I told you my little old lady always managed to give away something to others. One of her habits was to put one shilling into the box in the church porch "for the poor of the parish," the first Sunday of every month, and if you knew how very little she had to live on, you would agree with me that this shilling, which was not her only charity, was a good deal. The morning I am writing of was the first Sunday of the month, and as she set off for church she held in her thin old fingers inside her well-worn muff two coins—a shilling and a halfpenny, the halfpenny being intended for the first crossing-sweeper she met on her way. This was another of her little customs. She had some way to go to church, and she did not always choose the same streets, so she had no special pet crossing-sweeper, and this morning it was Billy into whose hand she dropped the coin she was holding in her tremulous fingers.
"Thank you, ma'am," said Billy, tugging at his ragged cap with the same hand in which he had received the money, for he had his brush in the other, and he was anxious to show his gratitude. It was his first receipt that morning!
"Poor boy," thought the old lady, "he does look cold. I wish I could have made it a penny."
But the kind wish had scarcely crossed her mind before she heard a voice beside her.
"Please ma'am," it said, "do you know what you give me just now?"
And Billy, red with running, held out a very unmistakeable shilling!
The old lady gasped, and drew out the coin she was firmly clasping in her muff. It was a rather extra worn halfpenny!
"Oh, my good boy!" she began, but Billy interrupted her. He saw at once how it was. And if he gave a little sigh, can you wonder? It would have been "jolly," if she had replied, "All right, my boy. I meant it for you," and as he had run after her he had thought it might be so. For Billy was wise in some things, as the poor learn to be. He knew that it is not by any means those who have most to give who give most.