ow she added that, since she had known the comfort of fresh air at
night, she should be very sorry ever to give it up. In windy weather she
had a large folding-screen, and in raw, more blankets and a little fire.

Besides the chair, another thing came in our way which gave pleasure to
both of us, though it was not very pleasantly ushered in, as its pioneer
was a long visit from Fanny's old "Sabbath school-ma'am," Miss Mehitable
Truman, who _would_ come up stairs. Towards the close of this visit her
errand came out. It was to inquire whether "Fanny wouldn't esteem it a
privilege to knit one or two of her sets of toilet napkins for Miss
Mehitable's table at the Orphans' Fair, jest by little and little, as
she could gether up her failin' strength." Fanny could not promise the
napkins, since, luckily for her, she was past speech from exhaustion, as
I was with indignation; and Miss Truman, hearing the Doctor's boots
creak below, showed the better part of valor, and departed.

The next day, it rained. We were kept in-doors; and Fanny could not be
easy till I had looked up her cotton and knitting-needles. She could not
be easy afterwards, either; for they made her side ache; and when Dr.
Physick paid his morning visit, he took them away.

I knew she would be sorry to have nothing to give to that fair. It was
one of the few rules of life which my mother had recommended us to
follow, never from false shame either to give or to withhold. "If you
are asked to give," she would say, "to any object, and are not satisfied
that it is a good one, but give to it for fear that somebody will think
you stingy, that is not being faithful stewards. But when you do meet
with a worthy object, always give, if you honestly can. Even if you have
no more than a cent to give, then give a cent; and do not care if the
Pharisees see you. That is more than the poor widow in the Gospels
gave";--how fond she always was of that story!--"and you remember who,
besides the Pharisees, saw her, and what he said? His objects would not
have to go begging so long as they do now, if every one would follow her
example." From pride often, and sometimes from indolence, I am afraid I
had broken that rule; but Fanny, I rather think, never had; and now I
would try to help her to keep it.

My mother's paint-box was on a shelf in our closet, with three sheets of
her drawing-paper still in it. Painting flowers was one of her chief
opiates to lull the cares of her careful