"I dare say you would," Mr. Harding replied sarcastically. "It must cost a fine penny to keep up."
"Mr. Thomas does a good trade," the lad remarked. "I don't see the use of money if one can't spend it."
"Eh? What?" the old man almost shouted. "Who asked your opinion? What do you know about it, pray?"
"They say Mr. Thomas gives away a lot of money," John Monday continued. "Don't you remember, sir, he gave fifty pounds to the hospital last Christmas?"
"What of that? I could give ten times fifty pounds and not feel the want of it! I wonder which of us will leave most money behind him— Thomas or I?"
Mr. Harding rubbed his hands and chuckled, whilst his assistant gazed at him with interest. The boy knew his master's greatest ambition was to die a wealthy man. A question he had longed to ask often before trembled on his lips, but he hesitated to put it.
"Well!" the old man cried testily; "why are you staring at me like that?"
"I was wondering why you wanted to die a rich man," the boy responded bluntly. "Money is no good to folks after they're dead."
For a minute Mr. Harding seemed about to make an angry reply, for he darted a furious glance at his companion; but, apparently changing his mind, he told him to take charge of the shop, and retired to the parlour, perhaps to think over the question, and answer it to himself.
Meanwhile, Mousey had been introduced to Mrs. Thomas, and to Nellie's little brothers, who were a few years her junior. Soon the children were playing games in the garden, and thoroughly enjoying the beautiful May afternoon. The time passed all too quickly, so that Mousey was greatly surprised when Mrs. Thomas came out and called them into the house for tea.