There were thousands upon thousands of sovereigns upon the floor.
'It was old Pal, the shop,' said Mrs Jenkins, returning to her golden harvest, 'she was up nursing next door, and heard the noise.

I tell her it was the table falling down.' 'Now, mother, as soon as all is over, I must go to London and clear off my debts with some of this money; but I must see Netta first.' 'Why don't you be putting it in the bank, Howel, bach?
It will make a gentleman of you.' 'There's enough besides to make me a gentleman, if I am not one already; and I promise you, that when I am clear again I will come back and make all the rich men in the country hang their heads.

But I want to see Netta.' 'Write you a bit of a note, and I will manage to send it.' 'Pick up the money, mother, and I will write the note.' Mrs Jenkins proceeded to obey her son, whilst he unlocked a desk, and wrote the following hasty lines:-- 'I must be in London next Monday.

I must see you before I leave.

Meet me at the old place in the wood by the little Fall, Sunday evening, during church time.' He folded the note without signing it, and gave it to his mother, without adding any address.
'Seal it mother, and deliver it, or rather send it by some one you can trust.' 'I'll manage that.