“You might as well say ‘Samuel,’ Mr. Thorsby,” interrupted Betty.
“And Sam, or Samuel, is a class-leader in high repute. Yesterday comes somebody begging my mother to go to Mr. Ayre’s, as the Missis was dying. Molly Ayre had been a servant at my grandfather’s. My mother hurried off. The poor woman evidently was near her end, and was giving some last directions to her husband, who sat, burly man as he is, drowned in tears on the bed-side.
“‘Well,’ continued the dying woman, ‘my dear Samuel, thou’ll find all th’ accounts o’ th’ shop right in th’ book in that drawer there. There’s forty pounds owing to different people, principally to Mr. Fairfax, the grocer. Thou’ll see it punctually paid?’
“‘Eh! poor dear soul!’ said the husband, ‘wandering! You see she’s quite wandering!’
“‘And,’ continued the dying wife, ‘there’s a good deal more owing to us. Thou’ll find it all down i’ the book; and i’ th’ same drawer a good heap of money in a stocking.’
“‘Eh! blessed, dear creetur!’ said Ayre, the tears streaming down his cheeks—‘poor, dear creetur! Sensible to th’ last minute!—sensible to th’ last minute!’”
“Oh, get out with thy profanities!” said Betty, going out, and pulling the door after her smartly; not even staying to hear how Molly Ayre went at last.
The whole Woodburn family could not help laughing heartily at this picture of human nature, though they were afraid it might reach Betty’s indignant ears.
“As to the Quakers, however,” continued Mr. Woodburn, “I must assert that though they are devoted to getting money, some of them make a very good use of it. The Heritages are extremely benevolent, and expend large sums every year in adding to the comforts and in promoting education amongst the poor, both in Woodburn and in the far greater field of Castleborough.”
“Ay, and they gather in plenty to do it with,” said Thorsby. “Why, Mr. Heritage’s gold may go out by pecksfull, but it flows in by bushelsfull.”