horseback, as they went out.

I heard this, and I also discovered that they had been having an
argument, in jest, about money-matters, as they rode along to our
cottage. Mrs. Knifton had accused her husband of inveterate
extravagance, and of never being able to go out with money in his
pocket without spending it all, if he possibly could, before he
got home again. Mr. Knifton had laughingly defended himself by
declaring that all his pocket-money went in presents for his
wife, and that, if he spent it lavishly, it was under her sole
influence and superintendence.

"We are going to Cliverton now," he said to Mrs. Knifton, naming
the county town, and warming himself at our poor fire just as
pleasantly as if he had been standing on his own grand hearth.
"You will stop to admire every pretty thing in every one of the
Cliverton shop-windows; I shall hand you the purse, and you will
go in and buy. When we have reached home again, and you have h ad
time to get tired of your purchases, you will clasp your hands in
amazement, and declare that you are quite shocked at my habits of
inveterate extravagance. I am only the banker who keeps the
money; you, my love, are the spendthrift who throws it all away!"

"Am I, sir?" said Mrs. Knifton, with a look of mock indignation.
"We will see if I am to be misrepresented in this way with
impunity. Bessie, my dear" (turning to me), "you shall judge how
far I deserve the character which that unscrupulous man has just
given to me. _I_ am the spendthrift, am I? And you are only the
banker? Very well. Banker, give me my money at once, if you
please!"