THE EBONY CHAIR.
For a few weeks everything went smoothly. Marty attended the meetings of the band, in which she took great interest, and put two or three pennies in her box every Sunday morning. But there came a time when she began to find it hard to give even that much. There seemed to be so many little things she wanted, and it was just the season of the year when she had very few presents of money. She generally got some on her birthday, in August, and again at Christmas; but as she could not keep money very well, that was soon spent, and during the latter part of the winter she was very poor. Once or twice nothing went in the box but the strict tenth, and once she had a hard struggle with herself before even that went in; in fact, she had a very bad time altogether. It was all owing to a tiny chair.
“O girls!” exclaimed Hattie Green, one day at recess, “have you seen those lovely chairs in Harrison's window?”
“What chairs?” inquired the girls.
“Oh, such lovely little dolls' chairs! Carved, you know, and with beautiful red cushions. I came by there this morning, and that's the reason I was late at school, I stopped so long to look at those cunning chairs.”
“Let's all go home that way,” suggested Marty, “and then we can see them.”
“All right,” said Hattie.
So after school quite a crowd went around by Harrison's toy-store to see the wonderful chairs.
There they were, rather small, to be sure, but ebony—at least they looked like ebony—and crimson satin. The girls were in raptures with them.