"I don't think that ever happens, Phil," said she. "God gives every one of us some kind of seed to sow, and some kind of a place to sow it in. It may be a very small, narrow corner that we have to cultivate; but if we work faithfully at that he is sure to give us more. We can all speak kindly to some one, or give some one a little help, or take some hindrance out of their way. A very poor old man once gave a boy poorer than himself a pair of old shoes to wear, that the boy might go to church and Sunday-school. The shoes had holes in them. The old man was fond of his coffee for breakfast, but he went without a whole week that he might have the money to get the shoes mended. The boy went to Sunday-school, where he learned to read and love his Bible, and he afterward became a useful and learned Christian minister. That was a very little bit of seed—a pair of old shoes—and see what a great crop it bore."
"And suppose the boy's mother had sold the shoes for whisky, as the woman did whose girl mother fixed up last winter, what would have become of the seed then?" asked Horace, in rather a sneering tone.
"Sure, 'twould have done the old gentleman himself good, anyhow!" answered Phil, eagerly. "Wouldn't it, Miss?"
"You are right, Phil," said Miss Isabel. "The Lord says that he who gives even a cup of cold water in his name shall in no wise lose his reward, and that we are to do good and lend, hoping for nothing again, and our reward shall be great in heaven."
"A man wouldn't make much money that way, I guess," said Horace Maberly, who was taught at home that the chief good of life was money.
"I don't remember any place in the Bible where we are told that it is our duty to make a great deal of money do you?" asked Miss Isabel. "St. Paul says we are to be diligent and work with our hands, in order that we may be able to give to him that lacks, and also that we may not be burdensome to others, but we are nowhere told that it is our duty to be rich."
Horace looked a good deal vexed. In his home, money was the great thing thought about and talked about. His father had become very rich within a few years, and Horace thought himself a great person in consequence. He could not see how it was that Miss Isabel, whose own father was richer even than Mr. Maberly, should seem to care no more for him than she did for Harry Merton, or even for little Phil O'Connor.
"Well, I don't know what seed I can sow," said Phil, sighing.
"Think about it a little, and maybe you will find some," said Miss Isabel.
Just then the superintendent's bell rang, and the school was closed.