end that she wasn't, but I saw the tears quite plain,--her cheeks
were all wet, you know; an' when I put my arms round her--to comfort her
a bit, an' asked her what was the matter, she only kissed me a lot, an'
said 'nothing! nothing,--only a headache!'"

"And why was she crying, do you suppose, my Porges?"

"Oh!--money, a course!" he sighed.

"What makes you think it was money?"

"'Cause she'd been talking to Adam,--I heard him say 'Good-night,' as I
creeped down the stairs,--"

"Ah?" said Bellew, staring straight before him. His beloved pipe had
slipped from his fingers, and, for a wonder, lay all neglected. "It was
after she had talked with Adam, was it, my Porges?"

"Yes,--that's why I knew it was 'bout money; Adam's always talking 'bout
morgyges, an' bills, an' money. Oh Uncle Porges, how I do--hate money!"

"It is sometimes a confounded nuisance!" nodded Bellew.

"But I do wish we had some,--so we could pay all her bills, an' morgyges
for her. She'd be so happy, you know, an' go about singing like she used
to,--an' I shouldn't worry myself into an old man before my time,--all
wrinkled, an' gray, you know; an' all would be revelry, an' joy, if only
she had enough gold, an' bank-notes!"

"And she was--crying, you say!" demanded Bellew again, his gaze still
far away.

"Yes."

"You are quite sure you saw the--tears, my Porges?"

"Oh yes! an' there was one on her nose, too,--a big one, that shone
awful' bright,--twinkled, you know."

"And she said it was only a headache, did she?"

"Yes, but that meant money,--money always makes her head ache, lately.
Oh Uncle Porges!--I s'pose people do find fortunes, sometimes,
don't they?"

"Why yes, to be sure they do."

"Then I wish I knew where they looked for them," said he with a very big
sigh indeed, "I've hunted an' hunted in all the attics, an' the
cupboards, an' under hedges, an' in ditches, an' prayed, an' prayed, you
know,--every night."

"Then, of course, you'll be answered, my Porges."

"Do you really s'pose I shall be answered? You see it's such an awful'
long way for one small prayer to have to go,--from here to heaven. An'
there's clouds that get in the way; an' I'm 'fraid my prayers aren't
quite big, or heavy enough, an' get lost, an' blown away in the wind."

"No, my Porges," said Bellew, drawing his arm about the small
disconsolate figure, "you may depend upon it that your prayers fly
straight up into heaven, and that neither the clouds, no