ffort in her power to conceal
her munificence. She did not, it is true, think and calculate, how the
greatest good could be accomplished. She knew but one path to charity,
and that was paved with gold. She did not know how to offer sympathy,
or to enhance a gift by the manner of giving. Her father had
sacrificed everything to multiply and keep his wealth; all earthly
happiness had been given up for it; and unsatisfying as it had been
to her own heart, it had satisfied his. Inclination prompted to give,
habit to withhold; and certainly Sarah Bond felt far more enjoyment in
obeying inclination than in following habit; though sometimes what she
believed a duty triumphed over inclination.

If Sarah Bond ministered to her sister's necessities, she did so
secretly, hardly venturing to confess she did so, but shielding
herself from her father's curse, by sending to her sister's child, and
not her sister. Receiving few letters, the village postman grumbled
far more at having to walk out to Greenfield, than if he was
accustomed to do so every day; and one morning in particular; when
he was obliged to do so while the rain poured, he exhibited a letter,
sealed with a large black seal, to the parish-clerk, saying he wished
with all his heart Miss Bond had remained at the old manor-house up
street, instead of changing; and where was the good of taking her
a mourning letter such a gloomy day? it would be very unkind, and
he would keep it "till the rain stopped;" and so he did, until the
next morning; then taking back word to the village postmaster that
Miss Bond wanted a post-chaise and four horses instantly, which
intelligence set not only the inn, but the whole village in commotion.
She, who had never wanted a post-chaise before, to want four horses to
it now, was really wonderful.

"Which road shall I take, Miss?" inquired the post-boy, turning round
in his saddle, and touching his cap.

"On straight," was the answer. Such a thrill of disappointment as
ran through the little crowd, who stood at the door to witness her
departure. "On straight!" Why, they must wait the post-boy's return
before they could possibly know which way she went. Such provoking
suspense was enough to drive the entire village demented.

Miss Bond remained away a month, and then returned, bringing with her
her niece, a girl of about eight years old--her deceased sister's only
child, Mabel Graham.

The following Sunday Sarah Bond went to church, leading h