wakening i heard the larks

Great Uncle Philmore Fortescue Smythe has croaked in South Africa.
News of the reading of the will came last week.
He's left a thousand quid to the Dad.
The Dad is turning his nose up at it.
He's instructed his lawyer to refuse the money, and that if this creates legal complications, to hand the cash over to a charity.
Now here's the rub. And this really happened.
This morning I woke up around 10am.
I could hear the Mammy on the phone. She was speaking in a low voice but with exceptional firmness.
From what she was saying it was clear she was talking to the Dad's lawyer.
This is what I heard:
"Yes I know. He told me about the will and his decision. No, that's alright. Giving the money to charity is fine. But I want you to understand this. I am that charity."
For long moments after hearing her words the noble Heelers was incapable of rising from his bed. In fact the gales of laughter which racked my frail body, were of such persistence nay voraciousness, that all other physical capacities remained indefinitely suspended for a good half hour.