this envelope, which he asked me to give to you. I am not quite sure
whether I ought to allow strange gentlemen to write letters to my wife."

Mrs. Harding opened the envelope with considerable curiosity, and
uttered an exclamation of surprise as a bank note fell out, and
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 his mother, joyfully. "But, Timothy, it
isn't mine. It belongs to you."

"No, Martha, I have nothing to do with it. It belongs to you. You need
some clothes, I am sure. Use part of it, and I will put the rest in the
savings bank for you."

"I never expected to have money to invest," said Mrs. Harding. "I begin
to feel like a capitalist. When you want to borrow money, Timothy,
you'll know where to come."

"Merriam's a trump and no mistake," said Jack. "By the way, when you see
him again, father, just mention that you've got a son. Ain't we in luck,
Aunt Rachel?"

"Boast not overmuch," said his aunt. "Pride goes before destruction, and
a haughty spirit before a fall."

"I never knew Aunt Rachel to be jolly but once," said Jack under his
breath; "and that was at a funeral."