he should think me void of sympathy for others.

The day following was Sunday. Church time came, and Mr. Smith went
to the clothes press for his best coat, which had been worn only for
a few months.

"Jane!" he called to me suddenly, in a voice that made me start.
"Jane! Where is my best coat?"

"In the clothes press," I replied, coming out from our chamber into
the passage, as I spoke.

"No; it's not here," was his reply. "And, I shouldn't wonder if you
had sold my good coat for those china vases."

"No such thing!" I quickly answered, though my heart gave a great
bound at his words; and then sunk in my bosom with a low tremor of
alarm.

"Here's my old coat," said Mr. Smith, holding up that defaced
garment--"Where is the new one?"

"The old clothes man has it, as sure as I live!" burst from my lips.

"Well, that is a nice piece of work, I must confess!"

This was all my husband said; but it was enough to smite me almost
to the floor. Covering my face with my hands, I dropped into a
chair, and sat and sobbed for a while bitterly.