But a sharper mortification was in store for her.  The letter of her husband’s friend, in which he had returned the due bill for one hundred dollars, fell accidentally into her hands, and overwhelmed her with consternation.  For that new carpet, which had failed to win more than a few extorted sentences of praise from cousin Sally Gray, her husband had lost the esteem of one of his oldest and best friends, and was now suffering, in silence, the most painful trial of his life.

Poor, weak woman!  Instead of the pleasure she had hoped to gain in the possession of this carpet, it had made her completely wretched.  While sitting almost stupefied with the pressure that was on her feelings, a neighbor called in, and she went down to the parlor to meet her.

“What a lovely carpet!” said the neighbor, in real admiration.  “Where did you buy it?”

“At Martin’s,” was answered.

“Had they any more of the same pattern?” inquired the neighbor.

“This was the last piece.”

The neighbor was sorry.  It was the most beautiful pattern she had ever seen; and she would hunt the city over but what she would find another just like it.

“You may have this one,” said Mrs Cartwright, on the impulse of the moment.  “My husband doesn’t particularly fancy it.  Your parlor is exactly the size of mine.  It is all made and bound nicely as you can see; and this work on it shall cost you nothing.  We paid a little over fifty dollars for the carpet before a stitch was taken in it; and fifty dollars will make you the possessor.”

“Are you really in earnest?” said the neighbor.

“Never more so in my life.”

“It is a bargain, then.”

“Very well.”

“When can I have it?”

“Just as soon as I can rip it from the floor,” said Mrs. Cartwright, in real earnest.

“Go to work,” replied the neighbor, laughing out at the novelty of the affair.  “Before your task is half done, I will be back with the fifty dollars, and a man to carry home the carpet.”

And so she was.  In less than half an hour after the sale was made, in this off-hand fashion, Mrs. Cartwright sat alone in her parlor, looking down upon the naked floor.  But she had five ten-dollar gold pieces in her hand, and they were of more value in her eyes than twenty carpets.  Not long did she sit musing here.  There was other work to do.  The old carpet must be replaced upon the parlor floor ere her husband’s return.  And it was replaced.  In the midst of her hurried operations the old blinds with the new hangings came in, and were put up to the windows.  When Mr. Cartwright returned home, and stepped inside of the little parlor, where he found his wife awaiting him, he gave an exclamation of surprise.

“Why, Mary!  What is the meaning of this?  Where is the new carpet?”

She laid the five gold pieces in his hand, and then looked earnestly, and with tears in her eyes, upon his wondering face.