"Thee canst not say I waste a penny of thine.

And for myself, do I not pity the poor?
On First-day a woman cried after me about wasting good flour in starch--to-day, behold." And with a spasmodic bridling-up, she pointed to the bouffante which used to stand up stiffly round her withered old throat, and stick out in front like a pouter pigeon.

Alas! its glory and starch were alike departed; it now appeared nothing but a heap of crumpled and yellowish muslin.

Poor Jael! I knew this was the most heroic personal sacrifice she could have made, yet I could not help smiling; even my father did the same.
"Dost thee mock me, Abel Fletcher ?" cried she angrily.

"Preach not to others while the sin lies on thy own head." And I am sure poor Jael was innocent of any jocular intention, as advancing sternly she pointed to her master's pate, where his long-worn powder was scarcely distinguishable from the snows of age.