What now was to be done?  She had excited the sick woman’s hopes—­had promised that her immediate wants, and those of her children, should be supplied.  From her own means, without great self-denial, this could not be effected.  True, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Johns had both promised to call upon the poor widow, and, in person, administer relief.  But Mrs. Harding did not place much reliance on this; for something in the manner of both ladies impressed her with the idea that their promise merely covered a wish to recede from their first benevolent intentions.

“Something must be done” said she, musingly.  And then she set herself earnestly to the work of devising ways and means.  Where there is a will there is a way.  No saying was ever truer than this.

It was, perhaps, a week later, that Mrs. Little called again upon Mrs. Miller.

“What of Mrs. Harding’s poor widow?” said the former, after some ill-natured gossip about a mutual friend.

“Oh, I declare!  I’ve never thought of the woman since,” replied Mrs. Miller, in a tone of self-condemnation.  “And I promised Mrs. Harding that I would see her.  I really blame myself.”

“No great harm done, I presume,” said Mrs. Little.

“I don’t know about that.  I’m hardly prepared to think so meanly of Mrs. Harding as you do.  At any rate, I’m going this day to redeem my promise.”

“What promise?”

“The promise I made Mrs. Harding, that I would see the woman she spoke of, and relieve her, if in need.”

“You’ll have all your trouble for nothing.”

“No matter, I’ll clear my conscience, and that is something.  Come, wont you go with me?”

Mrs. Little declined the invitation at first; but, strongly urged by Mrs. Miller, she finally consented.  So the two ladies forthwith took their way toward the neighbourhood in which Mrs. Harding had said the needy woman lived.  They were within a few doors of the house, which had been very minutely described by Mrs. Harding, when they met Mrs. Johns.

“Ah!” said the latter, with animation, “just the person, of all others, I most wished to see.  How could you, Mrs. Miller, so greatly wrong Mrs. Harding?”

“Me wrong her, Mrs. Johns?  I don’t understand you.”  And Mrs. Miller looked considerably astonished.

“Mrs. Little informed me that you had good reasons for believing all this story about a poor widow to be a mere subterfuge, got up to cover some doings of her own that Mrs. Harding was ashamed to bring to the light.”

“Mrs. Little!” There was profound astonishment in the tones of Mrs. Miller, and her eyes had in them such an indignant light, as she fixed them upon her companion, that the latter quailed under her gaze.

“Acting from this impression,” resumed Mrs. Johns, “I declined placing at her disposal the means of relief promised; but, instead, told her that I would myself see the needy person for whom she asked aid.  This I have, until now, neglected to do; and this neglect, or indifference I might rather call it, has arisen from a belief that there was no poor widow in the case.  Wrong has been done, Mrs. Miller, great wrong!  How could you have imagined such baseness of Mrs. Harding?”