of the spokeswoman, but forbade the insertion of her
donation in the visitor's book. During the following week she had
numerous applications from various charitable bodies, to whom she gave
generously, they said, while she reproached herself with narrowness;
to all, however, she positively refused to become a yearly subscriber;
and when closely urged by the rector to be one of the patrons of his
school, she answered, "Sir, my father received his property suddenly,
and I may be as suddenly deprived of it. I will give, but I will not
promise." Her impulse was to give, her habit to withhold.

She added one more servant to her establishment; and as she did not
send out cards returning thanks for the 'inquiries,' which increased
daily, Sarah Bond was a very lonely woman; for though some, from
curiosity, others from want of occupation, others, again, from the
unfortunately universal desire to form acquaintance with the rich,
would have been glad, now the solitary old miser was gone, to make
fellowship with his gentle-looking and wealthy daughter, yet her
reserve and quietness prevented the fulfilment of their wishes. Weeks
and months rolled on; the old house had been repaired and beautified.
Mr. Cramp, Sarah's law agent and 'man of business,' advised her to let
the house, of which she occupied about as much as a wren could fill of
the nest of an eagle; and, strangely enough, finding that the house
of her childhood was to let, she took it, removing thither all the
furniture which her father made her promise never to part with.
The ceiling of the best bed-room was obliged to be raised to admit
the lofty bed with its plumes, and the spinnet was assigned a very
comfortable corner in a parlour, where the faded stately chairs
and gorgeous furniture formed a curious contrast to the bright
neatly-papered walls and drugget-covered floor; for in all matters
connected with her own personal expenses, Sarah Bond was exceedingly
frugal.

_After_ her removal, though shy and strange as ever, still she
_looked_ kind things to her rich, and _did_ kind things to her poor
neighbours, only in a strange, unusual way; and her charity was given
by fits mid starts--not continuously. She moved silently about her
garden, and evinced much care for her plants and flowers. Closely
economical from long habit, rather than inclination, her domestic
arrangements were strangely at variance with what could not be called
public gifts, because she used every e