money. But he said nothing. He had no idea how much John might have
saved, and would not have asked him the direct question for the world.
John's own way of talking about his wealth was curiously contradictory.
His 'money' was rarely out of his thoughts or speech, but no one had
ever been privileged for many years now to see the inside of his box,
except Eliza once; and no one but himself knew the exact amount of the
hoard. It delighted him that the village gossips should double or treble
it. Their estimates only gave him the more ground for vague boasting,
and he would not have said a word to put them right.

When they reached the Costrells' cottage, John's first care was to
examine the cupboard. He saw that the large wooden chest filled with
odds and ends of rubbish which already stood there was placed on the top
of his own box. Then he tried the lock, and pronounced it adequate; he
didn't want to have Flack meddling round. Now at the moment of parting
with his treasure he was seized with a sudden fever of secrecy. Bessie
meanwhile hovered about the two men, full of excitement and loquacity.
And the children, shut into the kitchen, wondered what could be the
matter.

When all was done, Isaac locked the cupboard, and solemnly presented the
key to John, who added it to the other round his neck. Then Bessie
unlocked the kitchen, and set the children flying, to help her with the
supper. She was in her most bustling and vivacious mood, and she had
never cooked the bloaters better or provided a more ample jug of beer.
But John was silent and depressed.

He took leave at last with many sighs and lingerings. But he had not
been gone half an hour, and Bessie and Isaac were just going to bed,
when there was a knock at the door, and he reappeared.