When at length they reached Philpot Lane, and were seated in an outer room waiting for admission, Annie said: “Surely, if rich people knew how some they do not know need their help, they would be a little more eager to feather their wings ere they fly aloft by making friends with the Mammon of unrighteousness. Don’t you think it may be sometimes that they are afraid of doing harm with their money?”
“I’m afraid it is more that they never think what our Lord meant when he said the words. But oh, Annie! is it a bad sign of me that the very possibility of this money could make me so happy?”
They were admitted at length, and kindly received by a gray-haired old man, who warned them not to fancy so much money would last them very long.
“Indeed, sir,” answered Annie, “the best thing we expect from it is that it will put my husband in good heart to begin another book.”
“Oh! your husband writes books, does he? Then I begin to understand my late client’s will. It is just like her,” said the old gentleman. “Had you known her long?”
“I never once saw her,” said Hector.
“But I did,” said Annie, “and I heard her say how delighted she was with his first book. Please, sir,” she added, “will it be long before you can let us have the money?”
“You shall have it by-and-by,” answered the lawyer; “all in good time.”
And now first they learned that not a penny of the money would they receive before the end of a twelvemonth.
“Well, that will give us plenty of time to die first,” thought Hector, “which I am sure the kind lady did not intend when she left us the money.”