"If they thought there was money to run at, they'd be wanting all sorts of things that they're content to do without now," was the mother's prudent comment. And as this was before the days of the legacy, the little store in the savings bank was the only provision for a rainy day.
After her husband's death, Mrs. Allison still strove to keep her secret, though, as she would sometimes say, "It's hard to have your thoughts to yourself when our Ann comes. She's such a ferret. She'd find out a thing if you hid it at the far end of a coal pit."
Somehow Ann had an inkling of her mother's little hoard. Nothing absolutely certain, either about the money or the place where it was kept, but constant watchfulness had convinced her of its existence, and from that time the main object of her life was to find out the rest, and to secure the reversion of it for herself.
This was at the bottom of Mrs. Bradford's anxiety to have her mother near her. This moved her to offer many little attentions, hitherto unthought of, and to be constantly sending dainty bits, or invitations to Mrs. Allison to come and partake of such at the Bradford table. She also hinted, again and again, that it would be less lonely and much cheaper for her mother to give up her separate home and live with her and her family.
But neither hints nor questionings brought her any nearer the knowledge she desired, and Mrs. Allison, who was shrewd enough, saw through both, and resolved to disappoint her daughter's expectations.
"No, no," said she to herself; "Ann thinks if she could get my bit of furniture and me under her roof, she would be sure of the things, and manage me and what I've got as she likes. It's herself she thinks about, not me. I haven't studied her ways for over forty years without knowing Ann up and down, though I was led by her in coming in here. Margaret is worth a dozen of her yet. Beside, an old neighbour of mine taught me a lesson. She gave up her good home and went to live with her son, and a nice time she had of it. They got all she had, and then grudged her the bit she ate and the bed—she'd only half a one—that she lay on. She wrote a book, as one may say, and I read it."
From all which observations, it will be seen that Mrs. Bradford had gained little by her selfish efforts, that she still only suspected the existence of a secret store of money, and that Mrs. Allison had wisely made Mr. Collinge her sole confidant, both as to its whereabouts and disposal.
Even on her death-bed, she quietly exulted in the thought of disappointing Ann, whilst making amends to Margaret, her youngest, once her prettiest, always her favourite daughter. Moreover, there was an extra grudge working in her mind. When the letter which summoned Margaret from Millborough had been written and duly read aloud to Mrs. Allison by her daughter, the invalid noticed that some addition was made to it, without being read.
Determined to know what it was, she managed to send Ann to a desk in the parlour to fetch the necessary stamp, feeling certain that before returning the key, her prying spirit would induce her to take at least a glance at its other contents.
Not that she would gain anything, for there was neither a line nor an article of any importance to be looked at.