Miss Rachel had been accustomed to draw up and write out, at the commencement of each year, a series of severe resolutions; the fact that she never kept one half of them not abating their rigor in the least. But never in calmest moments, with pen in hand and diary before her, had any such earnest, self-denying resolves been made as were now made by the woman who stood in night array in her closet, holding a flickering lamp in one hand, and with the other taking down blankets and comfortables and piling them on chairs.
That done, she took a bountiful supply for herself and went back to bed. Her shivering soon ceased, and for the remainder of the night she slept the sleep of the just.
As a matter of course, when the daylight streamed into her room, and the red sun sent a slanting bar across her bed, Satan told Miss Rachel that it was perfect foolishness to pay any attention to a dream, and that it was simply improvident to go and give away that great pile of bedding she had laid out; that a couple of old ragged quilts would answer every purpose. He was obliged, however, to leave her in peace, for when Miss Rachel shut her lips tight, and said, "I shall do it," in that decisive way of hers, there was no need of further parley.
No sooner were the roads broken than she went in search of a man with a sleigh. When all was ready, it was a sight to behold—at least to the eyes of cold and hungry people. In the very bottom was a quantity of dry wood, then came a layer of meat, potatoes, apples, flour. And this was crowned by blankets and comfortables, more than enough for two beds in the very coldest weather. "I'll see if I don't get the upper hand of this mean, selfish spirit," Miss Rachel had ejaculated, as she stowed an extra blanket on the load at the last minute.
The Widow Barnes was bending over her smoky old stove, trying to coax some green knots to ignite, when the sleigh stopped in front of her house. She had a dream, too, last night. It was about Heaven. That happy place seemed to be filled with blankets and warm fires. But here, behold, was Heaven come down to her door! She assured the man he had come to the wrong place, but the note he handed her, with money to buy a whole load of wood, settled the matter.
From that time forth Miss Rachel took it upon her, as a sacred trust, to see to it that the Widow Barnes lacked for nothing. And, strange to relate, her subscriptions to foreign missions, home missions, freedmen, education, etc., have not been cut down a particle in consequence.
THE DOCTOR'S STORY.
"I WANT to tell you a story, young man."