How it all Came Round by L.T. Meade

It was one thing for Alexander Wilson to agree to let matters alone for the present, and by so doing to oblige both Charlotte Home and Charlotte Harman, but it was quite another thing for him to see his niece, his own Daisy's child, suffering from poverty. Sandy had been accustomed to roughing it in the Australian bush. He had known what it was to go many hours without food, and when that food could be obtained it was most generally of the coarsest and commonest quality. He had known, too, what the cold of lying asleep in the open air meant. All that an ordinary man could endure had Sandy pulled through in his efforts to make a fortune. He had never grumbled at these hardships, they had passed over him lightly. He would, he considered, have been less than man to have complained. But nevertheless, when he entered the Home's house, and took possession of the poorly-furnished bedroom, and sat down day after day to the not too abundant meals; when he saw pretty little Daisy cry because her mother could not give her just what was most nourishing for her breakfast, and Harold, still pale and thin, having to do without the beef-tea which the doctor had ordered for him; when Sandy saw these things his heart waxed hot, and a great grumbling fit took possession of his kindly, genial soul. This grumbling fit reached its culminating point, when one day -- mother, children, and maid all out -- he stole up softly to the children's nursery. This small attic room, close to the roof, low, insufficiently ventilated, was altogether too much for Sandy. The time had come for him to act, and he was never the man to shirk action in any way.

Charlotte Harman was all very well; that dying father of hers, whom he pronounced a most atrocious sinner, and took pleasure in so thinking him, he also was well enough, but everything could not give way to them. Though for the present Mr. Harman's money could not be touched for the Home's relief, yet Sandy's own purse was open, and that purse, he flattered himself, was somewhat comfortably lined. Yes, he must do something, and at once. Having examined with marked disgust the children's attic, he marched down the street. Tremins Road was long and narrow, but leading out of it was a row of fine new houses. These houses were about double the size of number ten, were nicely finished, and though many of them were already taken, two or three had boards up, announcing that they were still to let. Sandy saw the agent's name on the board, and went off straight to consult with him. The result of this consultation was that in half an hour he and the agent were all over the new house. Sandy went down to the basement, and thought himself particularly knowing in poking his nose into corners, in examining the construction of the kitchen-range, and expecting a copper for washing purposes to be put up in the scullery. Upstairs he selected a large and bright room, the windows of which commanded a peep of distant country. Here his pretty little Pet Daisy might play happily, and get back her rosy cheeks, and sleep well at night without coming downstairs heavy-eyed to breakfast. Finally he took the house on the spot, and ordered in paperers and painters for the following Monday.