"I am glad you did that, Dolly. It was kind of you. Katie has set her heart upon the party, and else wouldn't have gone in her merino."
Dolly was Lancie's pet name for his eldest and favourite sister.
"It's not any great kindness," said Dora. "I don't suppose I should ever have worn the dress myself again. I think—" she paused a moment, then went on thoughtfully—"it seems to me, Lancie, that the more a thing costs us the more merit there is in doing it, and if it doesn't cost us anything, there's no merit in doing it. It isn't as if I were going to the party end wanted to wear the dress myself, for instance. Now it cost me a great deal more to take the children out for a walk this morning, when I would much rather have stayed at home, and made the pudding and cooked the dinner. I am afraid I haven't expressed myself very well, but you know what I mean."
"Yes—'neither will I offer burnt offerings unto the Lord my God of that which cost me nothing.'"
There was a silence after that until Katie came back with the dress over her arm, for Lancie had covered his face with his hands, and Dora knew he did not wish to be spoken to.
Again a deep thrill of joy had throbbed through the little cripple's heart. God knew what it cost him to lie so many weary hours in pain and weakness, and be cut off from the pleasures which all his brothers, down to Baby Phil, enjoyed. He knew how high a price was paid for the sacrifice which he could daily offer up—the price of his weariness and suffering—and in the thought, a deep thankfulness rose from Lancie's heart that he had so rich a gift to offer. Ah! If he could always feel as he was feeling then.
[CHAPTER III.]
DORA GROWS METHODICAL.