"Some do. There are at least fifteen dollars now owed to me, and I don't know which way to turn to get my last month's rent for my landlord, who has been after me three times this week already. Mr. Peyton owes me ten dollars, and I can't"—
"Mr. Peyton? It can't be possible!"
"Yes, it is, though. He used to be one of the most punctual young men I washed for. But, of late, he never has any money."
"He's a very generous-hearted young man."
"Yes, I know he is," she replied. "But something is wrong with him. He looks worried whenever I ask him for money; and sometimes speaks as if half angry with me for troubling him. There's Mr. Merwin—I wish all were like him. I have never yet taken home his clothes, that I didn't find the money waiting for me, exact to a cent. He counts every piece when he lays out his washing for me, and knows exactly what it will come to: and then, if he happens to be out, the change is always left with the chambermaid. It's a pleasure to do any thing for him."
"He isn't liked generally as well as Mr. Peyton is," said I.
"Isn't he? It's strange!" the poor woman returned, innocently.
On the very next day, I saw Peyton riding out with an acquaintance in a buggy.
"Who paid for your ride, yesterday?" I said to the latter, with whom I was quite familiar, when next we met.
"Oh, Peyton, of course. He always pays, you know. He's a fine, generous fellow. I wish there were more like him."