Jennings, mad as Darius's horse at the sight of the object he so longed for, once thought of rushing from his hiding-place, taking the hoard by a _coup de main_, and running off straightway to America: but--deary me--that'll never do; I mustn't leave my own strong-box behind me, say nothing of hat and shoes: and if I stop for any thing, she'd raise the house.
While this was passing through the immaculate mind of Simon Jennings, Bridget had been cutting up an old glove, and had made one of its fingers into a very tidy little leather sacklet; into this she deposited a bright half sovereign, spoil of the day, being the douceur of a needy brush-maker, who wished to keep custom, and, of course, charged all these vails on the current bill for mops and stable-sponges.
"Ha!" muttered she, "it's your last bill here, Mr.Scrubb, I can tell you; so, you were going to put me off with a crown-piece, were you?
and actually that bit of gold might as well have been a drop of blood wrung from you: yes--yes, Mr.Scrubb, I could see that plainly; and so you've done for yourself." Then, having sewed up the clever little bag, she dropped it into the crock: there was no jingle, all dumby: prudent that, in his aunt--for the dear morsels of gold were worth such tender keeping, and leather would hinder them from wear and tear, set aside the clink being silenced.

So, the nephew secretly thanked Bridget for the wrinkle, and thought how pleasant it would be to stuff old gloves with his own yellow store.

Ah, yes, he would do that--to-morrow morning.
Meanwhile, the pig-skin is put on again, and the honey-pot stored away: and Simon instinctively stood a tip-toe to peep ideally into that wealthy corner cupboard.

His mind's eye seemed to see more honey-pots! Mammon help us! can they all be full of gold?
why, any one of them would hold a thousand pounds.

And Simon scratched the palms of his hands, and licked his lips at the thought of so much honey.
But see, Mrs.Quarles has, in her peculiar fashion, undressed herself: that is to say, she has taken off her outer gown, her cap and wig--and then has _added_ to the volume of her under garments, divers night habiliments, flannelled and frilled: while wrappers, manifold as a turbaned Turk's, protect ear-ache, tooth-ache, head-ache, and face-ache, from the elves of the night.
And now, that the bedstead creaks beneath her weight, (as well it may, for Bridget is a burden like Behemoth,) Simon's heart goes thump so loud, that it was a wonder the poor woman never heard it.