Then up rose the pastor; the long weeks of silent action were over; the time for speech-making had come. It was true that the funds under discussion had been raised toward the purchase of a new library; it was also true that without a general vote to that effect the committee would not be justified in turning those funds into another channel. At this point the belligerents who desired a new carpet, and meant to have it at once, looked disgusted and the belligerents who desired a new library, and meant to have one sometime, if they could get it, looked complacently defiant, and affirmed with nodding heads that they should never, no, never, vote away that sum of money for any other purpose under the sun! But the pastor had more to say; also he had something to do. The congregational meeting was held in the Sabbath-school room, and just behind the pastor was the great handsome library case, closed and unoccupied for many a day; for, to the honor of the Penn Avenue church, be it written, they had not left the old library to lie in dust on the shelves, but had selected, and mended, and re-covered, such of the books as were deemed worthy of being missionaries, and freighted them to a Western Sabbath-school.
That was accomplished during the pincushion and tidy fever, when expectation ran high over the immediate prospect of re-peopling those library shelves; but, as you are aware, the hopes centered on fairs and festivals had been vain, and the library shelves were vacant and dust-covered. So thought every person in that church that afternoon save ten.
"I have something to show you," said the pastor, and, as if by magic, those handsome doors swung open, revealing rows upon rows of books unmistakably new, handsomely bound, delightfully large, many of them. Tier upon tier they rose. It took but little arithmetic for those familiar with the library case to discover that there must certainly be more than three hundred books.
"Three hundred and forty-five!" said the pastor, reading the mathematical calculations all over the room. "Handsomely bound," and he took one in his hand; "duly marked and numbered," and he opened to the fly-leaf and read: "'Penn Avenue Sabbath-School Library. No. 7.'"
What did it mean? Where did they come from? How were they obtained? Nobody spoke, yet these sentences seemed to float all over the room, so distinctly were they written on the sea of eager faces.
"I can tell you about them," said the pastor. "Yes, they are new, every one of them, and they are ours if we vote to accept them. I have very little doubt but that we will accept them, for they were bought by our own money which we had deliberately and in sound mind dedicated to that purpose." He further explained that the money was procured by a system of decimal notation not so thoroughly understood as it ought to be; it had long been known that ten times one were ten, but the power of the number ten divided into tenths, and circulating freely and repeating themselves after the peculiar manner of decimals, was not generally understood or appreciated. We were indebted to the rising generation for many things, and not the least among them, in this church hereafter, would, he thought, be the exposition of the power of circulating decimals.
Had the pastor suddenly become insane? What in the world was he talking about! The opposing forces forgot their opposition and were lost in a common curiosity. Why were people looking over to those girls in Mrs. Jones's class? What had they to do with it?
Hark! The pastor was speaking again. He had forgotten certain statements that he was to make. One was, that these books were not evolved from cake and pickles, nor yet from tidies and slippers; but were the representatives of the value of systematic offerings, and systematic work done by individuals and individually devoted to this cause. Another was a request that, for reasons which would be better understood in the future than they now were, the library be named the "Jennie Stuart Library." And still another was the announcement that, as the library pledges held good until the signers erased their own names, the collectors would still continue their duties, hoping, by this means, to render any future leanness of library shelves an impossibility in Penn Avenue Church.
Light was beginning to dawn, albeit it was still much obscured by fog. The "Jennie Stuart Library." She was one of Mrs. Jones's girls. Decimals—one, two, three—well, there were just ten of them; it had not been noticed before. But how could they have secured such a library as that? Could it be possible that that little ten-cent affair of theirs had grown to such dimensions!
I suppose it is needless to tell you that the threatened storm blew over, and smiles and congratulatory speeches ruled the hour. The decimal class received a vote of thanks, which overwhelmed them with blushes; their suggestions were adopted by a unanimous vote. Penn Avenue rose to the acknowledgment of the fact that the only proper way to manage a Sabbath-school library was to have a standing committee to supply and add new books, in monthly installments.