as he became familiar with degradation, the goodness, the innocence of the child was ever before him. He felt it was touching to be loved by a child of ten. Her advanced wisdom struck him. If it stirred his sense of humor and inclined him to laugh, still it made him thoughtful.