“And there is a poor, sick widow, in great need?” said Mrs. Miller, now speaking calmly, and with regained self-possession.

“There is a sick widow,” replied Mrs. Johns, “but not at present in great need.  Mrs. Harding has supplied immediate wants.”

“Well, Mrs. Little!” Mrs. Miller again turned her eyes, searchingly, upon her companion.

“I—­I—­thought so.  It was my impression—­I had good reason for—­I—­I” stammered Mrs. Little.

“It should have been enough for you to check a benevolent impulse in my case by your unfounded suggestions.  Not content with this, however, you must use my name in still further spreading your unjust suspicions, and actually make me the author of charges against a noble-minded woman, which had their origin in your own evil thoughts.”

“I will not bear such language!” said the offended Mrs. Little, indignantly; and turning with an angry toss of the head, she left the ladies to their own reflections.

“I am taught one good lesson from this circumstance,” said Mrs. Miller, as they walked away; “and that is, never to even seem to have my good opinion of another affected by the allegations and surmises of a social gossip.  Such people always suppose the worst, and readily pervert the most unselfish actions into moral offences.  The harm they do is incalculable.”

“And, as in the present case,” remarked Mrs. Johns, “they make others responsible for their base suggestions.  Had Mrs. Little not coupled your name with the implied charges against Mrs. Harding, my mind would not have been poisoned against her.”

“While not a breath of suspicion had ever crossed mine until Mrs. Little came in, and wantonly intercepted the stream of benevolence about to flow forth to a needy, and, I doubt not, most worthy object.”

“We have made of her an enemy.  At least you have; for you spoke to her with smarting plainness,” said Mrs. Johns.

“Better the enmity of such than their friendship,” replied Mrs. Miller.  “Their words of detraction cannot harm so much as the poison of evil thoughts toward others, which they ever seek to infuse.  Your dearest friend is not safe from them, if she be pure as an angel.  Let her name but pass your lips, and instantly it is breathed upon, and the spotless surface grows dim.”

THE YOUNG MOTHER.

[The following brief passage is from our story, “The Wife,” in the series “Maiden,” “Wife,” and “Mother.”]

A new chord vibrated in Anna’s heart, and the music was sweeter far in her spirit’s ear, than any before heard.  She was changed.  Suddenly she felt that she was a new creature.  Her breast was filled with deeper, purer, and tenderer emotions.  She was a mother!  A babe had been born to her!  A sweet pledge of love lay nestling by her side, and drawing its life from her bosom.  She was happy—­how happy cannot be told.  A mother only can feel how happy she was on first realizing the new emotions that thrill in a young mother’s heart.