“Because ‘it is more blessed to give than to receive,’” added Elsie.

“Well, I know she has,” persisted Gertrude, “for my mamma often says so, and I’m sure she knows.”

“But even if she has, mamma’s money is not ours, and it’s a duty and a very great pleasure to give of our own.”

“Every one to their taste, I haven’t a bit more money than I want myself,” said Gertrude, walking away with her chin in the air.

“Gerty,” said Elsie, running after her, “don’t be vexed; we weren’t meaning to ask you for anything; but only talking about our own duty.”

“Oh, I can take a hint as well as other folks,” said Gertrude, tossing her head.

“What’s it all about?” asked Kate, coming up to them; but they paid no heed to her, and she went to Vi for the desired information.

“Why, I’ll help, of course I will,” she said; “I guess I’ve got some money, I’ll look after tea; there’s the bell now.”

Elsie seized an opportunity to petition her mother for a longer talk than usual in her dressing-room that evening, and the most of it was taken up in the discussion and arranging of plans for helping Mrs. Gibson and her daughter.

“What an unconscionable time you’ve been upstairs, Elsie,” Philip remarked in a bantering tone, coming to her side as she and her mother returned to the drawing-room.  “I’ve been dying to speak to you, as the girls say.”

“All girls don’t talk so, Phil.”

“You don’t, I know.  Would you like a gallop before breakfast to-morrow morning?”

“Yes, indeed!” she answered, her eyes sparkling, “it’s what I’m used to at home.  Papa rides with us almost every morning.”

“Will I do for an escort?”

“Oh, yes, if mamma consents.  Gert will go too, won’t she?”

“No, she prefers her morning nap.”

Philip was a manly boy, the neighborhood a safe one, and the pony Elsie would ride, well-broken and not too spirited, so mamma’s consent was readily given, with the proviso that they should not go before sunrise, or choose a lonely road.

“By the way,” she added, “I should like you to do an errand for me at Mrs. Gibson’s.”

As Sally Gibson was sweeping the doorstep early the next morning, a couple of ponies dashed up to the gate, in whose riders she instantly recognized Elsie Travilla and Philip Ross.

“Hallo!” shouted the latter, “this young lady has something for you.”

“Good-morning,” Elsie said, reaching out a little gloved hand, as the girl drew near, “mamma bade me bring you this note, and ask how your mother is to-day.”

“A little better, thank you; it has done her a world of good to—­to have her mind so relieved, and the doctor’s medicine seems to have helped her too.  How very, very kind Mrs. Travilla is,” she added, with tears in her eyes, “and Mrs. Ross.  Won’t you come in?”

“Not this morning, thank you,” and away they galloped.  Sally looking after them with admiring eyes, and a murmured exclamation, “How pretty and sweet she is!”