“Why, no, I never thought of a receipt. I’m so sorry,” and in her confusion she hit her hand against the hissing teapot she had just placed upon the table. The slight burn which she received, made her handkerchief necessary, and, in feeling for it, she touched the little roll which Miss Elinor had put in her pocket. Drawing it forth, and examining its contents, she experienced, for an instant, sensations similar to those which Benjamin’s brothers may be supposed to have felt when the silver cup was found in their possession. “What does it mean?” she exclaimed, reading aloud the receipt and examining the bill, which amounted exactly to the quarter’s rent. The blind man knew what it meant, and, bowing his white head upon his bosom, he silently thanked God who had raised them up friends in their sore need. Upon Alice the surprise produced a novel effect, moving her first to laughter and then to tears, and, notwithstanding her intention of “eating as much as she liked,” she forgot to taste many of the delicacies spread out so temptingly before her. In her estimation they were almost rich again, and never, perhaps, came sleep to her more sweetly than on that night, when she knew that the contents of the little box was theirs to do with as they pleased. Several evenings after this they were surprised by a call from Mr. Howland, who had not visited them before since the night he had found Adelaide Huntington there. Thoughts of Alice, however, as she lay sleeping on his sister’s lap, had haunted him. She was innocent of wrong, he was sure, and he had come to see her. It was hard, too, to believe there was aught of evil in that old man with the snow white hair and truthful looking face, and, after receiving their thanks for his generosity, he resolved to question them a little of the past, so he commenced by asking Alice if she had been intimately acquainted with Adelaide Huntington. Remembering her promise, Alice seemed much embarrassed, and answered hastily: “We were never intimate,” while at the same time she glanced toward her father, whose voice trembled slightly as he rejoined: “I had business transactions with Adelaide’s father, but our families seldom met.” The next moment he was talking of something else—his manner plainly indicating that any further allusion to the Huntingtons was not desired. “There is something wrong, or they would not be so unwilling to talk of their former life,” Mr. Howland thought, and, with his suspicions strengthened, he soon took his leave, stopping by the way to call on Adelaide, whose eyes beamed a joyous welcome as he entered the parlor, in which she received his frequent calls.