Mr. Knifton laughed, and took some gold and silver from his
waistcoat pocket.

"No, no," said Mrs. Knifton, "you may want what you have got
there for necessary expenses. Is that all the money you have
about you? What do I feel here?" and she tapped her husband on
the chest, just over the breast-pocket of his coat.

Mr. Knifton laughed again, and produced his pocketbook. His wife
snatched it out of his hand, opened it, and drew out some
bank-notes, put them back again immediately, and, closing the
pocketbook, stepped across the room to my poor mother's little
walnut-wood book-case, the only bit of valuable furniture we had
in the house.

"What are you going to do there?" asked Mr. Knifton, following
his wife.

Mrs. Knifton opened the glass door of the book-case, put the
pocketbook in a vacant place on one of the lower shelves, closed
and locked the door again, and gave me the key.

"You called me a spendthrift just now," she said. "There is my
answer. Not one farthing of that money shall you spend at
Cliverton on _me_. Keep the key in your pocket, Bessie, and,
whatever Mr. Knifton may say, on no account let him have it until
we call again on our way back. No, sir, I won't trust you with
that money in your pocket in the town of Cliverton. I will make
sure of your taking it all home again, by leaving it here in more