Uncle Enos had a coughing spell just then; and, when he got over it, he said with an effort, for even to talk of giving away his substance cost him a pang: “I’m gettin’ into years now, and it’s about time I fixed up matters in case I’m took suddin’. I always meant to give you a little suthing, but as you didn’t ask for’t, I took good care on ’t, and it ain’t none the worse for waitin’ a spell. I jest speak on’t, so you needn’t be anxious about the little gal. It ain’t much, but it will make things easy I reckon.” “You are very kind, uncle; and I am more grateful than I can tell. I don’t want a penny for myself, but I should love to know that my daughter was to have an easier life than mine.” “I s’pose you thought of that when you come so quick?” said the old man, with a suspicious look, that made Christie’s eyes kindle as they used to years ago, but she answered honestly: “I did think of it and hope it, yet I should have come quicker if you had been in the poor-house.” Neither spoke for a minute; for, in spite of generosity and gratitude, the two natures struck fire when they met as inevitably as flint and steel. “What’s your opinion of missionaries,” asked Uncle Enos, after a spell of meditation. “If I had any money to leave them, I should bequeath it to those who help the heathen here at home, and should let the innocent Feejee Islanders worship their idols a little longer in benighted peace,” answered Christie, in her usual decided way. “That’s my idee exactly; but it’s uncommon hard to settle which of them that stays at home you’ll trust your money to. You see Betsey was always pesterin’ me to give to charity things; but I told her it was better to save up and give it in a handsome lump that looked well, and was a credit to you. When she was dyin’ she reminded me on’t, and I promised I’d do suthing before I follered. I’ve been turnin’ on’t over in my mind for a number of months, and I don’t seem to find any thing that’s jest right. You’ve ben round among the charity folks lately accordin’ to your tell, now what would you do if you had a tidy little sum to dispose on?” “Help the Freed people.” The answer came so quick that it nearly took the old gentleman’s breath away, and he looked at his niece with his mouth open after an involuntary, “Sho!” had escaped him. “David helped give them their liberty, and I would so gladly help them to enjoy it!” cried Christie, all the old enthusiasm blazing up, but with a clearer, steadier flame than in the days when she dreamed splendid dreams by the kitchen fire. “Well, no, that wouldn’t meet my views. What else is there?” asked the old man quite unwarmed by her benevolent ardor. “Wounded soldiers, destitute children, ill-paid women, young people struggling for independence, homes, hospitals, schools, churches, and God’s charity all over the world.”