MARTY GETS STARTED.

“O Mamma!” cried Marty, bursting into her mother's room, “may I have—”

Then she stopped suddenly, for she saw her mother was sitting in the rocking-chair with Freddie in her arms, evidently trying to put him to sleep. He looked around when Marty came in so noisily, and Mrs. Ashford said, in a vexed tone,

“O Marty! why do you rush in that way? I have been trying for half an hour to put Freddie to sleep, and have just got him to lay his head down.”

“Now I will lay my head up,” Freddie announced, and sat up with his eyes as wide open as if he never meant to go to sleep in his life.

“I'm so sorry, mamma,” said Marty, “but I didn't know he'd be going to sleep at this time.”

“It is sooner than usual, but he seemed so sleepy and was so fretful, I thought I would just give him his dinner early, and put him to sleep before our lunch.”

“Maybe he will lie on the bed with me, and go to sleep that way, as he did the other day,” suggested Marty, who was always very ready to make amends for any mischief she had caused. “Wont Freddie come and lie down beside sister?”

“No, no, no!” said Freddie, shaking his curly head and pushing Marty away with his foot.

“I'll tell you a pretty story,” said Marty coaxingly.

“No, no,” said the little boy.

“Pretty story about the three bears.”

At this mention of his favorite story Freddie began to relent, and presently stretched out his arms to Marty. Mrs. Ashford put him on the bed, and he cuddled up to Marty while she told him the thrilling story of the Great Huge Bear, the Middle-sized Bear, and the Little Small Wee Bear; but long before she came to the place where little Silver Hair was found, Freddie was fast asleep.

“What were you going to ask me, Marty?” inquired her mamma, when they were seated at lunch.

“Oh, yes!” said Marty, in her excitement laying down her fork and twisting her napkin. “I was going to ask you if I might have a box to put tenths in, and if I mayn't belong to the mission-band.”

“I thought you didn't want to belong to the band.”

“Well, I didn't before, but I do now. I didn't know till this morning how nice it is. Mrs. Howell and Edith have been telling me all about giving money systematically, and showing me verses in the Bible; and so I thought I'd like to give some of my money, and go with Edith to the mission meeting next Saturday, if you will let me.”

“Of course you may go if you wish.”

“And may I have a box to put my money in?”

“Yes.”

“Where shall I get it?”

“I'll give you one,” said Mrs. Ashford, laughing. “Will that cardinal and gilt one of mine be suitable for the purpose?”

“Will you give me that beauty? Thank you ever so much,” and Marty flew around the table to kiss her mother.

When they went up stairs Mrs. Ashford got out the pretty box, and, at Marty's desire, wrote on the bottom of it, “Martha Ashford,” and the date. Marty, after excessively admiring and rejoicing over it, made a place for it in the corner of one of her drawers. Then she consulted her mother how to begin with the tenths.

“I haven't any of this week's money left,” she said—in fact she seldom had any of her weekly allowance over—“ but I have twenty-seven cents of my Christmas money yet. Had I better take a tenth of that, or wait and begin with my next ten cents?”

Her mother thought it would be best, perhaps, to keep the twenty-seven cents for “emergencies,” and begin the tenths with the next week's money.

“But one penny will be very little to take to the meeting,” said Marty. “How would it do to put in two more as a thank-offering for something or other?”

“That is a very good idea.”

In the evening her father came in for his share of the requests.

“Papa,” she asked, “would you just as soon give me my ten cents this evening as Monday?”

“Certainly,” he replied, taking a dime out of his pocket. “What's going on this evening?”

“Oh, nothing's going on, but I've begun to have a box for missionary money—that lovely cardinal one of mamma's with gilt spots on it—and I'm going to put tenths and offerings in it and take them to the mission-band to help send missionaries to the heathen.”

“Well, that's good. But what are you going to do about candy and such things?”

“Oh, I don't put all my money in the box; just some of it. I'm going to learn to give—what was it I told you mamma?”

“Systematically?”

“Yes, ma'am, that's it. You know, papa, that means giving just so much of your money and giving it at a certain time and never forgetting to give it. That's the reason I wanted my ten cents now, so that I can put some of it in the box to-morrow morning. And, O papa! would it trouble you to give it to me all in pennies?”

“Not at all,” said her father gravely, and he counted out ten pennies, taking back the dime. “Now how much of that goes in the cardinal box?”

“One penny for tenths and two as a thank-offering, because I'm thankful that I've got started. So to-morrow morning three pennies will rattle into the box.”

“Why to-morrow?”

“Because it's the first day of the week. That's the New Testament plan, 'lay by in store on the first day of the week.'”

Then she climbed on her father's knee and told him all her day's experience. He approved of her plans and said he hoped she would be able to carry them out.

“I think,” he said, “it is a very good thing for small folks to learn to spend their money wisely, and a better thing to learn to be willing to share the good they have with those not so well off. But you will have to watch yourself very carefully, for it wont be so easy to do all this when the novelty wears off as it is now.”

“Oh! I'm always going to do this way,” said Marty very determinedly, “all my life.”

She always entered with heart and soul into whatever interested her, and all that week she could hardly think of anything but the mission-band and the money she was saving for it. By Wednesday she had dropped two more pennies into the box—a free-will-offering she told her mother—and did not spend a cent for anything, though one of her dolls was really suffering for a pink sash.

She was a great deal of the time with Edith, who gave her the most glowing accounts of what they did at the band—how they had recitations and dialogues and items, how they made aprons and kettle-holders and sold them, and how Miss Agnes read most interesting missionary stories to them while they sewed. She also told of a beautiful letter the secretary, Mary Cresswell, had written to the lady missionary in the school in Lahore, India, which the Twigs supported, and how they were anxiously looking for a reply. Miss Agnes said they must not expect a reply very soon, for missionaries were very busy people and had not much time for letter-writing. But the girls thought that Mrs. C——, the missionary, would be so pleased with Mary's letter she would certainly make time to write, at least a tiny answer.

“Does the band support a whole school?” Marty inquired in surprise. “It must take a lot of money.”

“What we do is to pay the teacher's salary, and that's only about twenty or twenty-five dollars a year,” Edith replied. “You see it's this kind of a school: the missionary ladies rent a little room for a school and hire a native teacher, somebody perhaps who attends one of the mission churches.”

“But how can any one afford to teach for so little money?”

“Oh, that's a good deal for them, for the natives of those countries can live on very little, Miss Agnes says. So the missionaries sometimes have a good many of these schools in different parts of the city, and they visit each one every two or three days to see how the children are getting on and to give them religious instruction. Miss Agnes says in that way the missionaries can do something for a great many children, and the more money we bands send to pay teachers the more of these little schools there may be.”

Marty could hardly wait for Saturday to come. She asked her mother to select a verse for her to say at the meeting.

“For Edith says they all repeat verses when their names are called.”

Her mother chose this one for her: “The silver is mine, and the gold is mine, saith the Lord of hosts.”

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