The fust thing 'e did when 'e got his money on Friday was to send off a
post-office order to Shap Street, and Mrs. Burtenshaw cried with rage and
'ad to put it down to the headache. She 'ad the headache every Friday
for a month, and Bill, wot was feeling stronger and better than he 'ad
done for years, felt quite sorry for her.

By the time Bill 'ad sent off six orders she was worn to skin and bone
a'most a-worrying over the way Silas Winch was spending her money. She
dursn't undeceive Bill for two reasons: fust of all, because she didn't
want 'im to take to drink agin; and secondly, for fear of wot he might do
to 'er if 'e found out 'ow she'd been deceiving 'im.

She was laying awake thinking it over one night while Bill was sleeping
peaceful by her side, when all of a sudden she 'ad an idea. The more she
thought of it the better it seemed; but she laid awake for ever so long
afore she dared to do more than think. Three or four times she turned
and looked at Bill and listened to 'im breathing, and then, trembling all
over with fear and excitement, she began 'er little game.

"He did send it," she ses, with a piercing scream. "He did send it."

"W-w-wot's the matter?" ses Bill, beginning to wake up.

Mrs. Burtenshaw didn't take any notice of 'im.

"He did send it," she ses, screaming agin. "Every Friday night reg'lar.
Oh, don't let 'im see you agin."

Bill, wot was just going to ask 'er whether she 'ad gone mad, gave a
awful 'owl and disappeared right down in the middle o' the bed.