"And your mother thinks I have too much money; does she? Well, I do not know but I have, if having more than I know what to do with is having too much."
"Why don't you give some away?" Bessie asked.
"I do, and then am scolded for it. I drove down the other day to take some to those shipwrecked people, and the next day Mr. Howard came to me with his long face and told me I had done more harm than good; for some of them had been drinking with the money I gave them, and had a fight and no end of trouble. That is always the way. I am tired of myself, of my money, and everything else."
Bessie did not know what to make of this odd young lady, who was talking in such a strange way to her, but she could not help feeling sorry for her as she stood leaning on the wall with a tired, disappointed look on her face, and said these words in a troubled voice.
"Miss Adams," she said, "why don't you ask our Father in heaven to give you some one to take care of you and your money, and to make you—" Bessie stopped short.
"Well," said Miss Adams, smiling, "to make me what?"
"I am afraid you would not like me to say it," said Bessie, fidgeting on her hard seat. "I think I had better go to nurse."
"You shall go, but I would like to hear what you were going to say. To make me what?"
"To make you behave yourself," said Bessie, gravely, not quite sure she was doing right to say it.