“You are somewhat free with your questions, sir. However, I have no objection to answering you. I shall lay it up.”
“For what purpose? I need not tell you that money, in itself, is of no value. It is only the representative of value. Why, then, do you allow it to remain idle?”
“How else should I employ it? I have a comfortable house well furnished: should I purchase one more expensive? My table is well provided: should I live more luxuriously? My wardrobe is well supplied: should I dress more expensively?”
“To these questions I answer, No. But it does not follow, because you have a good house, comfortable clothing, and a well-supplied table, that others are equally well provided. Have you thought to give of your abundance to those who are needy,—to promote your own happiness by advancing that of others?”
“I must confess that this is a duty which I have neglected. But there are alms-houses and benevolent societies. There cannot be much misery that escapes their notice,” said Mr. Hathaway.
“You shall judge for yourself.”
The stranger commenced unwrapping the package which he carried under his arm. It was a small mirror, with a veil hanging before it. He slowly withdrew the veil, and said, “Look!”
A change passed over the surface of the mirror. Mr. Hathaway, as he looked at it intently, found that it reflected a small room, scantily furnished; while a fire flickered in the grate. A bed stood in one corner of the room, on which reposed a sick man. By the side of it sat a woman, with a thin shawl over her shoulders, busily plying her needle. An infant boy lay in a cradle not far off, which a little girl called Alice, whose wasted form and features spoke of want and privation, was rocking to sleep.
“Would you hear what they are saying?” asked the stranger.