No man or woman is unblessed with the want of continual opportunity for doing good or being kind. 'Christmas will very soon be here once more,' says Mr. Silver. 'We'll have a merry gathering,' Mrs. Silver answers. 'There will be changes before the next comes round.' 'Yes; our little children are men and women now.' 'Good men and women, thank God!' 'Wife,' he says, 'I have thought many times of your words when I brought little Charley home twenty-three years ago. The child was lying in your lap, and you said, "Perhaps this is the reason why God has given us no children."' She looks at him with a tender light in her eyes. Between these two love does not show itself in words, but in ministering to each other unselfishly. 'They have been a blessing to us, dear,' she says. 'Our household will be smaller presently. Charley and Ruth, I think, are fond of each other. He brings her home now every night.' 'What did Charley earn last week? 'Thirty-eight shillings.' 'Is that sufficient to marry on?' 'Quite sufficient, and to spare; and Charley has money put by to start with. They must live near us. Charley would like to, I know, and Ruth too; but it will be time enough to talk of these things by and by.' 'Carry your mind ten years on, my dear.' 'Well, I do so.' 'What do you see?' 'If we live?' 'If we live.' She muses a little, looking into the fire. 'Ourselves old people; Charley and Ruth happily married, with children of their own; Mary married also, although her prince is not yet come, and is a stranger to us. Richard will go abroad: I can tell, by his reading and conversation, that his heart is set upon it. And Rachel--poor Rachel!--stopping sometimes with us, and sometimes--nearly always indeed--with Ruth and Charley. I can see myself with hair perfectly white, and you with only a fringe of white hair round your head.' He laughs softly and pleasantly, and caresses her hand. 'I can see nothing but happiness, dear.' They sit quietly before the fire, and the darkness grows deeper. The door opens, and Mr. Merrywhistle enters softly. 'Don't stir,' he says; 'and don't light the gas. I was told you were here, and I know how fond you are of sitting in the dark.' It was indeed a favourite habit with them when they were alone. He sits by them in silence; for a minute or two no word is spoken. Then Mrs. Silver places her hand lightly on his shoulder. 'I understand, I understand,' he says; 'you are waiting for me to speak. You always know when I am in trouble.' 'How can I help knowing? Your face I cannot see, but I hear your heart in your voice.' 'Tell me: is it a good thing to make other persons' troubles ours?' 'What is sympathy for?' she answers in return. 'I have spoken to you now and again of a child--a girl--whom I have seen occasionally---- 'The flower-girl?'