THE gilt button shone and sparkled on Tommy’s coat and was absurdly proud of himself. Tommy had sewn him there with a piece of string and a packing-needle, one morning when his Mother was too busy with the baby to attend to him. He went to school with the little boy and listened with glistening contempt and dignity to all the master had to say. He had a very small opinion of the master, for he hadn’t a gilt button upon his coat, and he couldn’t understand why Tommy’s heart went pit-a-pit at such a rate when the schoolmaster asked him a question. The rest of the boys rather made fun of Tommy’s button; but then, of course, that was jealousy on their part. They would have liked one well enough themselves; at least, so the button thought.

At night, when his chubby little master was fast asleep, with the old coat folded up tidily on a chair beside the bed, the foolish button began to boast and brag about his grandeur, and this didn’t quite please the other buttons. They had lived on Tommy’s coat much longer than he, and they didn’t see why he should give himself such airs. They were quite ready to be friendly and kind, but they did not want to be looked down upon, and so in a very little time they were all quarrelling.

Presently Tommy’s Mother stooped over the child’s bed and kissed him. She was very fond of her boy, and with good reason too, for he was always bright and cheery, always helpful and loving, and only the poor overworked woman knew what the little lad was to her. As she turned from the bed the glitter of the gilt button on the worn old coat caught her eye and she smiled at the sight of Tommy’s tailoring.

“Poor little lad,” she sighed; “it’s a shame to let him go so shabby,” and she carried the coat downstairs and began to mend it neatly.

Now, the very first thing she did was to cut the gilt button off the coat and put a sober black one in his place, and it happened that she let the gilt button fall, and he rolled away under the hearth and lay all night long amongst the dust and ashes.

In the morning little Tommy felt quite grand in his tidy coat, though certainly he had a pang when he found his gilt button had gone. He went downstairs, and, finding his Mother had overslept herself, set to work to clean the hearth and light the fire, and very pleased he was when he saw his old friend again amongst the ashes. He slipped him into his trousers pocket, and there the button lived for many a long day. Tommy grew to really love him, and wouldn’t have parted with him for anything. When rich boys jingled the pennies in their pockets, Tommy shook up the gilt button against a piece of slate-pencil, and it sounded almost as well.

And what did the gilt button think about it? He liked it; yes, he really did—at least, as soon as he got used to the dark depths of the trousers pocket. He found out, don’t you see, that Tommy loved him, and everyone knows, the wide world over, that it is better, yes, a thousand times better, to be loved than to be admired.

L. L. Weedon.