“It’s eight and sevenpence, Tottie,” replied the amiable banker, with a smile.
“Thank you, sir,” said Tottie, and hurried home in a species of heavenly contemplation of the enormous sum she had accumulated.
When Solomon Flint returned home that night he found Miss Lillycrop seated beside old Mrs Flint, shouting into her deafest ear. She desisted when Solomon entered, and rose to greet him.
“I have come to see my niece, Mr Flint; do you expect her soon?”
The letter-carrier consulted his watch.
“It is past her time now, Miss Lillycrop; she can’t be long. Pray, sit down. You’ll stay and ’ave a cup of tea with us? Now, don’t say no. We’re just goin’ to ’ave it, and my old ’ooman delights in company.—There now, sit down, an’ don’t go splittin’ your lungs on that side of her next time you chance to be alone with her. It’s her deaf side. A cannon would make no impression on that side, except you was to fire it straight into her ear.—I’ve got a message for you, Miss Lillycrop.”
“A message for me?”
“Ay, from a beautiful angel with tumbled hair and jagged clothes named Tottie Bones. Ain’t it strange how coincidences happen in this life! I goes an’ speaks to Tottie, which I never did before. Tottie wants very bad to send a message to Miss Lillycrop. I happens to know Miss Lillycrop, an’ takes the message, and on coming home finds Miss Lillycrop here before me—and all on the same night—ain’t it odd?”
“It is very odd, Mr Flint; and pray what was the message?”
The letter-carrier, having first excused himself for making arrangements for the evening meal while he talked, hereupon related the circumstances of his meeting with the child, and had only concluded when May Maylands came in, looking a little fagged, but sunny and bright as usual.