And there was not one present, but Harvey Green, who did not utter some word of pity or sympathy.  He shrugged his shoulders, and looked as much of contempt and indifference as he thought it prudent to express.

“See here, boys,” spoke out one of the company, “can’t we do something for poor Mrs. Morgan?  Can’t we make up a purse for her?”

“That’s it,” was quickly responded; “I’m good for three dollars; and there they are,” drawing out the money and laying it upon the counter.

“And here are five to go with them,” said I, quickly stepping forward, and placing a five-dollar bill along side of the first contribution.

“Here are five more,” added a third individual.  And so it went on, until thirty dollars were paid down for the benefit of Mrs. Morgan.

“Into whose hands shall this be placed?” was next asked.

“Let me suggest Mrs. Slade,” said I.  “To my certain knowledge, she has been with Mrs. Morgan to-night.  I know that she feels in her a true woman’s interest.”

“Just the person,” was answered.  “Frank, tell your mother we would like to see her.  Ask her to step into the sitting-room.”

In a few moments the boy came back, and said that his mother would see us in the next room, into which we all passed.  Mrs. Slade stood near the table, on which burned a lamp.  I noticed that her eyes were red, and that there was on her countenance a troubled and sorrowful expression.

“We have just heard,” said one of the company, “that little Mary Morgan is dead.”

“Yes—­it is too true,” answered Mrs. Slade, mournfully.  “I have just left there.  Poor child! she has passed from an evil world.”

“Evil it has indeed been to her,” was remarked.

“You may well say that.  And yet, amid all the evil, she been an angel of mercy.  Her last thought in dying was of her miserable father.  For him, at any time, she would have laid down her life willingly.”

“Her mother must be nearly broken-hearted.  Mary is the last of her children.”

“And yet the child’s death may prove a blessing to her.”

“How so?”

“Her father promised Mary, just at the last moment—­solemnly promised her—­that, henceforth, he would never taste liquor.  That was all her trouble.  That was the thorn in her dying pillow.  But he plucked it out, and she went to sleep, lying against his heart.  Oh, gentlemen! it was the most touching sight I ever saw.”

All present seemed deeply moved.

“They are very poor and wretched.” was said.

“Poor and miserable enough,” answered Mrs.’  Slade.

“We have just been taking up a collection for Mrs. Morgan.  Here is the money, Mrs. Slade—­thirty dollars—­we place it in your hands for her benefit.  Do with it, for her, as you may see best.”