In about a fortnight she called again, primed with evasions if she
should be asked to sit; but nothing of the kind was proposed. Phoebe was
dealing when she went in. The customers disposed of, she said to Mrs.
Staines, "Oh, ma'am, I am glad you are come. I have something I should
like to show you." She took her into the parlor, and made her sit down:
then she opened a drawer, and took out a very small substance that
looked like a tear of ground glass, and put it on the table before
her. "There, ma'am," said she, "that is all he has had for painting a
friend's picture."

"Oh! what a shame."

"His friend was going abroad--to Natal; to his uncle that farms out
there, and does very well; it is a first-rate part, if you take out a
little stock with you, and some money; so my one gave him credit, and
when the letter came with that postmark, he counted on a five-pound
note; but the letter only said he had got no money yet, but sent him
something as a keepsake: and there was this little stone. Poor fellow!
he flung it down in a passion; he was so disappointed."

Phoebe's great gray eyes filled; and Rosa gave a little coo of sympathy
that was very womanly and lovable.

Phoebe leaned her cheek on her hand, and said thoughtfully, "I picked it
up, and brought it away; for, after all--don't you think, ma'am, it is
very strange that a friend should send it all that way, if it was worth
nothing at all?"

"It is impossible. He could not be so heartless."