Eight months had gone by, and the time had come for the opening of the new chapel.
Then it was that Jennifer came cautiously to her friend and asked to speak to him privately. They went down the road together, and as soon as they were past the houses of the village she stopped and took carefully from her pocket a little piece of paper which she put into his hands.
"There," she said, "that is for the new chapel."
He opened it and found a half sovereign. "I am so glad to give a bit of that colour, sir," and Jennifer's face beamed with joy.
But the good man started, quite frightened. "I cannot take it, Jennifer. Really I must not. Half a sovereign from you? No, it would not be right."
Jennifer pushed back his hand as he held it out to her. "Not take it!" she cried. "But you must take it, sir; 'tis the Lord's."
"But really you cannot afford it. It is very good of you."
"But I have afforded it, you see," she laughed; "and I am going to afford another before I have done."
He held the coin reluctantly in his hand. "It really hurts me to think of it; and you so poor as you are."
"Well, I am sorry to hurt anybody. But there's no need to be hurt about it a bit. I thought when I rang out that half sovereign that it was the prettiest music I ever heard, or shall hear till I get up among the angels. And they don't have a chance of anything like that, I expect." And she laughed again.