"Do you always give a tenth of everything you have?"
It was Nannie Howard's question, asked in a hesitating, thoughtful tone, while Nettie blushing and laughing, went into the depths of her pocket for a pencil, tore a fly-leaf from her algebra, and wrote Miss Benedict's name.
"Always!" said the music-teacher, gently, her lip trembling and her voice quivering a little. "It was my father's rule. He taught it to me when I was a little, little girl."
They could not know how pitiful it seemed to her that the daughter of the man who had given his annual thousands as tenths, had really to spend an hour in planning, so that she might see her way clear toward giving two dollars and a half a month! Not that this young Christian intended to wait until she could see her way clear. Her education had been, The tenth belongs to God. As much more as you can conscientiously spare, of course; but this is to be laid aside without question. Her education, built on the rock of Christian principle, had laid it aside as a matter of course, and then her human nature had lain awake and planned how to get along without it, and yet not draw on the sacred fund at the bank.
"I suppose it is a good rule," Mary Burton said, "though I never thought of doing such a thing. Well," after another thoughtful pause, "I may as well begin, I suppose. I have a dollar a month to do what I like with. I'll give two dollars to the fund."
"Good!" said Miss Benedict. "Why, girls, we have a splendid beginning."
But Mary Burton was an exception; not another girl in the group had an allowance. A few minutes of total silence followed; then a new type of character came to the front.
"Father gave me a dollar this morning to get me a new pair of gloves; but I suppose I can make the old ones do. I'll give that."
"O, Kate! your gloves look just horrid." This from a younger sister.
"I know they do, but I don't care," with a little laugh that belied the words; "so does the church."