The Deputy Lock opened the letter with a grave face, which underwent no change as he eyed its contents. But it might have done, if he could have read them.

“What amount of small change, Missis,” he said, with an abstracted air, after a little meditation, “might you call a morsel of money?”

Hurriedly emptying her pocket, old Betty laid down on the table, a shilling, and two sixpenny pieces, and a few pence.

“If I was to let you go instead of handing you over safe to the Parish,” said the Deputy, counting the money with his eyes, “might it be your own free wish to leave that there behind you?”

“Take it, Master, take it, and welcome and thankful!”