General Garnet was certainly not a parsimonious man; perhaps his interest in his little godchild had died with her mother; perchance, being a very wealthy man, he could not appreciate the strait to which poor Miss Joe and her little family were reduced; possibly, he did not wish to give his personal attention to little Garnet’s necessities; probably, he intended that Miss Joe should get what was needed at the village store, upon his account; certainly, if Miss Joe had liberally interpreted his letters, and done so, he would, without demur, have settled the bill. But Miss Joe was far too cautious to put a doubtful construction on his letters, and run in debt. I never clearly comprehended the difficulty between them, but I believe they each misunderstood the other, and so General Garnet remained with the stigma of cruelty and ingratitude resting upon him, when, perhaps, he could be justly accused of indifference only. Just about the time of Miss Joe’s last application also, General Garnet, like Martha, was troubled with many things. He was a candidate for the Senate, and all his thoughts engaged in the secret, intriguing, vexatious, multifarious business of electioneering; or if he had a thought or a moment to spare, it was divided between the negotiation with his neighbor, Mr. Hardcastle, of a marriage between Magnus Hardcastle and Elsie Garnet, or in preparations for the return of his daughter—having his house repapered, repainted, and newly furnished. Magnus Hardcastle had obtained his diploma, and was getting into some little practice, despite the grumbling, growling, and swearing objections of his uncle, who could see no necessity for his nephew “making a slave of himself for nothing.” Yes, absolutely for nothing! Let Magnus show a dollar that he had ever earned by all his practicing of medicine. Let him show even a dollar that he had ever got back for the medicines that he had dispensed along with his attention and advice! It was true, Magnus’ receipt-book, if he owned one, was an unwritten volume. His practice was mostly among poor people, who had no dollars to spare. Well, then, what did he do it for? What good did it do him? There he was, rapped up out of his warm bed in the middle of the winter’s night, in the midst of a snowstorm, to ride five or six miles to some old woman in a cramp colic, or some child with the croup! What good did it do? And this was not the case once or twice, but five or six times in a month. And what good did it do him? Lives were saved!