permission the minister's wife turned the knob and
entered the room. Her husband sat with bowed head resting on his
outstretched arms on the desk, and her eyes filled with tears at the
picture of despair before her.

"John, I suppose we can take this," said she, in a low voice,
reluctantly laying a little pile of silver on the desk; "there's just
ten dollars there." Then she recoiled in terror, so wildly did her
husband clutch the money.

"Where did you get this?" he gasped.

"I--I saved it from time to time out of the household money. I meant
you should take it and go out to Cousin Frank's for a rest and vacation
after this was over," said she doggedly.

"Vacation! Mary--vacation!" he exclaimed, with unutterable scorn.
Then he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a little change. With
trembling fingers he picked out ten pennies and a five-cent piece,
putting a lone quarter back in his empty pocket.

"Thank God, Mary, we've done it!" and the man's voice broke, and a big
tear rolled down his cheek and splashed on a dingy nickel.

New Year's night there was a jubilee meeting in the town hall. The
Reverend John Grey hurried through his bread-and-milk supper in some
excitement. He was to preside, and must not be late.

The hall was full to overflowing. On the platform with the minister
sat the deacons of the First Congregational Church--and the Honorable
Peter Wentworth. The well-fed, well-groomed, honorable gentleman
himself looked about with a complacent smile--this was indeed a most
delightful occasion.

The Reverend John Grey's address was an eloquent tribute to the great
generosity of their distinguished fellow-townsman. The minister's
voice trembled affectingly, and his thin cheeks flushed with emotion.
The First Congregational Church was deeply indebted to the Honorable
Peter Wentworth, and would fain express its gratitude.

The minister's wife listened with a far-away look on her face, and
little Donald Marsh gazed with round eyes of awe at the great man who
had been so very generous; while over in an obscure corner of the hall
a pale little woman stealthily rearranged the folds of her gown, that
she might hide from inquisitive eyes the great darn on the front
breadth of her worn black cashmere.

The Daltons and the Legacy

The legacy amounted to ten thousand dollars; and coming as it did from
a little known, scarcely remembered relative it seemed even more unreal
than the man who had