one hundred to Mrs. Blake, and five pounds apiece to the servants.'

And Mr. Sigglesfield looks at him out of his ferret eyes, and says
very quietly, 'I think the will had better be read, Mr. Alderton.'

'So I think,' says Mrs. Blake, tossing her head and rubbing her red
eyes with her handkerchief at the same minute almost.

And read it was, and all us people sat still as mice, listening to
the wonderful tale of it. For wonderful it was, though folded up
very curious and careful in a pack of lawyer's talk. And when it was
finished, Master Harry stood up on his feet, and he said--

'I don't understand your cursed lawyer's lingo. Does this mean that
my father has left me fifty pounds, and has left the rest, stock,
lock and barrel, to his wife Martha. Who in hell,' he says, 'is his
wife Martha?'

And at that Mrs. Blake stood up and fetched a curtsy to the company.

'That's me,' she said, 'by your leave; married two months come
Tuesday, and here's my lines.'

And there they were. There was no getting over them. Married at St.
Mary Woolnoth, in London, by special licence.

'O you wicked old Jezebel!' says Master Harry, shaking his fist at
her; 'here's a fine end for a young man's hopes! Is it true?' says
he, turning to the lawyer. And Mr. Sigglesfield shakes his head and
says--