"I thought I heard you speak yesterday of buying Dorcas a vandyke,--or was it Mary?--and the day before of getting some shoe-buckles for Moses," added Mrs. Lyman, in the same quiet tones. "And only this morning your mind was running on a jockey for yourself. Whatever you please, dear. Take time to think." "O, I'd ravver have a jockey. I forgot that--a white one." "And what will become of the poor little girl?" "O, I guess Dorcas will give her some _remmernants_ to eat, and folks all around will see to her, you know." "My child, my child, you don't think as you did when those ladies were here. Do you remember your last Sunday's verse, and what I said about it then?" Mrs. Lyman's voice was very grave. Patty repeated the verse,-- "Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them; otherwise, ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven." She knew very well what it meant. "Doing alms before women is just the same as doing 'em before men," thought Patty. She had been making pretty speeches just for the sake of being praised, and she didn't care so very much about the beggar girl after all. "I am going out to see that poor child for myself," said Mrs. Lyman, putting down the black silk pocket she was making; and Patty followed, with her money clasped close to her bosom. But by that time the dirty-faced little creature had gone away. "She told wrong stories," said Dorcas; "she said, in the first place, her mother was dead, and afterwards that her mother was sick." "Naughty thing! I'm glad I didn't give her my silver dollar!" exclaimed Patty; though she dared not look up, for fear of meeting her mamma's eyes. "Where _have_ you been, child, to get so stained with paint?" said Rachel, who always saw things before any one else did. "Come here, and let me sponge your gown with spirits of turpentine." "Strange I shouldn't have noticed that," said Mrs. Lyman. "I hope Mrs. Potter didn't spoil her crape shawl when she put her arm round you, Patience." Patty dropped her eyes with shame, to think how pleased Mrs. Potter had been with her just for nothing at all. "Spirits _turpletine_?" said she, making believe she had never heard the word before. "_Spirits_ turpletine? That isn't _angels_, Rachel? Then what makes you call 'em spirits?" Rachel knew the child was talking for the sake of changing the subject, and she would not answer such a foolish question. "Stand still, you little try-patience," said she, "or I shall never get off the paint." Mrs. Lyman went back to finish her pocket. Ladies in those days wore them under their dresses, tied about their waists. Mrs. Lyman's was a very pretty one, of quilted black silk, and when it was done, Patty put her dollar in it, and jingled it beside a gold piece of her mother's. "Which is worth the most, mamma?" said she, "your dollar or my dollar?" "Mine is worth just twenty times as much as yours."