A few days after, Uncle Medway brought down a closely-written letter of several pages, which he asked Matilda to copy for him, as she had so often expressed the pleasure it gave her to do any thing for her dear uncle. Matilda received the document with a gracious smile, and promised it should be done by the following morning. That evening the sisters went out with their mother, and Mr. Medway retired early to his own room, but having occasion to come down again for his glasses, he saw Grace bending over a table, on which were spread writing materials. She leaned her head on her clasped hands and sighed heavily. As he entered the room she looked up, and hastily drew a blank sheet over the page she had written. “You look pale, child,” said the old gentleman, as he put on his spectacles. “What are you doing there?” “Only writing a little—but I have a severe headache,” answered Grace. “Go to bed, then—what are you poking your eyes out there for? I dare say some long letter to a sentimental friend, eh?” He approached the table as he spoke. “You shall not see it, if it is,” said Grace, playfully putting her hand on the paper, “and I must finish it to-night, because I have promised—” she paused. “Well, well,” said the old man, kindly, “promises must be kept, of course. I hope Matilda has kept her promise of copying my letter—do _you_ think it will be finished by to-morrow morning, Grace?” And without waiting a reply, he left the room. The following morning, the letter and copy were laid by Uncle Medway’s plate, and the old gentleman, examining it with an approving glance, took a fifty dollar note from his pocket-book, and said, “I do not wish to offend, by offering a remuneration for this correct and beautiful copy; but I know you ladies have always some charitable object of interest, and the fair writer of this must have devoted many hours to its accomplishment. It will gratify her to have the power of doing good in every way—a power which will, perhaps, ere long be unlimited. Will you accept it, Matilda, as to you it justly belongs, and be my almoner?” Matilda’s eyes sparkled; this speech inferred much, and as she gracefully took the note, she thanked her uncle, and promised to dispose of it in charitable donations. After breakfast, Uncle Medway was deeply engrossed in a paper, which he was endeavoring to decipher, and the sisters were sitting together, when Sophy said, “Well, Matilda, what charitable institution do you intend to benefit by uncle’s donation; as you earned the money so honorably, you will, of course, disburse it with equal honesty and justice.” Matilda colored slightly, but laughed, saying, “I shall do myself the charity to purchase that superb head-dress, and several costly et cæteras that I want for Mrs. Dayton’s ball; and if you are a good girl, and hold your tongue, you shall be an object of charity, too.”