"And what wages do you get?"
"I'm goin' to get eight pounds a year this year 'm."
The lady walked on. She had an income herself of eight hundred a year, and had put half a crown into the plate. Her money was her god, and she even grudged spending it on herself. She had been persuaded to go to the meeting to hear her nephew speak, for he was one of the missionaries, and she had felt almost sorry that she allowed a generous impulse to induce her to part with half a crown, when sixpence would have sufficed.
But Peggy's pride and delight in her stocking had amused and touched her. Shame filled her soul when she contrasted the two offerings and respective incomes. She went home and sent an anonymous cheque for £100 to the Society, and no one knew that a little servant-maid was responsible for it.
Peggy was stopped once more, and this time it was a clergyman.
"Are you the little girl who sent up £13 odd in a stocking?"
Peggy beamed.
"Yes, please sir; but it were more than that: thirteen pounds two shillings and ninepence halfpenny. I hopes as how that young man didn't drop none! He looked quite scared."
"Has the stocking any history?" asked the clergyman, smiling.
Peggy stared at him, then answered with a little scorn in her tone—