"But it's Thomas Worboise you mean?"
"Yes; but he had nothing to do with it, as I've told you a hundred times, grannie. He's gone and slaved for you, and that's all the thanks you give him—to stand there on the stones, refusing to take what's your very own."
The light was slowly dawning on grannie's confused mind.
"Then you mean," she said, "that all my son Richard's money—"
"Is yours, grannie," said Lucy and Thomas in a breath.
"Only," added Lucy, "you've spoiled all our bit of fun by being so obstinate, grannie."
For sole answer the old woman gave a hand to each of them, and led them into the house, up the wide oak stair-case, and along the passage into the old room, where a fire was burning cheerfully just as in the old time, and every article of furniture, book-case, piano, settle, and all, stood each in its old place, as if it had never been moved.
Mrs. Boxall sat down in her own chair, "like one that hath been stunned," and for some moments gave no sign of being conscious of what was going on around her. At length a little noise at her ear attracted her attention. She looked around. On the edge of the little table which had always been beside her easy-chair, stood Widdles, the long feathers of whose wings looked like arms that he had tucked under his coat-tails, only there was no coat.
"Poor Widdles!" said the old woman, and burst into tears.
