"And that's just what a female lodger of mine wanted me to do, reverend sir," exclaimed the landlady. "But I know myself better. Dead man's money never did no one no good unless it was properly left, as the saying is. Mrs. Wicks would have had me keep it all quiet; and I must say that I was surprised at the perposal. But, between you and me, sir, I don't think overmuch of my lodgers, although they do pay their rent pretty reg'lar. The man doesn't seem to have any work or employment; and yet they live on the best—biled beef one day, steaks the next, bacon and greens the next—and so on. I know that I can't do it on nothing. And then they have their ale at dinner, and their gin of an evening. For my part I can't understand it. The man keeps late hours too; and the woman swears like a trooper when she's got a drop too much. But then, as I said, they pays their way; and a lone widder like me doesn't dare ask no questions."
"Of course not," said the reverend gentleman. "I think you stated that the name of the lodgers you allude to is Wicks?"
"Yes, sir—Wicks."
"I know them—by reputation only. They have an annuity of eighty pounds a-year, and are very respectable people. Their only fault is that they are rather fond of company—and that, perhaps, makes them stay out late now and then."
"Well, sir, if a pious gentleman like you thinks well on them, it isn't for a poor ignorant creatur' like me to say black's the white of their eye.... They pays their way; and that's all I ought to bother myself about. But, as I was a-saying, the old gentleman which lodged with me dies, and leaves some money behind him. There ain't kith or kin to claim it. Now what had I better do with it?"
"The ecclesiastical law—"
"Sir?"
"The law of Doctors' Commons, I mean, is very particular on this head," said the reverend visitor. "There are only two things to do."
"And which be they, sir?" asked the widow.
"Either to go and put the money into the Chancery Court, or to bury it in the coffin along with the deceased."