"I don't know. I'll have to think. You'll help me to think, won't you?"
"Indeed I will, if you want me to. I should think almost anything you could send would please him, for, after all, it is the thought that counts, not the thing itself."
"Oh, but I do think things count, and—Miss Dorothy, you won't tell if I ask him not to send me money."
"Not money? I think that it's rather a nice thing to have, for then you can buy whatever you like."
"You couldn't if you were I."
"Why not?"
"Because. You won't say anything about it to the grans?" Marian's voice dropped to a whisper. "When papa sends me money it always goes to the missions; it is my sacrifice, Grandma says. As long as I don't have the money really in my hands, it doesn't so much matter, but it would matter if I had to go without butter or perhaps sweet things, like dessert or cake for a whole month. That is what would happen if I said I would rather have the money myself than let the missionaries have it. Oh, I suppose it is all right," she added quickly, "and no doubt I am a hardened sinner, but I would like a real Christmas gift."
"Did you never have one?" asked Miss Dorothy, with pity and surprise in her voice.
"Not a really one, except from Mrs. Hunt; she gave me a sweet little pincushion last year, and a whole bag full of cakes and goodies. I enjoyed them very much."
"Did your grandparents give you nothing at all?"