'Fifty dollars!' said Hazel opening her eyes. 'My dear friend, have you any idea how much one dress costs? Fifty dollars will not do much for two people.' 'I will shew you what can be done with fifty dollars. And give you your second lesson in economy. Where did you get that name for me?' 'Picked it up, one day when you ceased to be an enemy.' 'In some place where worn-out were lying about. Worn-out things are shabby.' Hazel drew a protesting breath. 'There is nothing shabby or worn- out about it! It is entirely new,—spick and span. Please, is my next lesson to go deeper than Prim's trunk, and take off _all_ the globe buttons?' 'For people who have no gloves, Hazel?' Hazel looked startled for a minute, but then she looked incredulous. 'Go and find out all about it,' she said; 'and then we shall know what to do. I am talking of _clergymen's wives_.' Dane left that point uncombated. The next evening he came in with his hands full of pamphlets. And after dinner, when the room was clear, and the gas burners lighted up the warm, luxurious comfort and seclusion, glowing and rich, around them, Dane took his papers and sat down by Wych Hazel's side. 'I have found out several things about your clergymen's wives,' he began. 'Here, as you see, is a bundle of Reports. They concern certain funds of relief, established in various churches, for the help of disabled or superannuated ministers and their families. And, without going into details,—there are hundreds of such cases. Some of them are sick and old ministers, worn out in the service; others are widows of such men; others again, orphan families, whose mother and father are both gone. I have been told of the sort of destitution that is found among them. What do you think of a delicate child, for whom a bit of flannel could not be afforded? What do you think of a family of women and girls getting their own firing out of the woods, cutting it and backing it home, and that by the year together? What do you think of an old minister supported by the handiwork of an infirm and herself not young daughter? And I could tell you of living without books, without paper for writing, in want of calico for dresses, and muslin for underclothing, without pocket-handkerchiefs, without yarn to knit stockings or a penny to buy any, living on the coarsest food— And I am talking of _clergymen's wives_, Hazel.'