The old woman took a sip of tea and went on. “I know about that money; at least, I know somethin’ about it. You’ve heard complaints agin my fust husband,—how bad characters used to come to our house, for one thing. I don’t deny but what there was somethin’ in that, though he was a good man to me; whatever else he was, he was good to me!” And the old woman wiped away a tear. “There was one Sam Williams,—I always telled my husband he’d better have nothin’ to do with him, for I was sure he’d come to some bad end; and sure enough he did; he escaped from a constable and was shot; died of his wound in jail. This was a year or two ’fore my fust husband died; and ’twas when the officers was arter him that he come to our house one night with a little trunk of money.”