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I looked into Helen’s face, over which tears were falling, and wondered if I were not dreaming. At school she had been the favourite of all, she was so full of good humour, and had such a cheerful, peace-loving spirit. Her parents were poor, but respectable people, who died when Helen was fifteen years old. She was then taken from school, and I never saw her afterward until she came to my house in the capacity of a washerwoman, hundreds of miles away from the scenes of our early years.

“But can’t you find easier work than washing?” I asked. “Are you not handy with your needle?”

“The only work I have been able to get has been from the clothing men, and they pay so little that I can’t live on it.”

“Can you do fine sewing?” I asked.

“Yes, I call myself handy with my needle.”

“Can you make children’s clothes?”

“Boy’s clothes?”

“No. Girl’s clothing.”

“Oh, yes.”

“I’m very much in want of some one. My children are all in”–rags and tatters I was going to say, but I checked myself–“are all in need of clothes, and so far I have not been able to get anybody to sew for me. If you like, I will give you three or four weeks’ sewing at least.”

“I shall be very glad to have it, and very thankful for your kindness in offering it to me,” returned Mrs. Partridge, rising from her chair, and adding as she did so–

“But I must be getting home. It is nearly dark, and Jane will be anxious to see me back again.”

I handed her the seventy-five cents she had earned for washing for me during a whole day. Promising to come over and see me early in the morning about the sewing, she withdrew, and I was left again to my own reflections.

“If ever a murmurer and complainer received a severe rebuke, it is I!” was the first almost audible thought that passed through my mind. “To think that I, with my cup full and running over with blessings, should make myself and all around me unhappy, because a few minor things are not just to my satisfaction, while this woman, who toils like a slave from morning until night, and who can hardly procure food and clothing for her children, from whom she is almost constantly separated, is patient and hopeful, makes me feel as if I deserved to lose what I have refused to enjoy.”

On the next morning Mrs. Partridge called quite early. She cut and fitted several frocks for the children, at which work she seemed very handy, and then took them home to make. She sewed for me five weeks, and then got work in another family where I recommended her. Since then, she has been kept constantly employed in sewing, at good prices, by about six families. In all of these I have spoken of her and created an interest in her favour. The mere wages that she earns is much less than what she really receives. All her children’s clothes are given to her, and she receives many a bag of meal and load of coal without knowing from whence it comes. In fact, her condition is more comfortable in every way than it was, and, in fact, so is mine. The lesson of patience I learned from Mrs. Partridge in my first, and in many subsequent interviews, impressed itself deeply upon my mind, and caused me to look at and value the good I had, rather than fret over the few occurrences that were not altogether to my wishes. I saw, too, how the small trouble to me had been the means of working out a great good to her. My need of a washerwoman, about which I had been so annoyed, and the temporary want of a seamstress which I had experienced–light things as they should have been–led me to search about for aid, and, providentially, to fall upon Mrs. Partridge, who needed just what it was in my power to do for her.

Whenever I find myself falling into my old habit, which I am sorry to say is too frequently the case, I turn my thoughts to this poor woman, who is still toiling on under heavy life-burdens, yet with meekness and patience, and bowing my head in shame, say–

“If she is thankful for the good she has, how deep should be my gratitude!”