“You can have the coat for the vases, if you care to make the exchange; if not, why no harm is done.”

For the space of nearly half a minute, the old man stood in apparent irresolution, then he replied, as he set down his basket and took out the pair of vases—­

“I don’t care; you shall have them.”

I took the vases and he took the coat.  A moment or two more, and I heard the street door close behind the dealer in china ware, with a very decided jar.

“Ain’t they beautiful, aunty?” said I to my old aunt Rachel, who had been a silent witness of the scene I have just described; and I held the pair of vases before her eyes.

“Why yes, they are rather pretty, Jane,” replied aunt Rachel, a little coldly, as I thought.

“Rather pretty!  They are beautiful,” said I warmly.  “See there!” And I placed them on the dining room mantle.  “How much they will improve our parlors.”

“Not half so much as that old coat you as good as gave away would have improved the feelings as well as the looks of poor Mr. Bryan, who lives across the street,” was the unexpected and rebuking answer of aunt Rachel.

The words smote on my feelings.  Mr. Bryan was a poor, but honest and industrious young man, upon whose daily labor a wife and five children were dependent.  He went meanly clad, because he could not earn enough, in addition to what his family required, to buy comfortable clothing for himself.  I saw, in an instant, what the true disposition of the coat should have been.  The china vases would a little improve the appearance of my parlors; but how many pleasant feelings and hours and days of comfort, would the old coat have given to Mr. Bryan.  I said no more.  Aunt Rachel went on with her knitting, and I took the vases down into the parlors and placed them on the mantles—­one in each room.  But they looked small, and seemed quite solitary.  So I put one on each end of a single mantle.  This did better; still, I was disappointed in the appearance they made, and a good deal displeased with myself.  I felt that I had made a bad bargain—­that is, one from which I should obtain no real pleasure.

For a while I sat opposite the mantle-piece, looking at the vases—­but, not admiringly; then I left the parlor, and went about my household duties, but, with a pressure on my feelings.  I was far, very far from being satisfied with myself.

About an hour afterwards my husband came home.  I did not take him into the parlor to show him my little purchase, for, I had no heart to do so.  As we sat at the tea table, he said, addressing me—­

“You know that old coat of mine that is up in the clothes-press?”

I nodded my head in assent, but did not venture to speak.

“I’ve been thinking to-day,” added my husband, “that it would be just the thing for Mr. Bryan, who lives opposite.  It’s rather too much worn for me, but will look quite decent on him, compared with the clothes he now wears.  Don’t you think it is a good thought?  We will, of course, make him a present of the garment.”