"I think it possible," said Miss Saville, with a little asperity, "that God might choose to take even old Sally to Heaven. She's a naughty old woman--a cross, miserable old creature--and what she'd do there, if she was as she is, I can't tell. But God has never said, so far as I know, 'Old Sally shan't come to Heaven.'" This rebuke cast poor Mary into silence. She continued in a tremulous, half-defiant, half-convinced state for a few minutes, and then wiped her eyes again, and answered in a low tone: "I wouldn't be unneighborly, nor uncharitable neither--and God knows the heart--but my mother and old Sally wouldn't agree, no ways--and I'd work my fingers to the bone sooner than let Granny go." "You must take your own way, of course," said Miss Saville. "I only wanted to befriend you, my good woman. No--I'm not offended, and I don't suppose Mrs. Southcote is either. What we propose is real kindness both to Granny and you--but, oh no! don't fear--there are plenty who would be glad of it." Mary turned to me with a troubled glance; she thought that perhaps her balked benefactor was angry with her too. "Is there anything Granny would like--or you, Mary? Could I help you?" said I. "Is there anything I could do myself for you?" Mary made a very humble, reverential curtsey. "You're only too good, Ma'am," said Mary. "There's always a many things wanted in a small family. I'd be thankful of work, Miss, if you could trust it to me, and do my best to please--and Alice is very handy, and does plain hemming and seaming beautiful. Show the lady your work, Alice. If there were any plain things, Ma'am, to do--" "But, Mary, I am sure you have too much to do already. I would rather help you to do what you have, than give you more work," said I. Mary looked up at me with a startled glance, and then with a smile. "Bless your kind heart, lady! work's nat'ral to me--pleasure is for the rich, and labor's for the poor, and I'm content, I'd sooner sit working than go pleasuring; but it's another thing with the likes of you." Miss Saville was already at the door, and somewhat impatient of this delay, so I hurried after her, arranging with Mary that she was to come that afternoon to Alice at Cottiswoode. When we got out of the house, Miss Saville took me to task immediately. "You don't understand the people, my dear," said Miss Saville. "Mary was very right about the work: it's far better to give employment than to give charity--and that's not to save your purse, but to keep up their honest feelings. They're independent when they're working for themselves, and they're bred up to work all their life; and for you to speak of going to help them, it would only make them uneasy, and be unsuitable for you." "But I wish to help them--and giving work to Mary does not stand in the place of working myself," said I, with a little petulance.