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“Philury’s had money left her, I shouldn’t wonder;” “Her Cousin Van Deuser’s been fixin’ her up;” “She’s a-goin’ to be married!” were some of the opinions, wholly at variance with the text of the discourse, which found their way from mouth to mouth.

Miss Electa Pratt attached herself with decision to her friend, Miss Rice, directly the service was at an end. “I’m just dying to hear all about it!” she exclaimed, with a fond pressure of the arm linked within her own–this after the two ladies had extricated themselves from the circle of curious and critical faces at the church door.

Miss Philura surveyed the speaker with meditative eyes; it seemed to her that Miss Pratt was curiously altered since she had seen her last.

“Have you had a fortune left you?” went on her inquisitor, blinking enviously at the nodding plumes which shaded Miss Philura’s blue eyes. “Everybody says you have; and that you are going to get married soon. I’m sure you’ll tell me everything!”

Miss Philura hesitated for a moment. “I haven’t exactly had money left me,” she began; then her eyes brightened. “I have all that I need,” she said, and straightened her small figure confidently.

“And are you going to be married, dear?”

“Yes,” said Miss Philura distinctly.

“Well, I never–Philura Rice!” almost screamed her companion. “Do tell me when; and who is it?”

“I can not tell you that–now,” said Miss Philura simply. “He is in—-” She was about to add “the encircling Good,” but she reflected that Miss Pratt might fail to comprehend her. “I will introduce you to him–later,” she concluded with dignity.

To follow the fortunes of Miss Philura during the ensuing weeks were a pleasant though monotonous task; the encircling Good proved itself wholly adequate to the demands made upon it. Though there was little money in the worn purse, there were numerous and pressing invitations to tea, to dinner, and to spend the day, from hosts of friends who had suddenly become warm, affectionate, and cordially appreciative; and not even the new Methodist minister’s wife could boast of such lavish donations, in the shape of new-laid eggs, frosted cakes, delicate biscuit, toothsome crullers and choice fruits as found their way to Miss Philura’s door.

* * * * *

The recipient of these manifold favors walked, as it were, upon air. “For unto every one that hath shall be given,” she read in the privacy of her own shabby little parlor, “and he shall have abundance.”

“Everything that I want is mine!” cried the little lady, bedewing the pages of Holy Writ with happy tears. The thought of the lover and husband who, it is true, yet lingered in the invisible, brought a becoming blush to her cheek. “I shall see him soon,” she reflected tranquilly. “He is mine–mine!”

At that very moment Miss Electa Pratt was seated in the awe-inspiring reception-room of Mrs. J. Mortimer Van Deuser’s residence in Beacon Street. The two ladies were engaged in earnest conversation.

* * * * *

“What you tell me with regard to Philura fills me with surprise and alarm,” Mrs. Van Deuser was remarking with something more than her accustomed majesty of tone and mien. “Philura Rice certainly did not become engaged to be married during her stay in Boston. Neither has she been the recipient of funds from myself, nor, to the best of my knowledge, from any other member of the family. Personally, I have always been averse to the encouragement of extravagance and vanity in those destined by a wise Providence to pass their lives in a humble station. I fear exceedingly that Philura’s visits to Boston have failed to benefit her as I wished and intended.”