Mr. Chicory loved his wife almost as much as Mrs. Chicory loved her husband. They had lived together for nearly forty years, and every Saturday morning throughout that long time Mr. Chicory had faithfully handed over to his wife his entire earnings, which were not much, and deducted only 5s. per week, which served as pocket money for Mr. Chicory, and enabled him to provide coals during the winter months, collection money at church, oil for the lamps, and sundry presents from time to time to his children, to say nothing of the Lame Crossing Sweeper.

Each week a small sum was deposited in the Post Office Savings Bank, and when Mr. Chicory died, not only had he to the credit of this account a balance of £108 0s. 10d., but his Cottage, which was valued at £90, was his own Freehold Property. He had made a Will and paid the Solicitor 10s. 6d. for drawing it up, and nobody could have read what he said about his old wife, to whom he left everything, without feeling a lump in the throat.

On the day of his funeral not one blind was undrawn in all the Cottages round about, and Mr. Michaelmas, the Carriage Builder, sent a landau specially for Mrs. Chicory. At least one hundred people went to the Church, where the good old Vicar read the Service, and the Lame Crossing Sweeper painted his broom-handle black.

Mrs. Chicory, some weeks later, paid the Solicitor another 10s. 6d., as a fee, and asked him to do the rest.

What did he do?