“I should think,” said Mrs. Little, “that she was in nice business, running around, gossiping about indigent widows, when some of her own relatives are so poor they can hardly keep soul and body together.”

“Is this really so?” asked Mrs. Miller.

“Certainly it is.  I had it from my chambermaid, whose sister is cook next door to where a cousin of Mrs. Harding’s lives, and she says they are, one half of their time, she really believes, in a starving condition.”

“But does Mrs. Harding know this?”

“She ought to know it, for she goes there sometimes, I hear.”

“She didn’t come merely to gossip about the poor widow,” said Mrs. Miller.  “Her errand was to obtain something to relieve her necessities.”

“Did you give her any thing?” asked Mrs. Little.

“No; but I told her to call and see me to-morrow, when I would have something for her.”

“Do you want to know my opinion of this matter?” said Mrs. Little, drawing herself up, and assuming a very important air.

“What is your opinion?”

“Why, that there is no poor widow in the case at all.”

“Mrs. Little!”

“You needn’t look surprised.  I’m in earnest.  I never had much faith in Mrs. Harding, at the best.”

“I am surprised.  If there was no poor widow in the case, what did she want with charity?”

“She has poor relations of her own, for whom, I suppose, she’s ashamed to beg.  So you see my meaning now.”

“You surely wrong her.”

“Don’t believe a word of it.  At any rate, take my advice, and be the almoner of your own bounty.  When Mrs. Harding comes again, ask her the name of this poor widow, and where she resides.  If she gives you a name and residence, go and see for yourself.”

“I will act on your suggestion,” said Mrs. Miller.  “Though I can hardly make up my mind to think so meanly of Mrs. Harding; still, from the impression your words produce, I deem it only prudent to be, as you term it, the almoner of my own bounty.”

The next lady upon whom Mrs. Harding called, was a Mrs. Johns, and in her mind she succeeded in also awakening an interest for the poor widow.

“Call and see me to-morrow,” said Mrs. Johns, “and I’ll have something for you.”

Not long after Mrs. Harding’s departure, Mrs. Little called, in her round of gossipping visits, and to her Mrs. Johns mentioned the case of the poor widow, that matter being, for the time, uppermost in her thoughts.

“Mrs. Harding’s poor widow, I suppose,” said Mrs. Little, in a half-sneering, half-malicious tone of voice.

Mrs. Johns looked surprised, as a matter of course.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing, much.  Only I’ve heard of this destitute widow before.”

“You have?”

“Yes, and between ourselves,”—­the voice of Mrs. Little became low and confidential—­“it’s the opinion of Mrs. Miller and myself, that there is no poor widow in the case.”