“Then,” said Jack, “I wouldn’t eat any.”

“Oh, if you grudge me the little I eat,” said his aunt, in severe sorrow, “I will go without.”

“Tut, Rachel, nobody grudges you anything here,” said her brother, “and as to the poor-house, I’ve got some good news to tell you that will put that thought out of your heads.”

“What is it?” asked Mrs. Crump, looking up brightly.

“I have found employment.”

“Not at your trade?”

“No, but at something else, which will pay equally well, till trade revives.”

Here he told the story of the chance by which he was enabled to serve Mr. Merriam, and of the engagement to which it had led.

“You are, indeed, fortunate,” said Mrs. Crump.  “Two dollars a day, and we’ve got nearly the whole of the money that came with this dear child.  How rich we shall be!”

“Well, Rachel, where are your congratulations?” asked the cooper of his sister, who, in subdued sorrow, was eating her second slice of pudding.

“I don’t see anything so very fortunate in being engaged as a porter,” said Rachel, lugubriously.  “I heard of a porter, once, who had a great box fall upon him and crush him; and another, who committed suicide.”

The cooper laughed.

“So, Rachel, you conclude that one or the other is the inevitable lot of all who are engaged in this business.”

“It is always well to be prepared for the worst,” said Rachel, oracularly.

“But not to be always looking for it,” said her brother.

“It’ll come, whether you look for it or not,” returned her sister, sententiously.

“Then, suppose we spend no thoughts upon it, since, according to your admission, it’s sure to come either way.”

Rachel pursued her knitting, in severe melancholy.

“Won’t you have another piece of pudding, Timothy?” asked Mrs. Crump.

“I don’t care if I do, Mary, it’s so good,” said the cooper, passing his plate.  “Seems to me it’s the best pudding you ever made.”

“You’ve got a good appetite, that is all,” said Mrs. Crump, modestly.

“By the way, Mary,” said the cooper, with a sudden thought, “I quite forgot that I have something for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, from Mr. Merriam.”

“But he don’t know me,” said Mrs. Crump, in surprise.

“At any rate, he asked me if I were married, and then handed me this envelope for you.  I am not quite sure whether I ought to allow gentlemen to write letters to my wife.”

Mrs. Crump opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and uttered an exclamation of surprise, as a bank-note fluttered to the carpet.

“By gracious, mother,” said Jack, springing to get it, “you’re in luck.  It’s a hundred dollar bill.”

“So it is, I declare,” said Mrs. Crump, joyfully.  “But, Timothy, it isn’t mine.  It belongs to you.”

“No, Mary, it shall be yours.  I’ll put it in the Savings Bank for you.”