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“Something must be done” said she, musingly. And then she set herself earnestly to the work of devising ways and means. Where there is a will there is a way. No saying was ever truer than this.

It was, perhaps, a week later, that Mrs. Little called again upon Mrs. Miller.

“What of Mrs. Harding’s poor widow?” said the former, after some ill-natured gossip about a mutual friend.

“Oh, I declare! I’ve never thought of the woman since,” replied Mrs. Miller, in a tone of self-condemnation. “And I promised Mrs. Harding that I would see her. I really blame myself.”

“No great harm done, I presume,” said Mrs. Little.

“I don’t know about that. I’m hardly prepared to think so meanly of Mrs. Harding as you do. At any rate, I’m going this day to redeem my promise.”

“What promise?”

“The promise I made Mrs. Harding, that I would see the woman she spoke of, and relieve her, if in need.”

“You’ll have all your trouble for nothing.”

“No matter, I’ll clear my conscience, and that is something. Come, wont you go with me?”

Mrs. Little declined the invitation at first; but, strongly urged by Mrs. Miller, she finally consented. So the two ladies forthwith took their way toward the neighbourhood in which Mrs. Harding had said the needy woman lived. They were within a few doors of the house, which had been very minutely described by Mrs. Harding, when they met Mrs. Johns.

“Ah!” said the latter, with animation, “just the person, of all others, I most wished to see. How could you, Mrs. Miller, so greatly wrong Mrs. Harding?”

“Me wrong her, Mrs. Johns? I don’t understand you.” And Mrs. Miller looked considerably astonished.

“Mrs. Little informed me that you had good reasons for believing all this story about a poor widow to be a mere subterfuge, got up to cover some doings of her own that Mrs. Harding was ashamed to bring to the light.”

“Mrs. Little!” There was profound astonishment in the tones of Mrs. Miller, and her eyes had in them such an indignant light, as she fixed them upon her companion, that the latter quailed under her gaze.

“Acting from this impression,” resumed Mrs. Johns, “I declined placing at her disposal the means of relief promised; but, instead, told her that I would myself see the needy person for whom she asked aid. This I have, until now, neglected to do; and this neglect, or indifference I might rather call it, has arisen from a belief that there was no poor widow in the case. Wrong has been done, Mrs. Miller, great wrong! How could you have imagined such baseness of Mrs. Harding?”

“And there is a poor, sick widow, in great need?” said Mrs. Miller, now speaking calmly, and with regained self-possession.

“There is a sick widow,” replied Mrs. Johns, “but not at present in great need. Mrs. Harding has supplied immediate wants.”

“Well, Mrs. Little!” Mrs. Miller again turned her eyes, searchingly, upon her companion.

“I–I–thought so. It was my impression–I had good reason for–I–I” stammered Mrs. Little.

“It should have been enough for you to check a benevolent impulse in my case by your unfounded suggestions. Not content with this, however, you must use my name in still further spreading your unjust suspicions, and actually make me the author of charges against a noble-minded woman, which had their origin in your own evil thoughts.”

“I will not bear such language!” said the offended Mrs. Little, indignantly; and turning with an angry toss of the head, she left the ladies to their own reflections.

“I am taught one good lesson from this circumstance,” said Mrs. Miller, as they walked away; “and that is, never to even seem to have my good opinion of another affected by the allegations and surmises of a social gossip. Such people always suppose the worst, and readily pervert the most unselfish actions into moral offences. The harm they do is incalculable.”

“And, as in the present case,” remarked Mrs. Johns, “they make others responsible for their base suggestions. Had Mrs. Little not coupled your name with the implied charges against Mrs. Harding, my mind would not have been poisoned against her.”

“While not a breath of suspicion had ever crossed mine until Mrs. Little came in, and wantonly intercepted the stream of benevolence about to flow forth to a needy, and, I doubt not, most worthy object.”

“We have made of her an enemy. At least you have; for you spoke to her with smarting plainness,” said Mrs. Johns.

“Better the enmity of such than their friendship,” replied Mrs. Miller. “Their words of detraction cannot harm so much as the poison of evil thoughts toward others, which they ever seek to infuse. Your dearest friend is not safe from them, if she be pure as an angel. Let her name but pass your lips, and instantly it is breathed upon, and the spotless surface grows dim.”