n his well established cottage, full
to the brim of plenty and comfort, to that which was passing at the
same hour of the day, a few weeks before, in the sad abode of Ellen,
herself its saddest inmate.

The table was spread for the evening meal, always eaten before the
sun hid his bright face, and George and Ellen, although the supper
was not yet brought in, had taken their places; and Moreland, too,
had drawn up with the baby on his knee, which he was amusing with an
apple from a well filled basket, the product of his own orchard.

A hesitating rap drew the attention of the tidy maiden who assisted
Mrs. Moreland in her duties.

"It is the poor old blind man," she said, in a tone of compassion,
as she opened the door.

"Here is a shilling for him, Sally," said Moreland, handing her a
piece of money. "The Lord has blessed us with plenty, and something
to spare for his needy children."

The liberal meal upon the table, the mother sat down with the rest,
and as she looked around upon each happy face, her heart blessed the
hour that she had given her hand to William Moreland. Just as the
meal was finished, a neighbor stopped at the door and said:

"Here's a letter for Mrs. Moreland; I saw it in the post-office, and
brought it over for her, as I was coming this way."

"Come in, come in," said Moreland, with a hearty welcome in his
voice.

"No, I thank you, I can't stop now. Good evening," replied the
neighbor.

"Good evening," responded Moreland, turning from the door, and
handing the letter to Jane.

"It must be from Ellen," Mrs. Moreland remarked, as she broke the
seal. "It is a long time since we heard from then; I wonder how they
are doing."

She soon knew; for on opening the letter she read thus:--

SAVANNAH, September, 18--.

MY DEAR SISTER JANE:--Henry has just died. I am left here without a
dollar, and know not where to get bread for myself and two children.
I dare not tell you all I have suffered since I parted from you.
I----

My heart is too full; I cannot write. Heaven only knows what I shall
do! Forgive me, sister, for troubling you; I have not done so
before, because I did not wish to give you pain, and I only do so
now, from an impulse that I cannot resist.

ELLEN.

Jane handed the letter to her husband, and sat down in a chair, her
senses bewildered, and her heart sick.

"We have enough for Ellen, and her children, too, Jane," said
Moreland, folding the letter after he had read it