"Y—es," Mr. Harding allowed; "perhaps they could be recovered."
"And the coat is so faded across the shoulders," Mousey continued; "it really is very shabby. Why don't you have a new one, Cousin Robert?" she plucked up courage to ask.
"Because a new one would cost money," he replied sharply, "and I've no intention of squandering on fine clothes what I've worked hard to gain."
"I thought you had plenty of money," Mousey said, looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face. "Oh, forgive me, Cousin Robert!" she pleaded, as he darted a fierce glance at her. "Do forgive me if I ought not to have said that, but, indeed, I meant no harm!"
"Is it your place to question me?" he demanded. "What does it matter to you what clothes I choose to wear?"
"I'm very sorry to have made you so angry," Mousey said, the tears flooding her eyes; "but I—I can't bear to hear unkind things said about you, Cousin Robert, just because you dress differently from other people. And what can I say when they laugh at your shabby hat and green coat? I don't like you any the less because your clothes are old, for you're always good to me—but others don't understand."
"What do folks say about me?" he asked curiously. "Come, child, don't cry like that! You can't say? Humph! That means you don't like to say, I suppose. Very well, I'm not going to press you for an answer. Good gracious! To think that all this fuss is about an old suit of clothes."
"Are you angry with me?" she asked timidly, drying her eyes and glancing at him anxiously.
"No, no," he responded impatiently. "Here, let me fold up those garments of mine, and you can carry them upstairs to my room."
Perhaps Mr. Harding had not realised before how disgracefully shabby his best Sunday suit had become; but he certainly did so now as he examined the clothes with critical eyes. He had grown so into the way of saving that it had become habitual to him never to spend a penny upon himself if he could possibly help it. It was a new experience to know that there was someone who actually cared enough about him to be hurt because his clothes were old and worn; and Mousey's tears, and evident distress at people's remarks upon his personal appearance, had moved him more than he cared to acknowledge, even to himself. After all, why should he begrudge himself a new suit of clothes? He had plenty of money, as the child had told him.