"A pound a week," answered Sam stolidly.
"Now, how many tens are in that, I wonder," Jill went on with interest; "you see, Sam, Miss Falkner says God sends us everything, so it does seem rather mean never to give anything back, doesn't it?"
"I reckon," said Mr. Stone looking at his son with a twinkle in his eye, "that two shillin' be a tenth o' Sam's money, not to speak of his other odd jobs that he do get in an' out."
"We should be on the way to the House, missy, if I did give away such a bit as that!"
"Oh, no, you wouldn't, for God just sends it back, Miss Falkner says in other kind of ways. Only He is pleased if we think of Him."
"If I were a rich man," said old Mr. Stone, "I'd give the Almighty a tenth. 'Tis a cryin' shame the rich be so grudgin' wi' their wealth; but we poor humble folk be not expected to do such things!"
"Haven't you got anything to give God, Mr. Stone?"
"Nothin' at all," responded the old man with a sigh. "Sam do take care of his old father, an' I sells my cabbages an' helps all I can; but since Christmas twelvemonth the rheumaty pains in my innerds be so cruel bad, that I be creepin' on to church-yard slow and sure."
A little gloom seemed to have fallen on the tea-party. Then Jill started another subject.
"When are you going to be married, Sam?"