he tone reached the old man's
feelings, and he partly turned himself to look at the speaker. She was a
little girl, not over eleven years of age, and in company with a lad
some year or two older. Both were coarsely clad.

"What would you do with a dollar, sis?" replied the boy.

"I'd buy brother William a pair of nice gloves, and a comforter, and a
pair of rubber shoes. That's what I'd do with it. He has to go away so
early, in the cold, every morning; and he's 'most perished, I know,
sometimes. Last night his feet were soaking with wet. His shoes are not
good; and mother says she hasn't money to buy him a new pair just now.
Oh, I wish I had a dollar!"

Instinctively Mr. Alexander's hand was in his pocket, and a moment
after, a round, bright silver dollar glittered in that of the girl.

But little farther did Mr. Alexander extend his walk. As if by magic,
the hue of his feelings had changed. The pressure on his heart was gone,
and its fuller pulses sent the blood bounding and frolicking along every
expanding artery. He thought not of pictures nor possessions. All else
was obscured by the bright face of the child, as she lifted to his her
innocent eyes, brimming with grateful tears.

One dollar spent unselfishly brought more real pleasure than thousands
parted with in the pursuit of merely selfish gratification. And the
pleasure did not fade with the hour, nor the day. That one truly
benevolent act, impulsive as it had been, touched a sealed spring of
enjoyment, and the waters that gushed instantly forth continued to flow
unceasingly.

Homeward the old man returned, and again he entered his library. Choice
works of art were all around him, purchased as a means of enjoyment.
They had cost thousands,--yet did not afford him a tithe of the pleasure
he had secured by the expenditure of a single dollar. He could turn from
them with a feeling of satiety; not so from the image of the happy child
whose earnestly expressed wish he had gratified.

And not alone on the pleasure of the child did the thoughts of Mr.
Alexander linger. There came before his imagination another picture. He
saw a poorly furnished room, in which were an humble, toiling widow, and
her children. It is keen and frosty without; and her eldest boy has just
come home from his work, shivering with cold. While he is warming
himself by the fire, his little sister presents him with the comforter,
the thick gloves, and the overshoes, which his benevolence had