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Gladys, the Reaper

Creator: Beale, Anne
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CHAPTER IV. THE MISER. Whilst Mr Gwynne is reading his sermon, and Mrs Prothero is nursing the mendicant Gladys, an event is passing in the neighbouring country-town, involving matters of interest to her, and those belonging to her. In a small bedroom over a little huckster's shop, an old man lies dangerously ill. By his side is seated a middle-aged woman watching. In a dark corner, behind the bed, stands a man, who is so deep in shadow that you scarcely know whether he is young or old. The room is small and shabby, and contains apparently few comforts for one nearly approaching his last hour. There is a tap at the door, upon which the man behind the bed goes out, and returns, almost immediately, followed by Rowland Prothero. He goes towards the bed, and stooping down, whispers to the sick man.
The Corporation of London, Its Rights and Privileges

INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. London under the Romans Gilds Burghs Charter of William the Conqueror Reflections Subsequent Charters City divided into Wards Civic Hospitality The Quo Warranto Case Restoration of the Charter PART I. THE CORPORATION AS IT IS. The Municipal Constitution The Lord Mayor The Aldermen
'Father, you wished to see Rowland--he is here.' Rowland advances, and takes the seat vacated for him by the woman. The three inmates of the room are Mr and Mrs Griffith Jenkins, and their only son, Howel. They are cousins of the Protheros, Mrs Jenkins being Mr Prothero's first cousin, and the members of the younger generation being consequently second cousins. Griffith Jenkins motions to his wife and son to leave the room, which they do immediately. Rowland kneels beside his bed, the better to hear what he has to say. He appears, however to revive, and is distinct enough in his enunciation of the following words, though very slow. 'My son Howel is come back, Mr Rowland, and do promise to be study.' 'I am very glad to hear it; it must be a great comfort to you,' 'But I am not seure of him. He will be spending my money that I have been takking such pains to make.' 'I hope he may do good with it, Uncle Griff.' 'Good! no such thing. Squander, squander! Spend the beauty gold! Will you promise me to see to it? tak' care of it?'