often much greater, than those of almsgiving;
the self-control necessary to refuse a gift is often
twice as great as that required to give. I once
feared that the refusal to give might appear very
harsh, and might cloud the hope and faith of
the poor. But I now believe that the gifts of
counsel, of sympathy, of unwearied energy to
imagine and start any self-supporting plan of
help, of loving memory of the wants of the poor,
of gentle sorrow in their wrong-doing, of large
hope for those of them who fall lowest and
wander furthest, will bear as bright and clear a
witness to them of God's love and God's ways
as any goods or money-gifts, however generous.

TWELVE MONTHS OF MY LIFE.

IN TWELVE CHAPTERS. CHAPTER VIII.

THE letter was for Miss Ashenhurst, but
Miss Pollard, who was nearest the door, took
it from the servant, and handed it to Sylvia.

"It is from Dr. Strong!" said the little lady,
dropping into the nearest chair, and opening her
round eyes in wonderment. And I heard her
murmuring while Sylvia read the latter:

"Advice about Mattie—not time to call—
does not approve of her walking about the
garden with a crutch. He might have waited till
to-morrow, and spoken to me."

But Sylvia sat grave and silent, with the
letter spread on her knees. She looked so
shocked that even I began to feel surprised, and
Miss Pollard went red and pale, and twitched at
the lappets of her little widow's cap.

"My dear," she said, looking at Sylvia with
tears in her eyes, " we are naturally anxious to
know what is the matter. Pray set our minds
at rest by assuring us that this is not danger, or
worse. If it is illness, he may recover; but
tell us that he is not dead, my dear—tell us that
he is not dead."

I do not think Sylvia heard, for she took no
notice of the little spinster's speech.

"Well," she said, slowly and thoughtfully,
"I never dreamed the poor man was so
seriously in earnest."

"In earnest about what?" I said.

"Why," said Sylvia, "it is not fair to tell,
but I am so much astonished that I cannot
hold my tongue. You must both promise me
to keep the secret. Well, then, here is a
proposal of marriage from Dr. Jacob Strong—kind,
good, simple man that he is!"

I glanced at Miss Pollard. She sat bolt
upright in her chair in speechless dismay; but
presently she got up all trembling and most piteous
to behold, and came across the floor to Sylvia.

"Miss Ashenhurst," she said, " will you allow
me to look at the envelope? These mistakes
have been known to occur. He may have been
writing to you also about Mattie, and may have
put yours into my cover, and mine into yours."

Sylvia looked at her first in surprise, and
then a comical look, half compunction and half
amusement, came over her face.

"Miss Pollard," she said, " why do you
suppose that this letter was intended for you?"

"Miss Ashenhurst," said Miss Pollard, " I
have heard of such things as flirts, who have
fooled many women, but I do not believe that
a respectable man like Dr. Strong, with a high
reputation in the country, would be capable of
making love to two ladies at once. My dear, I
know that I am a middle-aged, ordinary woman,
and should never dream of entering the lists
with a young and beautiful creature like
yourself; but when first one letter and then another
comes dropping into one's lonely life with
words of love and comfort that one never
thought to hear; when, in spite of one's silence
and slowness to believe in the change, these
letters keep perseveringly coming to one's
fireside; then, my dear young lady, even at my age,
one will begin to forget one's wrinkles and
common sense, and to look forward to events
which one would have laughed to think about
but a short time ago."

Sylvia looked up at the bright proud little
simple face, then dropped her head abashed,
and said penitently:

"Miss Pollard, I am very sorry indeed. I
should never have done it if I had foreseen how
things were to turn out. I hope you will
forgive me, but it was I who sent you those
letters."

"My dear, no!" said Miss Pollard, mildly,
feeling in her pocket, and producing a note.
"These came from Dr. Strong, Mattie will
assure you. You may compare the handwriting
if you wish."

And the little spinster opened her letter with
trembling triumphant fingers, and seemed to
feel herself happily fit to cope with this new
piece of quizzing from Sylvia.

"I am very sorry, Miss Pollard," repeated
Sylvia, " but I copied the writing, having a letter
of Dr. Strong's in my possession. That note was
written by me, as well as all the rest you have
received. It was a silly hoax."

Miss Pollard stood folding at her letter for
some moments, then seeming to take in the
truth, dropped the paper in Sylvia's lap, and
moved away quickly. She kept her face turned
from us as she crossed the room to the door,
but I could see the cruel quivering of the
contracted face, and I grieved for the kind little
wounded heart. By-and-by, she came back
equipped for departure, with her bonnet put on
the wrong way, the deep silk curtain dipping
over her wet patient eyes.

"Thank you, my love," she said, when I put
it straight. " I had no wish to see my foolish
face in the glass, and I did not feel it wrong.
It does not much signify."

Then she went up to Sylvia, and held out
her hand.

"Good night, Miss Ashenhurst," she said,
"and I hope you believe that I forgive you. I
know that old maids have always been sport for
the young, and perhaps it is natural that they
should be so. We have all our crosses to bear,
and I nourish no ill will. Forget, if you can,
the humiliation you have caused me this
evening, and be a good wife to Dr. Strong."

"I am very sorry I pained yon," said Sylvia;
"but I am not going to marry Dr. Strong."