“‘Oh, dear!  This is a strange world!’

“‘What new feature have you discovered now, mother?’ asked one of her daughters, smiling.

“’No new one, child; but an old one that looks more repulsive than ever,’ was answered.  ’Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now, in great trouble.’

“‘What about, mother?’ All the young ladies at once manifested unusual interest.

“Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance, upon which the eyes of the mother turned themselves, as I felt, with a severe scrutiny.

“‘The old story in cases like (sic) her’s,’ was answered.  ’Can’t get her money when earned, although, for daily bread, she is dependent on her daily labor.  With no food in the house, or money to buy medicine for her sick child, she was compelled to seek me to-night, and to humble her spirit, which is an independent one, so low as to ask bread for her little ones, and the loan of a pittance with which to get what the doctor has ordered for her feeble sufferer at home.’

“‘Oh, what a shame!’ fell from the lips of her in whom my heart felt more than a passing interest; and she looked at me earnestly as she spoke.

“‘She fully expected,’ said the mother, ’to get a trifle that was due her from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin; and she went to see him this evening.  But he put her off with some excuse.  How strange that any one should be so thoughtless as to withhold from the poor their hard-earned pittance!  It is but a small sum, at best, that the toiling seamstress or washerwoman can gain by her wearying labor.  That, at least, should be promptly paid.  To withhold it an hour is to do, in many cases, a great wrong.’

“For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence.  I felt that the thoughts of all were turned upon me as the one who had withheld from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing.  What my feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe; and difficult for any one, never himself placed in so unpleasant a position, to imagine.

“My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again, and in another channel; for I then perceived that suspicion did not rest upon me.  You may be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before ten o’clock on the next day, and that I never again fell into the error of neglecting, for a single week, my poor washerwoman.”

“Such a confession from you, Mr. Smith, of all men,” said I, feeling a little uncomfortable, that he should have told this story of himself.

“We are none of us perfect,” he answered, “He is best, who, conscious of natural defects and evils, strives against, and overcomes them.”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

MY BORROWING NEIGHBOR.

“I THINK, my dear,” said I to my husband one day, “that we shall have to move from here.”

“Why so?” asked Mr. Smith, in surprise.  “It is a very comfortable house.  I am certain we will not get another as desirable at the same rent.”