MRS. GAFF ENDEAVOURS FRUITLESSLY TO UNDERSTAND THE NATURE OF CASH, PRINCIPAL, AND INTEREST.

At first, as I have said, poor Mrs Gaff was quite inconsolable at the bereavements she had sustained in the loss of her husband and son and brother.  For a long time she refused to be comforted, or to allow her spirit to be soothed by the visits, (the “angel visits” as she styled them), of Lizzie Gordon, and the entrance of God’s Word into her heart.

Much of the violence of the good woman’s character was the result of training and example on an impulsive and sanguine, yet kindly spirit.  She had loved Stephen and Billy with a true and ardent love, and she could not forgive herself for what she styled her “cruelty to the dear boy.”  Neither could she prevail on herself to enjoy or touch a single penny of the money which ought, she said, to have been her husband’s.

Night after night would Mrs Gaff sit down by the cottage fireside to rest after her day of hard toll, and, making Tottie sit down on a stool at her feet, would take her head into her lap, and stroke the hair and the soft cheek gently with her big rough hand, while she discoursed of the good qualities of Stephen, and the bravery of her darling boy, to whom she had been such a cruel monster in days gone by.

Poor Tottie, being of a sympathetic nature, would pat her mother’s knee and weep.  One evening while they were sitting thus she suddenly seemed to be struck with a new idea.

“Maybe, mother,” said she, “Daddy an’ Billy will come back.  We’ve never hearn that they’s been drownded.”

“Tottie,” replied Mrs Gaff earnestly, “I’ve thoughten o’ that afore now.”

Little more was said, but from that night Mrs Gaff changed her manner and her practice.  She set herself earnestly and doggedly to prepare for the return of her husband and child!

On the day that followed this radical change in her feelings and plans, Mrs Gaff received a visit from Haco Barepoles.

“How d’ye find yerself to-day, Mrs Gaff?” said the big skipper, seating himself carefully on a chair, at which he cast an earnest glance before sitting down.

This little touch of anxiety in reference to the chair was the result of many years of experience, which told him that his weight was too much for most ordinary chairs, unless they were in sound condition.

“Well and hearty,” replied Mrs Gaff, sitting down and seizing Tottie’s head, which she began to smooth.  She always smoothed Tottie, if she were at hand, when she had nothing better to do.

“Heh!” exclaimed Haco, with a slight look of surprise.  “Glad to hear it, lass.  Nothin’ turned up, has there?”

“No, nothin’; but I’ve bin busy preparin’ for Stephen and Billy comin’ home, an’ that puts one in good spirits, you know.”

A shade of anxiety crossed Haco’s brow as he looked earnestly into the woman’s face, under the impression that grief had shaken her reason, but she returned his glance with such a calm self-possessed look that he felt reassured.

“I hope they’ll come, lass,” he said sadly; “what makes ye think they will?”

“I feel sure on it.  I feel it here,” replied the woman, placing her hand on her breast.  “Sweet Miss Lizzie Gordon and me prayed together that the Lord would send ’em home if it was His will, an’ ever since then the load’s bin off my heart.”

Haco shook his head for a moment, then nodded it, and said cheerily, “Well, I hope it may be so for your sake, lass.  An’ what sort o’ preparations are ye goin’ to make?”

Mrs Gaff smiled as she rose, and silently went to a cupboard, which stood close to the Dutch clock with the horrified countenance, and took therefrom a tea-caddy, which she set on the table with peculiar emphasis.  Tottie watched her with an expression of awe, for she had seen her mother weeping frequently over that tea-caddy, and believed that it must certainly contain something very dreadful.

“The preparations,” said Mrs Gaff, as she searched her pocket for the key of the box, “will depend on what I’m able to afford.”

“You’ll be able to afford a good deal, then, if all that’s reported be true, for I’m told ye’ve got ten thousand pounds.”

“Is that the sum?” asked Mrs Gaff, still searching for the key, which, like all other keys in like circumstances, seemed to have gone in for a game of hide-and-seek; “I’m sure I ought to know, for the lawyer took great pains to teach me that; ay, there ye are,” (to the key); “found ye at last.  Now then, Haco, we’ll have a look at the book and see.”

To Tottie’s surprise and no small disappointment, the only object that came out of the mysterious tea-caddy was a small book, which Mrs Gaff, however, seemed to look upon with respect, and to handle as if she half-expected it would bite.

“There, that’s my banker’s book.  You read off the figures, Haco, for I can’t.  To be sure if I had wanted to know, Tottie could have told me, but I haven’t had the heart to look at it till to-day.”

“Ten thousand, an’ no mistake!” said Haco, looking at the figures with intense gravity.

“Now, then, the question is,” said Mrs Gaff, sitting down and again seizing Tottie’s head for stroking purposes, while she put the question with deep solemnity - “the question is, how long will that last?”

Haco was a good deal puzzled.  He bit his thumb nail, and knit his shaggy brows for some time, and then said -

“Well, you know, that depends on how much you spend at a time.  If you go for to spend a thousand pounds a day, now, it’ll just last ten days.  If you spend a thousand pounds a year, it’ll last ten years.  If you spend a thousand pounds in ten years, it’ll last a hundred years - d’ye see?  It all depends on the spendin’.  But, then, Mrs Gaff,” said the skipper remonstratively, “you mustn’t go for to live on the principal, you know.”

“What’s the principal?” demanded Mrs Gaff.

“Why, the whole sum; the money itself, you know.”

“D’ye suppose that I’m a born fool, Mr Barepoles, that I should try to live on the money itself?  I never heerd on anybody bilin’ up money in a kettle an’ suppin’ goold soup, and I’m not a-goin’ for to try.”

With infinite difficulty, and much futile effort at illustration, did Haco explain to Mrs Gaff the difference between principal and interest; telling her to live on the latter, and never on any account to touch the former, unless she wished to “end her days in a work’us.”

“I wonder what it’s like,” said Mrs Gaff.

“What what’s like?” inquired the skipper.

“Ten thousand pounds.”

“Well, that depends too, you know, on what it’s made of - whether copper, silver, goold, or paper.”

“What! is it ever made o’ paper?”

In attempting to explain this point, Haco became unintelligible even to himself, and Mrs Gaff became wildly confused.

“Well, well,” said the latter, “never mind; but try to tell me how much I’ll have a year.”

“That depends too -

“Everything seems to depend,” cried Mrs Gaff somewhat testily.

“Of course it does,” said Haco, “everything does depend on somethin’ else, and everything will go on dependin’ to the end of time:  it depends on how you invest it, and what interest ye git for it.”

“Oh, dearie me!” sighed Mrs Gaff, beginning for the first time to realise in a small degree the anxieties and troubles inseparable from wealth; “can’t ye tell me what it’s likely to be about?”

“Couldn’t say,” observed Haco, drawing out his pipe as if he were about to appeal to it for information; “it’s too deep for me.”

“Well, but,” pursued Mrs Gaff, becoming confidential, “tell me now, d’ye think it would be enough to let me make some grand improvements on the cottage against Stephen and Billy’s return?”

“Why, that depends on what the improvements is to be,” returned Haco with a profound look.

“Ay, just so.  Well, here are some on ’em.  First of all, I wants to get a noo grate an’ a brass tea-kettle.  There’s nothing like a cheery fire of a cold night, and my Stephen liked a cheery fire - an’ so did Billy for the matter o’ that; but the trouble I had wi’ that there grate is past belief.  Now, a noo grate’s indispens’ble.”

“Well?” said Haco, puffing his smoke up the chimney, and regarding the woman earnestly.

“Well; then I want to get a noo clock.  That one in the corner is a perfit fright.  A noo table, too, for the leg o’ that one has bin mended so often that it won’t never stand another splice.  Then a noo tea-pot an’ a fender and fire-irons would be a comfort.  But my great wish is to get a big mahogany four-post bed with curtains.  Stephen says he never did sleep in a four-poster, and often wondered what it would be like - no more did I, so I would like to take him by surprise, you see.  Then I want to git -

“Well?” said Haco, when she paused.

“I’m awful keen to git a carpit, but I doubt I’m thinkin’ o’ too many things.  D’ye think the first year’s - what d’ye call it?”

“Interest,” said Haco.

“Ay, interest - would pay for all that?”

“Yes, an’ more,” said the skipper confidently.

“If I only knew how much it is to be,” said Mrs Gaff thoughtfully.

At that moment the door opened, and Kenneth Stuart entered, followed by his friend Gildart Bingley.  After inquiring as to her welfare Kenneth said: 

“I’ve come to pay you the monthly sum which is allowed you by the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society.  Mr Bingley asked me to call as he could not do so; but from all accounts I believe you won’t need it.  May I congratulate you on your good fortune, Mrs Gaff.”

Kenneth took out his purse as he spoke to pay the sum due to her.

Mrs Gaff seemed to be struck with a sudden thought.  She thanked Kenneth for his congratulations, and then said: 

“As to my not needin’ the money you’ve brought me, young man, I take leave to say that I do need it; so you’ll obleege me by handin’ it over.”

Kenneth obeyed in surprise not unmingled with disappointment in finding such a grasping spirit in one whom he had hitherto thought well of.  He paid the money, however, in silence, and was about to take his leave when Mrs Gaff stopped him.

“This sum has bin paid to me riglarly for the last three months.”

“I believe it has,” said Kenneth.

“And,” continued Mrs Gaff, “it’s been the means o’ keepin’ me and my Tottie from starvation.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” returned Kenneth, who began to wonder what was to follow; but he was left to wonder, for Mrs Gaff abruptly asked him and Gildart to be seated, as she was anxious to find out a fact or two in regard to principal and interest.

Gildart could scarce avoid laughing as he glanced at his companion.

“Now,” began Mrs Gaff, seating herself opposite Kenneth, with a hand on each knee, “I wants to know what a principal of ten thousand pounds comes to in the way of interest in a twel’month.”

“Well, Mrs Gaff,” said Kenneth, “that depends -

“Dear me!” cried Mrs Gaff petulantly, “every mortial thing that has to do with money seeps to depend.  Could ye not tell me somethin’ about it, now, that doesn’t depend?”

“Not easily,” replied Kenneth with a laugh; “but I was going to say that if you get it invested at five per cent, that would give you an income of five hundred pounds a year.”

“How much?” inquired Mrs Gaff in a high key, while her eyes widened with astonishment.

Kenneth repeated the sum.

“Young man, you’re jokin’.”

“Indeed I am not,” said Kenneth earnestly, with an appealing glance at Gildart.

“True - as Johnson’s Dictionary,” said the middy.  Mrs Gaff spent a few moments in silent and solemn reflection.

“The Independent clergyman,” she said in a low meditative tone, “has only two hundred a year - so I’m told; an’ the doctor at the west end has got four hundred, and he keeps a fine house an’ servants; an’ Sam Balls, the rich hosier, has got six hundred - so they say; and Mrs Gaff, the poor critter, has only got five hundred!  That’ll do,” she continued, with a sudden burst of animation, “shake out the reefs in yer tops’ls, lass, slack off yer sheets, ease the helm, an’ make the most on it while the fair wind lasts.”

Having thus spoken, Mrs Gaff hastily folded up in a napkin the sum just given her, and put it, along with the bank-book, into the tea-caddy, which she locked and deposited safely in the corner cupboard.  Immediately after, her visitors, much surprised at her eccentric conduct, rose and took their leave.