al estate, year before last,
nearly ruined me. I converted the remains of my property into cash, and
went on with my experiments, undiscouraged. Like all laborers in the
cause of science--which is the cause of humanity--I have met with many
obstacles. Several times, when I have been on the point of perfecting my
great invention, some small, unforeseen difficulty has occurred,
compelling me to reconstruct large portions of the machinery. Eighteen
months passed away, and I found myself penniless. I tried to borrow
money, but without success. Now, who do you suppose has supported us the
last three months?"

"Some benevolent relative, perhaps," said Mr. Wilkeson, hazarding a wild
guess.

"You are right, sir. And a near and dear relative it is--no other than
my little Pet here." Mr. Minford placed his right hand fondly on the
shining head of the young girl, who sat on a low stool by his side,
looking into his face.

She blushed deeply, and said:

"You forget the unknown good friend who sent the letters with money to
you, papa."

"No, no, I don't, Pet," continued Mr. Minford, patting her playfully on
the cheeks; "but you were the dearest and sweetest of my guardian
angels. You know you were, you rogue. Why, sir, you will hardly believe
it, but this little creature, when she knew our money was nearly gone,
taught herself the art of embroidery, with the aid of some illustrations
from an old magazine, and in less than a fortnight could work so
beautifully, that she was able to earn from three to four dollars a
week. When she first told me that she was going out to look for work, I
opposed it fiercely; but the obstinate little Pet would have her way.
She was lucky enough to get a job from a milliner, and pleased her
employer so well, that steady work was given to her, until last week,
when the kind-hearted lady died, and now little Pet has nothing to do.
Some people think, because she is young--"

"Please don't talk about me any more, papa," said Pet, who had been
blushing deeply, and looking very beautiful in the visitor's eyes. "You
forget what the postman used to bring you every Saturday."

"No, I don't, you little, troublesome, impertinent Pet. I was just about
to speak of it, when you interrupted me. You must know, Mr. Wilkeson,
that every Saturday the postman, on his first morning round, delivered
to me a letter, marked 'New York City,' containing two dollars, without
a word of writing inside, and addressed to me i