So far as worldly goods were concerned, Mrs. Harding could not boast very large possessions. She was herself a widow; and her income, while it sufficed, with economy, to supply the moderate wants of her family, left her but little for luxuries, the gratification of taste, or the pleasures of benevolence. Quick to feel the wants of the needy, no instance of destitution came under her observation that she did not make some effort toward procuring relief.
What now was to be done? She had excited the sick woman's hopes—had promised that her immediate wants, and those of her children, should be supplied. From her own means, without great self-denial, this could not be effected. True, Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Johns had both promised to call upon the poor widow, and, in person, administer relief. But Mrs. Harding did not place much reliance on this; for something in the manner of both ladies impressed her with the idea that their promise merely covered a wish to recede from their first benevolent intentions.
"Something must be done" said she, musingly. And then she set herself earnestly to the work of devising ways and means. Where there is a will there is a way. No saying was ever truer than this.
It was, perhaps, a week later, that Mrs. Little called again upon
Mrs. Miller.
"What of Mrs. Harding's poor widow?" said the former, after some ill-natured gossip about a mutual friend.
"Oh, I declare! I've never thought of the woman since," replied Mrs. Miller, in a tone of self-condemnation. "And I promised Mrs. Harding that I would see her. I really blame myself."
"No great harm done, I presume," said Mrs. Little.
"I don't know about that. I'm hardly prepared to think so meanly of Mrs. Harding as you do. At any rate, I'm going this day to redeem my promise."
"What promise?"
"The promise I made Mrs. Harding, that I would see the woman she spoke of, and relieve her, if in need."