Hannah began to complain piteously. Do not blame her, reader. You would fret, too, if you were sick in bed, and longing for a cup of tea, without having the means of procuring it.
To divert her thoughts Ishmael went and showed the pocketbook, and told her the history of his finding it.
Hannah seized it with the greedy grasp with which the starving catch at money. She opened it, and counted the gold and silver.
"Where did you say you found it, Ishmael?"
"I told you a mile out of the village."
"Only that little way! Why didn't you go back and buy my tea?" she inquired, with an injured look.
"Oh, aunt! the money wasn't mine, you know!" said Iahmael.
"Well, I don't say it was. But you might have borrowed a dollar from it, and the owner would have never minded, for I dare say he'd be willing to give two dollars as a reward for finding the pocketbook. You might have bought my tea if you had eared for me! But nobody cares for me now! No one ever did but Reuben—poor fellow!"
"Indeed, Aunt Hannah, I do care for you a great deal! I love you dearly; and I did want to take some of the money and buy your tea."
"Why didn't you do it, then?"