ilver salt-cellars,
I suppose we can."

Well, we got them; so that was all right. But last year it was more
difficult.

* * * * *

You see, early in last December I went over my accounts, and I could
see that I was short. For one thing, Eliza had had the measles. Then I
had bought a bicycle, and though I sold it again, it did not, in that
broken state, bring in enough to pay the compensation to the cabman. I
was much annoyed about that. It was true I ran into the horse, but it
was not my fault that it bolted and went into the lamp-post. As I said,
rather sharply, to the man when I paid him, if his horse had been
steady the thing would never have happened. He did not know what to
answer, and made some silly remark about my not being fit to ride a
mangle. Both then and at the time of the accident his language was
disrespectful and profane.

However, I need not go further into that. It is enough to say that we
had some unusual expenses, and were distinctly short.

"I don't blame you, Eliza," I said. "Anything you have had you are very
welcome to."

"I haven't had anything, except the measles," she said; "and I don't
see how you can blame me for that."

"But," I said, "I think it's high time you paid a visit to your mother,
and showed her that we have not forgotten her. Take some Swiss
roll--about sixpennyworth. Try to make things seem a little brighter to
her. If she says anything about Christmas, and you saw your way to
getting a cheque from her this year instead of her usual present, you
might do that. But show her that we are really fond of her--remember
she is your mother, and has few pleasures. A fiver just now would make
a good deal of difference to me, and even a couple of sovereigns would
be very handy."

* * * * *

When Eliza came back, I saw by her face that it was all right.

"I didn't have to say anything," she said. "Mother told me of her own
accord that she knew that you had money troubles, and that she was
going to take advantage of the Christmas season to relieve you from
them in a way which at another time you might be too proud to accept."

"That," I said, warmly, "is very thoughtful of her, and very delicate,
and it can only mean one thing. It settles me. This year, Eliza, we
will give your mother a present. Quite a trifle, of course--about two
shillings. It will be a token, and she will value it."

When I r