"Now, Fred, I must go. But I want you to contribute a little, if you will, to my poor's library, and if you will, a little, too, to poor Sophia."
"Little Sister Minnie," answered Fred, curtly, "don't annoy me. If you enjoy digging out beggar-women, and adorning them with all sorts of comforts and pleasures, do it. I don't ask you not to. Will you give me the same privilege of following my own pleasure?"
"But, Fred!" said Minnie, astonished, "only last week, what did you do for poor Sophia? More than I could in a year,—two, three years! For you know I have only my thirty dollars quarterly for everything, and sometimes I have so little to give!"
"Why do you give, then, dear Minnie?" said Fred, languidly smiling.
"Oh, if you ask that, why did you give, last Monday? You gave—let me see—fifty-four dollars; every cent you had in your purse. Oh, the things I bought for her with it! Paid rent, bought medicine, blankets,—oh, so many needed comforts! Now, why did you give?" said Minnie, with a triumphant smile,—"for now I have him," she thought.
"To save myself pain,—that's all."
Minnie looked puzzled.
"Nothing else, I do assure you. No very great virtue in that. The fact was, I was bored, and, to tell the truth, somewhat shocked, by your 'poor Sophia's' ailments, which I came upon so inopportunely,—and I was glad to empty my pockets to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling."
"Well, then, save yourself pain again, Fred,—for I assure you she suffers constantly for want of simple alleviations, which a small sum of money would afford her. Oh, she needs so many things, and everything is so dear! And she has so many helpless children, and no husband, and so bowed with rheumatism"—
"Minnie! excuse me for interrupting you; but can you find nothing but rheumatism to talk about? It is of all subjects the least tasteful to me."