“That’s the pesky part on ’t: there’s such a lot to choose from; I don’t know much about any of ’em,” began Uncle Enos, looking like a perplexed raven with a treasure which it cannot decide where to hide. “Whose fault is that, sir?” The question hit the old man full in the conscience, and he winced, remembering how many of Betsey’s charitable impulses he had nipped in the bud, and now all the accumulated alms she would have been so glad to scatter weighed upon him heavily. He rubbed his bald head with a yellow bandana, and moved uneasily in his chair, as if he wanted to get up and finish the neglected job that made his helplessness so burdensome. “I’ll ponder on ’t a spell, and make up my mind,” was all he said, and never renewed the subject again. But he had very little time to ponder, and he never did make up his mind; for a few months after Christie’s long visit ended, Uncle Enos “was took suddin’,” and left all he had to her. Not an immense fortune, but far larger than she expected, and great was her anxiety to use wisely this unlooked-for benefaction. She was very grateful, but she kept nothing for herself, feeling that David’s pension was enough, and preferring the small sum he earned so dearly to the thousands the old man had hoarded up for years. A good portion was put by for Ruth, something for “mother and Letty” that want might never touch them, and the rest she kept for David’s work, believing that, so spent, the money would be blest. CHAPTER XX. AT FORTY. “Nearly twenty years since I set out to seek my fortune. It has been a long search, but I think I have found it at last. I only asked to be a useful, happy woman, and my wish is granted: for, I believe I am useful; I know I am happy.” Christie looked so as she sat alone in the flowery parlor one September afternoon, thinking over her life with a grateful, cheerful spirit. Forty to-day, and pausing at that half-way house between youth and age, she looked back into the past without bitter regret or unsubmissive grief, and forward into the future with courageous patience; for three good angels attended her, and with faith, hope, and charity to brighten life, no woman need lament lost youth or fear approaching age. Christie did not, and though her eyes filled with quiet tears as they were raised to the faded cap and sheathed sword hanging on the wall, none fell; and in a moment tender sorrow changed to still tenderer joy as her glance wandered to rosy little Ruth playing hospital with her dollies in the porch. Then they shone with genuine satisfaction as they went from the letters and papers on her table to the garden, where several young women were at work with a healthful color in the cheeks that had been very pale and thin in the spring.