‘Ay, ay,’ answered the old man. ‘I’m goin’ to make a die of it, mate. Josh Heckett’s had his sentence. I’m to be put away for good and all.’
‘Have you made your will?’
‘Will!’ said the old man, almost fiercely. ‘Who have I got to leave anything to, and what have I got, eh?’
Gurth smiled.
‘You know best, Josh. I suppose you haven’t lived on air all these years.’
‘No—I ain’t—but-’ He hesitated a moment, then added, with a resolute accent, as though he had made a sudden le-solve, ‘There, it’s no good a-playing dark any longer. You ain’t likely to want my bit o’ property, so I’ll tell you what I’d like to do. I wants to leave all I got to some charity—what’s a good’un?’
‘Charity!’ said Gurth. ‘But what about your grand-daughter? Charity begins at home.’
Josh shook his head.
‘I shouldn’t like to leave what I got to her. She’s a-comin’ bimeby. Mrs. Smith’s gone for her to come and see me afore I die.’
‘Gone for her—where?’