“Very,” said Maria, not certain whether she alluded to the parrot or the money, for Mrs. Bond’s eyes were not remarkably direct in their glances just then. “Too pretty to spend,” she added, in reference to the note. “You had better give it to papa, Mrs. Bond, and let him take care of it for you.”
Mrs. Bond shook her head at this proposition. “Once the parson gets hold on any little bit of our money to keep, he ain’t free to give it up again,” she objected. “‘Keep it for this,’ says he, or ‘keep it for that;’ and it ends in its being laid out as he likes, not as us do.”
“As you please, of course,” rejoined Maria. “I only thought it a pity you should not derive some real benefit from this money. If you keep it yourself you may be induced to change it, and then it would dwindle away in trifles, and do you no good.”
“That it ’ould!” acknowledged Mrs. Bond. “I’ve a’most a mind to let it be took care on, after all. If ’twas anybody but the Rector!”
“Shall I keep it for you?” asked Maria.
“Well now, ’ould you, ma’am?”
“Yes, I will. If you please.”
Mrs. Bond detached the note from the silver and other articles which she had brought up indiscriminately from her pocket. They lay in her capacious lap, and appeared to afford food for gratification to Meta, who had come round from the parrot to look at them. A brass thimble, a damp blue-bag, some halfpence, a recipe for toothache, a piece of ginger, and the end of a tallow candle, being amongst the items.
“You’ll promise to let me have it back if I asks for it?” cried she, clutching the note, and waiting for Maria’s promise before she would surrender it.
“Certainly I will. Whenever you wish for it, you shall have it. Only,” Maria added, smiling, “if you ask for it too soon, I shall beg you still to let me keep it. Don’t you remember how badly off you were last winter? Just think what a ten-pound note would have done for you then, Mrs. Bond!”