former health; and although the
wound on his head was but partially healed, he was pronounced doing
admirably by the attentive physician.

He was now able to go out, and we took many long rides together,
keenly enjoying the beautiful scenery and the pure air. As strength
increased, the necessity of returning to his business pressed upon my
father, and the first week in September was appointed for our
departure.

On the last Sunday of our sojourn in Woodville, grandmother and I went
in the morning to church. There had just been a fearfully destructive
fire in one of the neighboring towns, and a large number of people
were homeless. The minister announced that at the close of the
afternoon service, a collection would be taken up for the sufferers,
and he strongly urged a generous contribution from his parishioners.

I had hitherto paid little heed, when in church, to what the minister
said; but since the dreadful accident and father's almost miraculous
recovery, I had been far more thoughtful and attentive than formerly.
My heart went out in deep sympathy and pity for the poor men, women,
and children who were made houseless in a single night, and I ardently
longed to do the little in my power to relieve them.

So, during the intermission between the services, I took out the money
I had brought with me, and which father had told me I was free to
spend as I pleased. I tied it up in my handkerchief. There was too
much for my pocket-book to conveniently hold, for it was all of the
carefully hoarded treasure of my bank. It was my design to put it into
the contribution-box.

Grandmother did not go to church in the afternoon; but father decided
to go, and I accompanied him. After the services were over, two men
arose and began to pass round the boxes to collect money for the
people whose homes had been burned. As I beheld one of them coming
slowly up the aisle, stopping at every pew, I was in a flutter of
excitement. It was a novel thing for me to put money into the
contribution-box, and my heart beat violently.

I drew out my handkerchief from my pocket, and hurriedly began to
untie the knot. But my usually nimble fingers were provokingly slow to
act now; and I pulled and pulled away, but to no purpose. The knot
obstinately refused to yield. The man with the box had nearly reached
our pew, and I began to fear I should lose the chance to give.

"Don't let him slip by me," I whispered so loudly to father as to
cause at