THE EMPTY BOX.
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 a cold, 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 this lesson 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 are going 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 ever _could_ be 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."