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.
"It can't be helped now, Jane," said Mr.Smith, at length, in a soothing voice.

"The coat is gone, and there is no help for it.

You will know better next time." That was all he said to me then, and I was grateful for his kind consideration.