"Why, Mary, I thought I told you—he give me two hundred and fifty dollars."
"I know. I offered him what he gave."
"You—you done what?"
She smiled a little at the amazement in his face, but her voice trembled as she made her confession. For ten years she had been saving up on chickens and eggs, a quarter here, a half-dollar there. In secret she had dreamed and planned. They would have new furniture, she had thought, when the house was theirs—new furniture and a parlour. She had meant to surprise him, not to let him know till it came. She had the furniture picked out in a catalogue.
"Jim," she concluded, "I've saved up two hundred and fifty-four dollars and twenty cents!"
His arm was about her shoulders. "Poor gal," he said. "She would have give it all up for me and Prince. Now, now—don't cry. It's all the same—you tried."
She wiped her eyes on her apron and looked at him.
"I saw last night how hard hit you was. I never knew till then just how much store you set on Prince. And I never knew how much I thought of him, for what you love, I love. I made up my mind then, Jim. After dinner I went to the club. I had to wait a long time, for he was out hunting. When he came in I told him I'd give him what he gave you, and four dollars more. Jim, I thought he understood, he looked so kind. He made me set down there in the big room. Then, Jim, I told him—told him how it was with us."
Jim's face grew suddenly stern. "You told him that?"
She nodded.