and the sound started a new train of glad thoughts. If Charlotte would
only come with Lulu Jane, what fun she would have showing the doll to
grandma! Grandma always took an interest in her doll babies--even in
Augustus with his blue paper trousers!
They were all seated around the dining-table, Patty beside grandma,
with the turnover in her hand to keep it from uncle Dave who pretended
he was going to eat it, when the back door opened. Patty's heart went
pit-a-pat, and she ran out with mother's leave, turnover and all, to
meet cousin Charlotte in the dim little entry.
"Here it is," said Charlotte. "I hope you'll be pleased with it; and
I must go right back, 'cause I've got to do a big stent o' patchwork
'n help aunt Betsy get supper for comp'ny." Patty took the bundle to
the out-door light, and when she opened it, danced and screamed with
delight.
"You dear, darling old thing!" she cried, hugging Charlotte so hard
she fairly hurt her. "How did you fix her up so nice?" she sat on the
doorstep admiring Lulu Jane between bites of turnover while Charlotte
flew home like a bird.
The doll had a new smooth white linen face, the head nicely joined at
the top instead of being sewn with big black stitches as Patty sewed
hers. The face had beet-juice cheeks and black bead eyes, the feet were
neatly shod with velvet, and the old gown had been replaced by a pink
ruffled one of calico, edged at the neck with a frill of lace. But the
crowning glory was a little pink bonnet trimmed with a downy chicken's
feather and a tiny spray of snakeberry vine from which hung wee scarlet
berries! Patty hugged her treasure closely, and ran to the swing to
enjoy it by herself. Uncle Dave was coming, and he might run off with
it just to tease her. By and by she ran in to show it to grandma.
"Deary, deary!" said grandma, as she took the dolly from Patty and
examined it through her spectacles. "Nice piece o' work, quite a neat
little gownd, 'n a bunnit too! Charlotte must be quite tasty."
Grandma held it in her fat hand a minute and then after fumbling in her
big pocket she brought out a shining new quarter-dollar.
"Patty," said she, looking down into the wondering eyes of her little
granddaughter, "I'd like to buy this pretty doll to take home to your
little cousin Bessie Alice. She's coming to spend to-morrow with me
and she'll think so much of a doll that came 'way from Mapleton." The
cloud had come down over the sun; the gladness of the perfect day was
completely darkened by the trial which suddenly loomed up before the
child.
"Why, gra'ma!" cried she, the tears flowing fast, "you don't want me to
let you have my darling sweety Lulu Jane, when she just got all fixed
up new! I never could let her go! Please give her to me, grandma."
Grandma placed the precious doll in Patty's arms and said quietly:
"I won't take your doll away if you aren't willing; but I was thinkin'
how pleased Bessie Alice would be; you know she's no ma now 'n no
Charlotte to make dolls for her like you have. Then you'd have the
quarter to help buy you a winter hat, and Charlotte would make you
another dolly, I'm sure. But if you aren't willing I'll say no more
about it," and she put the bright quarter away in her big pocket again.
"Can I have a little while to think it over?" asked Patty timidly. Her
good mother had taught her to think matters over before she decided,
and the sight of the money had brought something to her mind. The
Sunday-school superintendent had told the children only last Sunday
about two good women who had left their homes to teach the poor
Labrador children about Jesus. They needed books and papers. Miss
Bridgman, Patty's teacher, had asked her class if they could not bring
some money next Sunday even if they had to deny themselves of something
to get it. Patty thought it all over upstairs. She looked at the
beautiful bonnet, the velvet shoes and the pink ruffles, and gave the
doll a hard hug as she cried amid falling tears:
"I can't give her to gra'ma, I can't sell her! I wish gra'ma 'd never
come! I wish Bessie Alice 'd never been born! That hateful thing! She's
got red hair, 'n she did just pinch me awful, once! Oh, dear, _dear_,
DEAR! this is the nastiest day I ever did see!" and she threw herself
on the trundle bed in a spasm of grief.
Then better thoughts came.
"Why, ain't I a goose! What am I cryin' for? I needn't sell her 'f I
don't wan't to! Poor Bessie Alice, I'm awful sorry she's got no mother
to tuck her in bed 'n' kiss her! I s'pose Jesus 'd be pleased if I let
her have it. I'd rather have Lulu Jane than twenty quarters; but I'd
have all that money to take to Miss Bridgman Sunday, 'n that would
please Jesus too. And I do want to please Him, I'm sure! Of course
Charlotte would make me another! She's such a '_genius_ girl, mother
says. I'll go right away 'n give dolly to gra'ma. I'm goin' to sell it
to you," handing the fine lady to Grandmother Pratt. "I want the money
for the missionaries, 'n I do pity Bessie Alice. Put her away quick, so
I won't want her again," said Patty, dancing away with the quarter in
her hand.
[Illustration: JACK.]
"You are a darlin' child, cert'in," said grandma, looking fondly after
her.
"Well, this has been the queerest day!" said little Patty as she sat on
the doorstep that night watching the old carriage roll away toward Mill
Village. "I'd like to have Lulu Jane to play with, 'n' I don't know
what Charlotte'll say; but I b'leeve I feel happier now than I did this
mornin', 'n I was happy then 's I could be!"
GUSSIE M. WATERMAN.
HARRY'S SACRIFICE.
"SELL Jack! No, indeed, not for any money!"
Harry Danvers responded to Colonel Bates' offer almost indignantly.
"It is a good offer for the dog," continued the colonel, "more than he
is really worth, but Frank has taken a fancy to him, and to gratify him
I am willing to give a good price."
"No, sir; I shall want money worse than I ever have yet when I part
with Jack. Thank you for the offer, but I cannot sell my dog."
"That is a foolish boy," said the colonel, turning to a friend as Harry
went off down the street whistling to his dog; "I made him a good
offer. You know my boy Frank is an invalid, and it was to gratify a
whim of his that I offered the boy twice the worth of the dog."
"I heard your offer, and I confess I thought it very liberal," replied
the friend; "has the boy rich parents, that he can afford to reject
such offers?"
"No; Danvers is only a day laborer, and I do not suppose the boy ever
had five dollars pocket money in his life."
"Humph!" was the expressive rejoinder of the friend; then the subject
was dropped.
There was a missionary convention in progress in the town where Harry
Danvers lived. Harry was not specially interested in missions, though
he was a Sunday-school scholar and a member of a Mission Band; but
someway he did not get interested in the Band. And I suspect that boys
generally fail to become interested in the Mission Bands. Can you tell
why it is that our missionary societies are so largely made up of girls?
Harry had no thought of going to any of the meetings in progress, but
at tea time his sister Alice said:
"Harry, they say that the teacher from the school where our Band
supports a pupil is going to speak to-night at the First Church; let's
go down."
"I don't want to hear any missionary women speak," said Harry.
"But, my son, if your sister wants to go, you will not refuse to go
with her?" said Mr. Danvers.
"I suppose I can go," replied Harry, not ungraciously, but somewhat
indifferently.
"I do want to go; and, Harry, you know you said you were to write an
essay on the Indian question for next Wednesday; maybe you'll get some
ideas; you know Miss R---- is from the Indian Territory."
"All right! Count me in. I'll be ready in a jiffy."
Harry Danvers was never the same boy after that evening. You might not
have noticed the difference, but it was there. He could never again
be indifferent towards Missions. He gained, as Alice had suggested,
some ideas, but not altogether in the line of his school essay. He
for the first time in his life realized that he, Harry Danvers, had
a part in the great work given to the church of Christ; that the
responsibility of sending the Gospel to the heathen nations rested upon
him in proportion to his ability, and the question, What can _I_ give?
was pressed home upon his heart. The duty and privilege of sacrifice
were set before him, and he asked himself, What can I sacrifice? The
questions were unanswered when he went to bed that night. Harry was a
Christian boy, and he carried his questioning to his Heavenly Father,
and waited for the answer. The next morning as he went down stairs,
with Jack's customary greeting there came to him the answer he had
sought. Here was an opportunity to prove his sincerity! Was he equal to
the sacrifice?
"What is the matter, Harry?" asked his mother; "are you sick?"
"The missionary meeting was too much for him, I guess," said Alice.
"Didn't you like the speaker?" asked Mr. Danvers.
"Yes, sir; _I_ liked it all very much. Mother, you ought to go this
morning; they say there is a perfectly wonderful speaker to be on the
platform--a woman from Syria; are _you_ going, Harry?"
"I don't know," replied Harry indifferently.
"Dear me," said Alice; "boys are so queer. Now I thought it was just
splendid last evening, but Harry won't even say he liked it. I was all
stirred up and ready to give all my jewelry--only I haven't any to
give," and Alice chattered on until breakfast was over, and the family
went their several ways. All the time Harry was thinking, and, as you
will see, thinking to some purpose. He had an errand down town for his
mother, and as he went out of the gate he said with energy, "I'll do
it!"
Now Mrs. Danvers was a timid woman, and very much afraid of dogs. True,
she tried to hide her fear and aversion for Harry's sake, but she had a
nervous dread of some member of the family being bitten by the dog, and
only a few days before, Harry's father said: "My boy, I sometimes wish
you could make up your mind to give that dog away; your mother dislikes
dogs so much."
Remembering this, Harry did not consider it necessary to say anything
to his father about what he intended to do. His way down the street
led him past Colonel Bates' residence. He stopped at the door and rang
the bell, asking to see Colonel Bates. When that gentleman appeared he
said, though his voice trembled,
"Have you bought a dog for Frank yet?"
"No; have you made up your mind to part with yours?"
"Yes, sir; if your offer holds good for to-day."
"Certainly; walk in and we will settle the business. I am very glad; we
are going to a rather lonely place for the summer, and the dog will be
both a comfort and protection to Frank."
The transfer of property was made in the course of the morning, and,
strangely enough, Colonel Bates sat beside Harry that evening in the
meeting and caught the glitter of the gold piece which the boy dropped
into the basket as the collection was taken for the Indian Mission.
And this is what he thought: "Here's a boy who has made a sacrifice; he
has given that which cost him something, and I gave what I can spare as
well as not! for once _I_ will give something that I shall feel."
"Father, why didn't you buy those horses you were talking about?" asked
Frank Bates a few days later.
"Because I bought a dog for you instead!"
"But my Jack did not cost a thousand dollars!" said Frank, puzzled.
"That is just what it cost me," replied Colonel Bates, smiling at his
boy's bewildered looks. And then he told him the story of the gold
piece and his own sacrifice, and the boy, after a little silence had
fallen between them, said:
"Father, you need not buy the dog cart; the old pony phaeton will do.
Give me the money it would cost in gold pieces, please, and I will go
to the next missionary meeting and offer _my_ sacrifice."
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
OUR MISSION BAND.
THE president of our Band appointed, at the beginning of the year,
twelve girls and boys to take charge of the Band Meetings, one for each
month. When Lucia Lawrence read the little slip of paper upon which was
written her subject, and the month for which she was assigned, she said
brightly,
"I don't know a single thing about Persia, but I can find out."
And I am going to tell you just a few of the things she found out
about Persia. She found that in July last the semi-centennial of the
beginning of the missionary work among the Nestorians at Oroomia was
celebrated. More than fifteen hundred Nestorians came to the jubilee on
the college grounds.
"College grounds!" exclaimed Lucia's brother Tom as the two sat
together working up the programme, for this brother and sister were
accustomed to study and work together, "do you mean to say that they
have a college over there?"
"Yes; there are schools of all grades in Persia," replied Lucia. "The
first school was opened in a cellar with only seven small children;
but now there are village schools, high schools, seminaries for boys
and girls, a college and theological seminary."
"Are there many who attend these schools?" asked Tom.
"I do not know what you would call many; I should think it was a large
number, all things considered, when they can count the day-school
pupils by thousands and the boarding-school students by hundreds. But
the population of Persia is between seven and eight million, and there
are only seven Mission stations in the whole country. Five of these are
under the management of the Presbyterian Board of America, and two are
under the care of the English Church Missionary Society."
"It seems like putting little bits of wedges into a narrow crack in a
big rock and thinking to split it by pounding with a hammer. The wedges
go all to pieces and the rock stays just as it was."
"But, Tom, if your wedges are of iron, with power enough in the arm
that strikes the blows, the rock is bound to yield."
"Yes; but sometimes people use up a lot of wedges and mallets too."
"Well, these missionaries who had given their lives as wedges to make
an opening for the Gospel, were only too glad to be used in the service
of Christ. That is what wedges are made for, I suppose, to be hammered
and go to pieces at last."
"But what did they do at this jubilee? That is what I want to find
out," said Tom.
"Just what we do in this country when we celebrate. They sold tickets
which entitled the holders to the privilege of spending the night on
the grounds, and also to their meals. The women were made comfortable
in the college building, but many of the men had to sleep out of doors.
A large booth had been built for the meeting, and men and women told
the story of the last fifty years. They had 'papers' prepared. Some
of them, on female education, were written by native women who had
been educated in the schools. They told about the native churches,
about the medical work of the Missions, and about the hospital; you
know the only hospital in Persia was built by the missionaries. The
history of the work of Miss Fidelia Fiske, and of Mrs. Grant and Miss
Rice were given. There was one old woman who came a long distance,
part of the way on foot, and that over a rough mountainous road, to
attend the celebration; she was one of Miss Fiske's first girls. Seems
to me she might have told a story worth hearing. The history of the
Hamadan Mission is interesting. Miss Montgomery says, 'What hath God
wrought? Come and see his work in Hamadan.' Nine years only since the
first missionary was stationed there, and now a church of seventy-five
members. A weekly prayer meeting and a woman's prayer meeting; a
Sunday-school and several day schools. But this work is done under the
most trying circumstances, without either church or school buildings.
The schools are gathered in private houses, and in summer the preaching
and other church services are held in the yard of Miss Montgomery's
house and in winter in the house. It just seemed to me when I read
about the work in Hamadan that I wanted to be rich. I should think some
wealthy man would want to build a church there."
"It seems as though there is such a wide crack there a big wedge would
go in and do good work."
"There is another thing which is encouraging," said Lucia, "and that
is the fact that the people have the Bible in their own language; that
is a big wedge, because you see if they once get the Bible into their
homes the work will go on faster. The women too are being educated.
There was a strong prejudice against the education of women, but that
is wearing away and of course the influence of educated Christian
mothers will be a great help. Now, Tom, I am going to give you the
station at Hamadan for your topic at the meeting, and I shall give Ella
the fire worshipers, and Dick will tell us about the Mussulmans. Then
I must find somebody who will give an account of the work at Oroomiah.
O, dear! there is so much about Persia that the hour will not begin to
hold it all."
"Well, you may leave something to piece out my hour with. I don't
believe I can ever find enough to fill up."
"What is your topic?" asked Lucia.
"Mexico; and I don't know a thing about it."
Lucia expressed her sympathy by laughing at him, and saying, "Just wait
until you study it up!"
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
SELECTION FOR RECITATION.
WHY DID YOU NOT COME BEFORE?
[An aged Hindoo woman, while first hearing the Gospel,
said, "Why did you not come before? My hair has grown
gray waiting for the good news."]
AN aged woman, poor and weak,
She heard the mission teacher speak;
The slowly-rolling tears came down
Upon her withered features brown.
"What blessed news from yon far shore--
Would I had heard it long before.
"O, I have bowed at many a shrine,
When youth and health and strength were mine;
How earnestly my soul has striven
To find some gleam of light from heaven;
But all my toil has been in vain--
These gods of stone but mocked my pain.
"A weary pilgrimage I've trod,
To win some favor from my god;
And all my jewelled wealth I've laid
Beneath the dark Pagoda's shade;
But still, the burden on my breast
Bowed head and heart with sore unrest.
"Now, I have waited many a day,
My form is bent, my hair is gray;
But still the blessed words you bear
Have charmed away my long despair;
O sisters, from your happy shore,
Would you had sent to me before!
"O, precious is the message sweet
I hear your kindly lips repeat;
It bids me weep for joy again;
My stony eyes were dry with pain;
My weary heart with joy runs o'er--
Ah, had you come to me before!
"How welcome is the glorious name
Of Jesus, who to save me came.
And shall I live when death is past?
And may I all my burdens cast
On Him? And is His mercy free?
Not bought with gifts? Such news for me!
"Yes, please forgive me when I say,
I've needed this so many a day.
In your glad homes, did ye not know
How India's tears of sorrow flow?
If you had known on that bright shore,
Surely you would have come before!"
--MISS P. J. OWENS, _Methodist Protestant._
[Illustration: LITTLE MISSION WORKERS AT MOTHER'S KNEE.]
[Illustration: The P.S. CORNER]
_Maud_ from Minnesota. Yes, I wrote the book which was your Christmas
present. I am glad you like it. I think you will like the closing of
the story about "Nettie and Jerry," but I must not tell you how it
ends, for that would lessen the interest. "In a minute" is a very
troublesome creature; I rejoice that you are going to get rid of his
company.
_Winnie_ from Pennsylvania. A "temper" is a very good servant, but
makes a bad master. If you succeed in keeping rule over yours, as I
know you will if you try, remembering the "Whisper Motto," you will be
much happier and more useful than you could possibly be if it ruled you.
_Deck_ and _Wilder_ from Minnesota. Yes, indeed, your letter shall
be published, and I hope "papa" will enjoy it as much as I did. I am
also much obliged to "sister" for writing for you. Still, I hope you
will write me a letter all yourselves, as soon as you can, and let
me know how you succeed. I am truly glad you have resolved not to
"contradict each other." Do you know I believe Satan likes to hear
people contradict better than he likes almost any other fault which
well brought up, truthful people have.
_Newton_ from Pennsylvania. My boy, we welcome you with pleasure. To
squarely own a fault is sometimes half the battle. You cannot be too
careful of the words you speak to "mother." Cross words sometimes sting
and burn after the mothers are gone. Watch carefully, and resolve to be
a joy and comfort to your mother so long as you have one.
_Rachel_ from Kentucky. These "hasty tempers!" You have only to read
the answers to the Pansies from month to month to discover how many
are troubled with them. It is a wise thing to begin very early in
life to keep them under control. About the habit of "forgetfulness,"
it sometimes grows on people so rapidly that they injure all their
prospects in life by it. You do well to watch it.
_Emma_ from Massachusetts. It would be very pleasant to the Pansies to
hear the story of some one whom you succeed in "Helping." Will you tell
it for us? I hope the badge has reached you long ago, and is a comfort.
_Ned_ from Massachusetts. Good for you, my brave young soldier! A
pledge against all that can intoxicate, and against tobacco, is a grand
thing. I hope every Pansy in the garden will follow your example. So
you are tempted to say "I don't want to?" Sometimes that isn't a bad
thing to say. If anybody coaxes you to do wrong, I hope you will always
say boldly, "I don't want to." But if it is something you know you
ought to do, suppose you rush right off and set about it so quickly
that your tongue will not have time to speak the words. How will that
do?
_Bessie_ and _Helen_ form North Carolina. Bless your dear hearts, of
course you will not fail! Don't think of such a thing. When a pledge is
right to take, and therefore right to keep, just shut your lips firmly
and say, "We shall succeed, because we ought to, and what we ought to
do, we can." Glad to enroll you.
_Iya_ from Minnesota. I wonder if I have the name right? I am not sure.
I hope your badge gave you help and pleasure. Oh, no, it costs nothing
to belong to the P. S. but a good strong tussle with one's faults.
_Arthur_ from Massachusetts. My boy, if I should put our roll of honor
in THE PANSY, there would be room for nothing else. There are thousands
and thousands of names! Hurrah for the temperance pledge! I feel like
giving a hearty cheer for every boy who signs it. I wonder how many
Pansies we have who have done so? Wouldn't it be nice to know? Dear me,
I hope you are not a lazy boy! Because they are almost certain to make
lazy men. Don't be a lazy Pansy, please.
_Cora_ from South Carolina. So glad to hear the badge is helping you.
Give my love to Daisy and little Alice; you will have to be a very
careful older sister in order to help them, will you not? So your dear
father has gone to Heaven? Poor little Blossom! I know how you miss
him. You must be a special flower for your dear mamma now, shedding all
the perfume you can around her.
_Martha_ from Massachusetts. Yes, I know all about how easy it is to
"answer back," and I know just what a trial it is to the mothers. You
do well to make a great effort to break the power of the habit. Getting
up in the morning isn't the easiest work in the world for a great many
people. I knew a lady who said she was obliged to spring out of bed as
soon as her eyes were opened, because if she waited five minutes it
seemed to her that it was not possible to get up! I suspect, my dear
Blossom, that you have a good mother. There is nothing which needs more
careful guarding than what we read. Make a rule to read nothing that
mother does not approve.
_Lena_ from New York. Glad to hear from Lena. These dear mothers are
worth minding the very minute they speak. I almost know you will keep
your pledge.
_Cora_ from Indian Territory. Welcome, dear Cora, to our Pansy bed. I
am sorry you have to bloom all alone in your far-away home. Cannot you
find some more Pansies who would bloom if they had a chance? Try. I
know all about what a nuisance it is to have people around who do not
put away their "things." At this moment there lies a cap in the very
centre of my study table among the papers. It belongs to a boy who is
shouting at somebody in the kitchen to know if they have the least
idea where his cap is! He spends an immense amount of time looking for
things that ought to be hanging on their hooks, or lying properly on
their shelves, and would be, I believe, if they could only walk.