The small, hazel eyes of the lady glistened as she read; her ball of cotton fell from her lap unheeded. "Oh, how nice! How pleasant! How proud I am to be the wife of a man whom every body praises!" "Yes, Mrs. Tracy, it is pleasant, I acknowledge it. It is agreeable to feel that my efforts for the welfare of my fellow creatures are appreciated. In my pocket you will find a dozen copies of this report. I wish that you would see them folded and directed to the gentlemen whose names are on this list. It will be a pleasant work for you." "Will it be necessary to direct them this evening, Mr. Tracy? My mending is sadly behind this week." "An hour, after I have retired, will be sufficient for the business." He was turning back to the paper with a smile, when thinking it would be a suitable opportunity, she touched on a new theme. "I shall need a little money for family expenses." The smile quickly vanished as he asked curtly: "How much?" "Ten dollars will do, though I ought to have more. Sarah Barrows has been here to-day with her bill. She says her mother is sick and needs medicine." "Pshaw! That is only an excuse! She must wait my convenience. Here are ten dollars. Make them go as far as possible. Our expenses were never so heavy." The next morning as Mrs. Tracy was pouring her husband a cup of coffee she asked: "Did you notice in the paper the death of Mr. Edmond. I saw it as I was directing the Journals you left last night." "No," he answered with a start of surprise. His face paled a little, for memories of the past came rushing over him. Without interrupting his breakfast, he exclaimed presently. "So he's gone! I wonder what he's done with all his property!" A ring at the door-bell prevented an answer, if he expected any, and a boy from the telegram office was admitted by the servant. "Please, sir, this came two days ago; and, on account of the direction not being distinct it was sent to Miles Tracy Esq., in the country; and now it's come back to us again." The gentleman seized the narrow slip of paper and read eagerly: "Father is dying. Wants to see you. Carriage at depot to meet you this evening. "FRANCIS J. EDMOND." Mr. Tracy turned upon the messenger with an angry scowl. "Your office ought to be fined heavily for such mistakes. Here is a dying man sends for me on business of the last importance; a carriage sent a mile to convoy me to his house; and I not there. It may be a loss to me of—well more than you can imagine." "Will you please sign your name, sir?" ventured the boy, timidly extending the book. "No, not I! You may tell your master I am exceedingly displeased." "Here, boy, I'll sign it," said Mrs. Tracy following the messenger to the door, "only it's a terrible pity there was such a mistake." "I wish you would pack my carpetbag," remarked the merchant. "I shall start for Maytown in the eleven train."