CHAPTER V.

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For a few weeks everything went smoothly. Marty attended the meetings of the band, in which she took great interest, and put two or three pennies in her box every Sunday morning. But there came a time when she began to find it hard to give even that much. There seemed to be so many little things she wanted, and it was just the season of the year when she had very few presents of money. She generally got some on her birthday, in August, and again at Christmas; but as she could not keep money very well, that was soon spent, and during the latter part of the winter she was very poor. Once or twice nothing went in the box but the strict tenth, and once she had a hard struggle with herself before even that went in; in fact, she had a very bad time altogether. It was all owing to a tiny chair.

“O girls!” exclaimed Hattie Green, one day at recess, “have you seen those lovely chairs in Harrison's window?”

“What chairs?” inquired the girls.

“Oh, such lovely little dolls' chairs! Carved,you know, and withbeautifulred cushions. I came by there this morning, and that's the reason I was late at school, I stopped so long to look at those cunning chairs.”

“Let's all go home that way,” suggested Marty, “and then we can see them.”

“All right,” said Hattie.

So after school quite a crowd went around by Harrison's toy-store to see the wonderful chairs.

There they were, rather small, to be sure, but ebony—at least they looked like ebony—and crimson satin. The girls were in raptures with them.

“They are beauties!” cried Edith.

“How I should love to have one!” said Marty.

“I wonder how much they are,” said Rosa Stevenson.

“You go in and ask, Rosa,” said Edith.

“Yes, do, do,” urged the others.

Rosa went, and came back with the information that they were twelve cents apiece.

“Well, that isn't so much,” said Edith. “I think I can afford to get one. I'll see when I go home.”

“I know I have enough money to buy one,” said Rosa, “but I never buy anything without asking mamma about it first.”

“She'll let you get it,” said Edith.

“Oh, you girls always have some money saved up, and I never have,” sighed Marty. “And I do want one of those chairs so badly.”

“So do I,” said Hattie, “and I haven't any money either, but I'm going to tease mamma night and day till she gives me twelve cents.”

“It's no use to tease my mamma,” said Marty. “If she wont let me do a thing, she wont, and that's the end of it. But of course I'll tell her about the chairs, and see what she says. Maybe she'll let me have one.”

As soon as she reached home Marty gave her mother a glowing description of the chairs, winding up with,

“And, O mamma! I do want one awfully.”

“But you have so many playthings already, Marty,” objected her mother. “Just look at those closet shelves! Besides, you got a complete set of dolls' furniture Christmas.”

“Oh, I know I don'tneedanother chair at all, but those red ones are so cunning, and one would look so well mixed in among my blue ones. I shouldloveto have one.”

“I am sorry your mind is so set on it,” said Mrs. Ashford, “for I dislike to have you disappointed, but when you have so many playthings, I really don't feel like giving you money, even if it is only a trifle.”

“May I buy a chair if I have money enough of my own?” Marty asked.

“Oh, yes—if you wish to spend your money that way; but I would rather save it for something else if I were you.”

Marty had no very clear idea where “money of her own” was to come from just at that time, but thought it possible the necessary amount might appear before the chairs were all sold.

The next morning Rosa and Edith came to school with money to buy chairs, and at recess all their special friends went with them to Harrison's to make the purchase. When Marty had a nearer view of the chairs and handled them, she was more anxious than ever to possess one. This anxiety increased as the days passed and the chairs gradually disappeared.

Nobody gave her any money and her mother did not offer her any more “paid” work. She was very, very sorry that she had spent all of her allowance on Monday morning—at least all but two cents and the one in the red box. That, of course, she took with her to the meeting Saturday afternoon.

Saturday evening she received her next week's supply, and that, with the two cents she had over, was exactly enough to get the longed-for toy. But one cent was tenths.

“That just spoils the whole thing,” she saidto herself. “I might as well have none at all as only eleven cents.”

Then she wondered if it would not do to borrow that tenth. She had not thought of taking out any of the money when she was in such straits about Cousin Alice's ribbon, but this seemed different. It was only one penny, and she was sure of being able to replace it.

But borrowing was against the rule, and it must be especially wrong to borrow missionary money. She felt ashamed and her cheeks burned when the thought came to her.

“I s'pose I'll have to give up the chair,” she sighed; “at least unless I get a little more money somehow. I wish papa wasn't so strict about borrowing. A penny wouldn't be much to borrow.”

Sunday morning she took out her money and counted it over again very carefully. Yes, there was exactly twelve cents. Then she slowly took up one cent to drop in the box. As she did so the temptation to borrow it came again.

“No, I wont do that,” she said resolutely, but after looking at the penny for a while, concluded not to put it in the box until after she came from Sunday-school.

After Sunday-school she tried it again, but still hesitated.

“I'll wait till bedtime,” she thought.

By bedtime she had decided not to put it in at all.

“I b'lieve I'll borrow it. It wont do any harm to let the box go empty for one week. I'll get the chair to-morrow, and make the tenth all right next Sunday.”

So she got into bed and covered herself up, but she could not go to sleep. She tossed and tumbled for what seemed to her a long time. “It's all because that penny isn't in the box,” she thought. Finally she could stand it no longer. She got up, and feeling around in the drawer, found the penny and put it in the box. Then she went to bed, and was soon asleep.

Having decided she could not have what she so ardently desired, Marty should have kept out of the way of temptation, but every day she went to look at the chairs, and seeing them, she continued to want one. By Thursday they were all gone but two, and Hattie triumphantly announced that at last her mamma had given her money to buy one. Then Marty felt that shemusthave the other.

When she had her wraps on that afternoon ready to go out to play, she went to the missionary box, and, with hands trembling in her excitement, took out the solitary penny. Then without stopping to think she ran down stairs. Just as she was opening the street-door sherepented, and after meditating a while in the vestibule, standing first on one foot and then on the other, she slowly retraced her steps and put the penny back.

“Now it's safe,” she said. “I'll just dash out without it, and of course when I haven't got it, I can't spend it.”

She dashed about half way, when all at once the vision of the lovely chair rose up before her, and the desire to possess it was greater than ever. She stopped again to think, and the result was, she returned and got the penny—it was not quite so hard to take it out the second time as it was the first—and started for the street once more.

Perhaps she might have repented and gone back again, had not her mother, who was entertaining some ladies in the parlor, called to her, “Marty, don't race up and down stairs so,” and then Marty went out with the penny in her hand.

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So the chair was bought and Marty tried to think she was perfectly satisfied, but it was strange how little she cared for it after all. She showed her purchase to her mother, who said it was quite pretty, but not very substantial; that she feared it would not last long.

Marty put it in her dolls' house and played with it, trying hard to enjoy it, but her conscience was so ill at ease that she soon began to hate the sight of the chair, and by Friday evening she had pushed it away back on the shelf behind everything. The sight of the red box, too, was more than she could stand, it seemed to look so reproachfully at her; even after she had laid one of her white aprons over it she disliked to open the drawer.

There was a special meeting of the band that Saturday, as they were getting ready for their anniversary. No contributions were expected, so that it did not matter about Marty having no money; but she was feeling so low-spirited and ashamed that she simply could not go among the others nor take part in missionary exercises.

“Are you going for Edith this afternoon or is she coming for you?” inquired Mrs. Ashford.

“I'm not going to the meeting,” replied Marty in a low voice. “I told Edith I wasn't going.”

“Not going!” exclaimed Mrs. Ashford in surprise. “Why, you are not tired of it already, are you?”

“No, ma'am,” Marty answered, “but I don't want to go to-day.”

Mrs. Ashford thought perhaps Marty and Edith had had a little falling out, though it must be said they very seldom quarreled; or that Marty was beginning to tire a little of her new enterprise, for she was rather in the habit of taking things up with great energy and soon becoming weary of them. Mrs. Ashford had not expected her missionary enthusiasm to last very long; and as she herself was not at that time much interested in such matters, she was not prepared to keep up Marty's zeal, but was inclined to allow her to go on with the work or give it up, just as she chose, as she did in matters of less importance.

However, Mrs. Ashford knew that, whatever the trouble was, it would all come out sooner or later, for Marty always told her everything. So she merely said,

“Well, as it is so bleak to-day and you have acold, perhaps it would be just as well for you not to go out.”

Marty, disinclined to play, took one of her “Bessie Books” and sat down by the window. Though so cheerless out-doors, with the wind whistling among the leafless trees and blowing the dust about, that sitting room was certainly very cosey and pleasant.

Marty's “pretty mamma,” as she often called her, in her becoming afternoon gown of soft, dark red stuff, sat in a low rocker in front of the bright fire busy with her embroidery and softly singing as she worked. Freddie, on the rug at her feet, played quietly with a string of buttons. The only sounds in the room were Mrs. Ashford's murmured song and an occasional chirp from the canary. But all at once this cheerful quietness was broken by loud sobbing.

Poor Marty had been so unhappy the last two days, and now added to what she felt to be the meanness of appropriating that missionary penny, was the disappointment of not being at the meeting, for she was longing to be there, though not feeling fit to go. Besides, it was a great load on her mind that she had not told her mamma how she got the chair, nor what was the reason she did not want to go to the meeting. And now she could endure her wretchedness no longer.

“What's the matter, Marty?” exclaimed Mrs. Ashford, much startled. “Are you ill? Is your throat sore? Come here and tell me what ails you?”

“Oh, mamma, I'm very, very wicked,” sobbed Marty, and running to her mother's arms she tried to tell her troubles, but cried so that she could not be understood.

“Never mind, never mind,” said her mother soothingly. “Wait until you can stop crying and then tell me all about it.”

Freddie was dreadfully distressed to see his sister in such a state and did all he could to comfort her, bringing her his horse-reins and a whole lapful of building-blocks, and was rather surprised that they did not have the desired effect.

When Marty became quieter she told the whole story of the dolls' chair and the missionary penny. “That's the reason I didn't want to go to the meeting,” she said. “I don't feel fit to 'sociate with good missionary children. I'm so sorry and so ashamed. I wish I had let the penny stay in the box and the chair stay in the store.”

“We cannot undo what is done,” said her mother gravely. “We can only make all possible amends and try to do better in future. You can replace the penny this evening, and thislesson you have had may teach you to be more self-denying. You know you cannot spend all your money for trifles and yet have some to give away. If you want to give you must learn to do without some things. But, Marty, if it is going to be so difficult to devote some of your money to missions, you had better just give up the attempt and go back to your old way of doing.”

“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Marty earnestly. “Please let me try again. I know I'll do better now, and I do want to help in missionary work.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Ashford, “just as you wish. I don't like to see you beginning things and giving them up so soon, but at the same time I don't think you need feel obliged to give to these things whether you want to or not.”

“Oh, but I do want to ever so much,” Marty protested.

She felt better after telling her mother all about the matter, and now was quite ready to brighten up and start afresh. The next morning besides dropping in two pennies for tenths she put in another, which she said was a “sorry” offering, but did not know the Bible name for it. She would have liked to make amends by putting in the whole ten cents, but her mother would not allow it.

“Things would soon be as bad as ever,” were her warning words, “if that's the way you aregoing to do. The next thing you will want to take some of it out, as you did the penny for the chair.”

“No, no, mamma! I don't b'lieve I evercouldbe so mean again,” Marty declared.

“I don't believe either that you would do it again. But you will certainly save yourself a great deal of worry, and will be likely to do more good in the work you have begun, by following Mrs. Howell's advice of having a plan of giving and keeping to it.”

“Well, I'm going to try that way in real earnest now,” said Marty; “but I wish it was as easy for me to be steady about things as it is for Edith. She never seems to get into trouble over her tenths.”

A few days after this, when she was spending the afternoon with Edith, Marty told Mrs. Howell what a time she had had, and added,

“Doesn't it seem strange that I can't give my money regularly?”

“Perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Howell, “you have not asked God to help you in your new enterprise.”

“Why, no, I haven't,” replied Marty. “I never thought of it.”

“My dear child, we are nothing in our own strength. We should always ask God to help us, in what we attempt, and ask for his blessing.Unless he blesses our work, it cannot prosper.”

“But I don't know how to ask him,” said Marty, speaking softly. “The prayers I say every night are 'Our Father,' and 'Now I lay me,' and there's nothing in them about mission work. I should have to say another prayer, shouldn't I?”

“If you more fully understood the Lord's Prayer, you would know that exactly what you want is included in it. But why cannot you ask for what you desire in your own words? Just go to God as trustingly as you would to your mother, when you want something you know she will let you have, if it is good for you to have it. And that would be really praying, for, Marty, don't you know there's a great difference between saying prayers and praying? You may say a dozen prayers and not pray at all.”

“Don't I pray when I kneel beside the bed and say those two prayers?”

“You do if you make the petitions your own, and really desire what you ask for, and if you ask in the right spirit. But if you just say the words over without thinking what you are saying, or whom you are speaking to, it is not praying at all. It is mocking God.”

“I'm sure I wouldn't do that,” said Marty, looking frightened.

“I know you would not willfully, my dear, but I just want to show you that saying over certain words is not praying. We don't realize what a blessed privilege it is to pray. God's ear is open night and day to any of us, even the smallest child. He is as ready to hear anything you may have to say as he is to hear Dr. Edgar when he gets up in his pulpit and prays.”

“Then it wouldn't be wrong to ask God to help me give missionary money regularly, would it?”

“It would be very right.”

That night when Marty knelt beside her bed she really prayed. She felt that God was listening to her, and when she came to the words, “Now I lay me down to sleep,” she realized that she was committing herself to his care, and was sure that in that care she was safe. After her usual prayers she paused a moment and then added, “And, O Lord, please help me to be steady in giving missionary money.”

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The mission work that Marty had entered upon was teaching her to pray.

She really wished to be a mission worker in her small way and she tried hard to be faithful, but owing to her forgetfulness or impatience or selfishness, things sometimes went wrong. Once or twice she forgot to learn a verse to say at the meeting, and was much mortified. Once she got very impatient with a piece of sewing and spoiled it, and then was angry because some of the girls laughed at her. And she still found it hard to give her money regularly; some weeks she wanted it so much for something else.

But all these little trials she carried to God and was helped. This led to the habit of bringing all her little troubles to him.

One day Miss Agnes remarked that we don't put enough thanks in our prayers. We ask that such and such things may be done, but we don't thank God half enough for what he has done and is constantly doing for us. We come to him with all the miseries of our lives, but don'ttell him about the happy and joyous things. Afterward Marty put more thanks in her prayers, and she told Miss Agnes that it was astonishing how many thankful things there were to say.

Marty also used her Bible a great deal more after she joined the band than before.

Besides the verse they were expected to repeat at roll-call, Miss Agnes sometimes asked them to bring all the texts they could find bearing upon a certain subject. The golden text for Sunday-school might be learned from the lesson-paper, but it was necessary to search the Bible for these other verses. At first Marty did not know how to begin to find them and appealed to her mother for help. Mrs. Ashford gave all the assistance in her power, though saying with a half-sigh,

“I'm afraid I don't know much about these things, Marty.”

One day Mrs. Ashford had been out shopping and in the evening several parcels were sent home. These she opened in the sitting-room. As she unwrapped quite a large one Mr. Ashford inquired,

“What is that huge book?”

When his wife handed it to him he whistled and exclaimed,

“A concordance! What in the world do youwant with this? Are you going to study theology?”

“No,” replied Mrs. Ashford, laughing, “but Marty comes to me with so many questions that I found I could not get on any longer without that.”

“What's a concordance, mamma?” asked Marty, “and has it anything to do with me?”

“It is a book to help us find all those verses in the Bible you have been asking me about. You see I'm not as good and wise as your friend Mrs. Howell, and don't know as much about the Bible as she does.”

“You're every bit as good,” declared Marty, who by this time had got both arms around her mother's waist as she stood on the rug, and was looking up in her face lovingly, “and you will be as wise when you are as old, for she is a great deal older than you.”

Her father and mother both laughed at Marty's earnestness, and Mr. Ashford said,

“That's right, Marty. Stand up for your mother.”

They found the concordance very useful, and from time to time spent many happy hours searching the Scriptures with its aid, comparing passages and talking them over. Not only did they find texts for the band, but other subjects were traced through the sacred pages. OccasionallyMarty saw her mother busy with the concordance and Bible when she had not asked her assistance about verses.

It was while Marty was giving wholes instead of tenths and the red box was so well filled, that it met with an accident that disfigured it for life. Though the occurrence was a sad and humiliating one for Marty, it led to good results.

She had the box out one day and was counting the money, although she knew precisely how much there was. As a good deal of it was in pennies it made quite a noise, so that Freddie, attracted by the bright outside and noisy inside, thought he would like to have the box to play with. He asked Marty to give it to him, but she, busy with her counting, answered rather sharply,

“No, indeed; you can't have it. Go away, now. Don't touch!”

But Freddie was very quick in his movements, and before she could get it out of his reach he had seized it and shaken the contents all over the floor. Marty, very angry at having her beautiful box treated so roughly, and seeing the money rolling about in all directions, cried in loud tones,

“Let go, you naughty boy! You'll break it!”

Freddie, now angry also, and determined to have what he wanted, held on manfully, screaming, “Dive it to me! dive it to me!” and in the struggle a small piece was broken off the lid.

Mrs. Ashford, hearing the loud tones, hurried into the room, and arrived in time to see Marty strike Freddie with one hand while she held the box high above her head with the other. Freddie was pounding her with all his little strength and crying uproariously.

“Marty, Marty!” called Mrs. Ashford, “don't strike your little brother. What is the matter? Come here, Freddie.”

But Freddie stamped his foot and screamed, “Will have it! Will have pretty box!” and Marty wailed, “Oh! he's broken my lovely box and spilled all my money.”

It was some time before peace was fully restored, though Marty was soon very repentant for what she had done and Freddie's ill-temper never lasted very long. After standing a while with his face to the wall, as was his custom on such occasions, crying loudly, the little tempest was all over. He turned around, and putting up his hands to wipe his eyes said pitifully,

“My teeks are so wet, and I have no hamititch to dry them.”

“Come here and I'll dry them,” said his mother, taking him on her knee.

Mrs. Ashford, hearing the loud tones, hurried into the room. Page 58

“My chin is all wet,” he said.

“So it is, but we'll dry all your face.”

“And my hands are all wet.”

“What a poor little wet boy!” said his mother tenderly, but cheerfully too.

After making him comfortable she said,

“Now are you sorry you were such a naughty boy?”

He nodded his head, and turning to Marty, who was crawling around gathering up her money, he said, “Sorry, Marty.”

Marty crept up to him, and kissing over and over the little arm she had struck, said with eyes full of tears,

“You dear little darling, you don't know how awfully sorry Marty is for being so bad to you!”

Then they rubbed their curly heads together until Freddie began to laugh, and in a few moments he was playing with his tin horse as merrily as if nothing had happened, while Marty gathered up and put away her treasures.

“Now, Marty,” said her mother, “you must keep that out of Freddie's sight. He is nothing but a baby, and doesn't know that it is any different from any other box. Let me see where it is broken. Perhaps I can mend it.”

“No, mamma,” said Marty, “I don't want it mended. I am going to let it be this way toremind me of how naughty I was to my dear little brother, and maybe it will keep me from getting so angry with him again. It does seem dreadful, too, to think that just when I'm trying to be good to children away over the sea, I should be partic'lerly bad to my own little brother, doesn't it?”

“I sha'n't say a word,” replied her mother, “for I see you can rebuke yourself.”

So the broken missionary box was a constant reminder to Marty that her work for those far away should make her all the more loving to the dear ones at home.

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One Saturday afternoon as Edith and Marty entered the room where the meetings of the band were held, half a dozen girls rushed to them, exclaiming,

“Oh, what do you think! Mary Cresswell has a letter from Mrs. C——!”

How eager they all were to hear that letter! As soon as the opening exercises were over, Miss Walsh told Mary she might read it. The young secretary looked quite proud and important as she unfolded the letter, very tenderly, indeed, for it was written on thin paper, as foreign letters are, and she was afraid of tearing it.

After speaking very nicely of the letter she had received from them, Mrs. C—— went on to tell them something about Lahore and about the school they were interested in. She said:

“You must not imagine a well-arranged schoolroom with desks, maps, black-boards, and so on. We cannot afford anything like that, and in any case it would be useless to the kind of pupils we have. We pay a woman a little forthe use of part of the room in which she lives, and while the school is in session she goes on with her work in one corner. This room is quite dark, as, having no windows, all the light it receives is from the door. It has no furniture to speak of. The teacher and pupils sit on the earth floor.”

She then described the dress of the little girls, which certainly did not appear to be very comfortable for the cool weather they sometimes have in North India, and said, “No matter how poor and scanty the clothing, they must have some kind of jewelry, even if it is only glass or brass bangles. They are anything but cleanly, as they are not taught in their own homes to be so; besides, some of their customs are considerably against cleanliness. For instance, they must not wash themselves at all for a certain length of time after the death of relatives. So it sometimes happens the children come to school in a very dirty condition.”

These children, Mrs. C—— said, were bright and learned quite readily. She mentioned some of the hymns and Scripture verses they knew, and some of the answers they had given to questions she put to them.

“But the great difficulty is,” she wrote, “they are taken away from school so young to be married and thus lost to us. Still it is good to thinkthat they receive some religious instruction, and matters in regard to girls and women in India are gradually improving. Not quite so much stress is laid on child-marriage; indeed, some native societies are being formed for the purpose of opposing this custom, and many more girls are allowed to attend school than used to be the case.

“But there is room yet for great improvement. You, my young friends, in your happy childhood and girlhood, cannot conceive the miseries of these poor little creatures. Thank God your lot is cast in a Christian land, and oh! do all you can to send the gospel light into these dark places of the earth.”

The girls had a great deal to say about this letter, and as it was sewing afternoon, Miss Walsh allowed them to talk over their work instead of having any reading.

“Somebody told me,” said little Daisy Roberts, “that in India they don't care as much about girls as boys, and sometimes they kill the girl babies. Is that so?”

“Yes,” replied Miss Walsh. “It used to be a very common custom, and is still so to some extent, though the British Government has done much to stop it.”

“They must be very cruel to want to kill their own dear little babies. Why, if anybodyshould hurt our little Nellie, we'd all fly at him and nearly tear him to pieces,” and Daisy's face got very red and she doubled up her little fist at the very thought of such a thing.

“It isn't always, nor perhaps often, done in a spirit of cruelty. Sometimes it is because the parents are poor and cannot afford to marry their daughters, for weddings cost a great deal, and according to the notions of the country everybody must be married. Often it ruins a man to get his daughters married, and he lives in poverty all the rest of his life. Then very ignorant and superstitious parents sometimes sacrifice their children to please their gods, and as girls are not as much thought of as boys, it is frequently the girls who are killed. But, as I told you, the Government does not allow such doings, and when people are found breaking the law they are punished. Besides, as Christianity spreads these wicked things cease.”

“I think that way they have of making little girls get married is awful,” said Edith. “Just think of being dragged off to be married when you're only a little mite of a thing, and having to leave your own mamma and live with a cross old mother-in-law who abuses you!”

“Don't their fathers and mothers love them at all, Miss Agnes, that they send them off that way and allow them to be miserable?” askedMarty, who was ready to cry over the miseries of the poor little India girl.

“Of course there are many cruel parents—heathenism, you know, does not teach people to be kind and loving—but many love their children as much as your parents love you. In fact they are over-indulgent to them, and let them do just what they please when they are small. And you may imagine that the mother especially has a very sore heart when her little daughter is taken from her and when she hears of her being ill-treated in her new home. But it is considered a disgrace if girls are not married when mere children; and a loving mother wishes to keep her daughters from disgrace.”

“And how if the little girl's husband dies?” Rosa Stevenson inquired.

“Oh, then the poor little widow leads a miserable life.”

“Why, how?” Marty asked. “Can't she go back home then?”

“No,” Miss Walsh answered. “She has to live on in the father-in-law's house, where she is treated shamefully, made to do hard work, is half starved, and not allowed clothes enough to keep her comfortable. She is not taken care of when sick, and is treated worse in every way than you have any idea of or ever can have.”

“It's perfectly dreadful!” declared one of the girls.

“Didn't they use to burn the widows on their husbands' funeral pile?” asked another.

“Yes, but the British Government put a stop to that.”

“I believe I'd rather be burnt up and done with it than have to lead such a miserable life,” said Mary Cresswell.

“Oh, no, it would be dreadful to be burnt,” said Rosa.

“Seems to me it's dreadful all around,” said Marty, sighing.

“You may be thankful you don't have to make the choice,” said Miss Walsh.

“Then the poor children are not even made comfortable when they go to school,” Rosa went on, “so dirty and forlorn!”

“How queerly they're dressed,” said Hannah Morton.

“They seem to be dressed principally in earrings and bracelets,” remarked Marty.

“Miss Agnes,” inquired Mary, “aren't there other kinds of schools besides these little day-schools?”

“Oh, yes. One of the first things that the missionaries try to do is to establish boarding-schools, so as to get the boys and girls altogether away from the influence of their heathen homes.This is the way many converts are made. There are now many such schools and much good has been done by them. You remember we sent the extra ten dollars we had last year to help build an addition to a boarding-school in China.”

“Are Chinese little girls treated as badly as the ones in India?” Marty asked.

“Why, yes,” said Hannah, before Miss Walsh could reply. “Don't you remember the 'Chinese Slave Girl,' that Miss Agnes read to us?—at least read some of it. And don't you know how they are tortured by binding their feet?”

“That isn't done onpurposeto torture them,” said Mary. “That's a custom of the country.”

“Most of their customs appear to be tortures,” said Marty.

“Yes,” said Miss Walsh, “the customs of barbarous and half-civilized nations are very hard on the women and girls.”

“Well, it all makes me feel very sorrowful,” Marty declared. “I never thought before, when I've had such good times all my life, that there are so many little girls who are not—a—”

“Not in the good times?” said Miss Walsh, helping her out.

“Yes, ma'am; and I do wish I could do something for some of them.”

“So do I,” said several of the others.

“I suppose,” suggested Edith, “the faster wesend the gospel to those countries the better it will be for the girls and everybody.”

“Couldn't we raise more money this year, enough to support another school, or to pay for a girl or boy in a boarding-school somewhere?” Rosa proposed.

“In that case we should have to double, or more than double, our usual amount,” said Miss Walsh. “The question is, can we do that?”

“Oh, do let us try!” exclaimed several of the girls.

Then they began forthwith to make plans for raising more money.

“Of course the more members we have, the more money we'll raise,” said Mary Cresswell, “so I think we'd better try again to get others to join our band. I have asked the Patterson girls two or three times, but I'm going to ask them again.”

“Better not ask themplumpto join,” suggested Bertie Lee. “Just get them somehow to come to one meeting, and then they'll be sure to want to belong.”

“There's some wisdom in that,” said Miss Walsh, laughing.

“Yes'm,” said Bertie, “and I believe I'll try that way with Annie Kelley.”

“I'm going to ask that new girl in our Sunday-school class,” said Hannah.

“I'm going to try to getsomebodyto come,” said Marty.

“So am I,” “And I,” cried the others.

“That's right,” said Miss Walsh. “We want to get as many people as possible interested in missionary work, and, as Mary says, the more that are interested and belong to societies, the more money will be raised, and, of course, the more good will be done. So, don't you see, you are aiding the cause very much when you try to make our meetings attractive, and so induce others to join the band.”

“I've thought of a way to make some missionary money, if it would be right to do it,” said Edith.

“What is it?” asked Miss Walsh.

“Well—you know those prizes Dr. Edgar and Mr. Stevenson give at the Sunday-school anniversary for learning the Psalms and chapters—would it do to ask them to give us money instead of books or anything else, so that we might have it for missions?”

“We certainly might ask our pastor and superintendent what they think of the plan. I have no doubt they would be willing to adopt it when they know what the money is to be used for. I think myself, your idea is a very good one.”

“Yes,” said Rosa, “we should not only bestudying the Bible for our own sakes, but be helping missions at the same time.”

“We'd be working for our missionary money then, shouldn't we?” remarked one of the girls.

“Yes,indeed!” replied another, with a laugh and shrug. She was not fond of committing to memory.

“It's a good way, though,” said Marty, standing up for Edith's suggestion, “and I'm going to start right in and learn something. Miss Agnes, I wonder how much they'd give for the 119th Psalm?”

Marty asked this in real earnest, and although Miss Walsh felt like smiling, she answered gravely,

“I don't think it is quite the right spirit in which to study the Bible, Marty—doing it only for the sake of the money, even if the money is for missions.”

“Oh! I shouldn't do itjustfor the money, but I thought if I could get more for a long Psalm than for a short one, I'd rather learn the long one, and have more missionary money. But I shouldn't want to do it if it was wrong, you know,” Marty added, looking distressed.

“I know you would not,” said Miss Walsh kindly. “I have no doubt your motives are allright, though you can hardly explain them. I can understand that you would be willing to do considerable hard work for missions, and I am glad of your willingness and enthusiasm. They help me.”

Then Marty looked radiant.

There were other plans proposed, and every one had so much to say that Miss Walsh had some trouble in getting the meeting to break up.

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