o, have me have a hundred
cents, and you have ninety-nine cents, or me have ninety-nine cents, and
you have a hundred?"

Moses appeared to think hard for a moment, and then said,--

"Well, I guess I'd rather _you'd_ have the hundred."

"O, would you?" cried Patty, kissing him gratefully.

"Yes," said Moses; "for if I had the most, you'd be teasing me for the
odd cent."

The dollar burnt Patty's fingers. Some days she thought she would give
it to the heathen, and other days she wondered if it would be wrong to
spend it for candy. Sometimes she meant to buy a pair of silver
shoe-buckles for her darling Moses, and then again a vandyke for her
darling Mary. In short, she could not decide what to do with such a vast
sum of money.

One day there came to the house a beggar girl, a little image of dirt
and rags. She told a pitiful story about a dead mother and a drunken
father, and nobody could know that it was quite untrue, and her mother
was alive, and waiting for her two miles away.

Patty was so much interested in the little girl's story, that she almost
wanted to give her the silver dollar on the spot, but not quite. She ran
into the bedroom to ask her mother what it was best to do.

"Why, I thought I fastened that door," cried John, flourishing a
paint-brush in her face. "Scamper, or you'll get some paint on your
gown."

Patty scampered, but not before she had stained her dress.

"Where is mother?" asked she of Dorcas.

"In the parlor; but don't go in there, child, for the doctor's wife is
making a call, and Mrs. Chase, too."

Patty did not wait for Dorcas to finish the sentence, but rushed into
the parlor, out of breath. I am afraid she was rather glad to let the
doctor's wife know she had some money, and thought of giving it away.
Patty was not a bold child, but there were times when she did like to
show off.

"O, mother, mother!" cried she, without stopping to look at the ladies.
"Let me have my silver dollar this minute! 'Cause there's a poor
little--"

"My child," said Mrs. Lyman, in a tone which checked Patty, and made her
blush to the roots of her yellow hair.

"Pray, let her finish her story," said the doctor's wife, drawing the
little one to her side; "it's something worth hearing, I know."

"It's a little girl," replied Patty, casting down her eyes, "and her
mother is dead and her father is drunk."

Patty supposed he lay all the while with his hat on, for she had once
seen a man curled up