"I tell you what it is, Bob—I don't believe you come honestly by that money. You never do any work to speak of, and yet every now and then you bring in a lot of money," said a pale-looking young woman to her husband, one morning, as he slouched in to breakfast, and threw a handful of silver on the table.
"A deal you know about it, Jane! If I get odd jobs that bring me in an odd shilling or two, what business is it of yours, I should like to know? If you and the little 'un have enough to eat, that's all you need trouble about."
"'Taint no concern of mine, Bob, and yet I can't help feeling a bit uncomfortable when I hear folks say that Mr. Thorn gets no eggs now."
"What do you know about Mr. Thorn's eggs?" asked her husband, roughly.
"Well, that gossiping Mrs. Smith told me that Mr. Thorn said as how his hens had taken to hiding their eggs of late. She said he thought they had nests somewhere, but he couldn't find them, and then she looked at them eggs I was frying for dinner so suspicious-like that I got quite red, for fear you had taken 'em."
Bob made no reply, but ate his breakfast in sullen silence. As he went out, his wife called after him—
"You try to get a reg'lar job, Bob, and don't go loafing about."
That evening Bob came in earlier than usual, and going up to his wife, who was rocking the cradle, said in a husky voice—
"Jane, my gal, I'm goin' to turn over a new leaf."
"Bless the man!" exclaimed Jane in alarm, as she saw unwonted tears in her husband's eyes. "Are you took bad, Bob?"