After dinner Mrs. Mier went out and spent thirty dollars in purchasing jewelry for her eldest daughter, a young lady not yet eighteen years of age.  That evening, at the tea-table, the strawberries were highly commended as being the largest and most delicious in flavor of any they had yet had; in reply to which, Mrs. Mier stated, with an air of peculiar satisfaction, that she had got them for eight cents a box, when they were worth at least ten cents.

“The woman asked me ten cents,” she said, “but I offered her eight, and she took them.”

While the family of Mrs. Mier were enjoying their pleasant repast, the strawberry-woman sat at a small table, around which were gathered three young children, the oldest but six years of age.  She had started out in the morning with thirty boxes of strawberries, for which she was to pay seven and a half cents a box.  If all had brought the ten cents a box, she would have made seventy-five cents; but such was not the case.  Rich ladies had beaten her down in her price—­had chaffered with her for the few pennies of profits to which her hard labor entitled her—­and actually robbed her of the meager pittance she strove to earn for her children.  Instead of realizing the small sum of seventy-five cents, she had cleared only forty-five cents.  With this she bought a little Indian meal and molasses for her own and her children’s supper and breakfast.

As she sat with her children, eating the only food she was able to provide for them, and thought of what had occurred during the day, a feeling of bitterness toward her kind came over her; but the remembrance of the kind words, and the glass of cool water, so timely and thoughtfully tendered to her, was like leaves in the waters of Marah.  Her heart softened, and with the tears stealing to her eyes, she glanced upward, and asked a blessing on her who had remembered that, though poor, she was still human.

Economy is a good thing, and should be practiced by all, but it should show itself in denying ourselves, not in oppressing others.  We see persons spending dollar after dollar foolishly one hour, and in the next trying to save a five penny piece off of a wood-sawyer, coal-heaver, or market-woman.  Such things are disgraceful, if not dishonest.

CHAPTER XIX.

LOTS OF THINGS.

“O DEAR!” said I to Mr. Smith one morning, as we arose from the breakfast-table, at which we had been partaking of rather a badly-cooked meal,—­“more trouble in prospect.”

“What’s the matter now?” asked Mr. Smith, with a certain emphasis on the word “now” that didn’t sound just agreeable to my ears.

“Oh, nothing! nothing!” I answered, with as much indifference of manner as I could assume.

“You spoke of trouble,” said he, kindly, “and trouble, in my experience, is rather more tangible than ‘nothing.’”

“I’ve another raw Irish girl in the kitchen, who, according to her own confession, hasn’t been above ten days in the country.  Isn’t that enough?”