know of,’ says she.  ’I’ve often asked her for various objects, and have been as often refused.  The last time,’ says she, ‘I did expect to get somethin’; for I asked only for a dollar to that noble society for providin’ young men, a-strugglin’ to prepare themselves for usefulness in the ministry, with some of the common necessaries of life, but she refused me.  I expect,’ says she, a-sneerin’ in such a way that I couldn’t stand it any longer, ‘I expect Miss Blake is a-savin’ all her money to buy her settin’-out and furniture with; for I suppose,’ says she, lookin’ more spiteful than ever, ’I suppose Miss Blake thinks that as long as there’s life there’s hope for a husband.’—­I happen to know what all the ladies thought of this speech, for every one of ’em afterwards told me; but, if you’ll believe me, one or two of the youngest of ’em kind of pretended to smile at the joke on’t, when Miss Jaynes looked round as if she expected ’em to laugh; for she thought, I suppose, I was really and truly no account, bein’ a cobbler’s daughter and a tailoress,—­and that when the minister’s wife insulted me, I dars’n’t reply, and all hands would stand by and applaud.  But she found out her mistake, and she begun to think so, when she see how grave your ma and all the rest of the older ladies looked, for they knew what was comin’.  I’d bit my lips up till now, and held in out of respect to the place and the company, but I thought it was due to myself to speak at last.  Says I, ’Miss Jaynes, I’ve always treated you with civility and the respect due to your place; though I own I ha’n’t felt free to give my hard-earned wages away to objects I didn’t know much about, when, with my limited means, I could find places to bestow what little I could spare without huntin’ ’em up.  I don’t mean to boast,’ says I, ’of my benevolence, and I don’t have gilt-framed diplomas hung up in my room to certify to it, to be seen and read of all men, as the manner of some is,—­but,’ says I, ’I will say that I’ve given this year twenty-five dollars to the Orphan Asylum, to Hartford, and I’ve a five-dollar gold-piece in my puss,’ says I, ’that I can spare, and will give that more to the same charity, for the privilege of tellin’ before these ladies, that heard me accused of being stingy, why I don’t give to you when you ask me to, and especially why I didn’t give the last time you asked me.  I would like to tell why I didn’t help sew in the Dorcas Society, to buy the new carpet,’ says I, ’but I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelin’s that ha’n’t hurt mine, and I’ll forbear.’—­By this time Miss Jaynes was pale as a sheet.  ‘I’m sure,’ says she, ’I don’t care why you don’t choose to give, and I don’t suppose any one else does.  It’s your own affair,’ says she, ’and you a’n’t compelled to give unless you’re a mind to.’—­’You should have thought of that before you twitted me,’ says I, ‘before all this company.’—­’Oh, Tira, never mind,’ says Miss Bramhall, ‘let it all go!’ But up spoke your Aunt Eunice, and says she, ’It’s no more than fair to hear Tira’s reasons, after what’s been said.’”