"EFFECTUAL CALLING"
"I'll go with you as far as the door, dear—but the elders wouldn't want me to come in, of course." Thus spoke Mrs. Simmons to her son as the little family were seated at their evening meal. Very humble it was, indeed, with its strawberry jam, and bread and cheese, these themselves carefully measured out.
"Come away, Jessie; what's keeping you?" the mother called to the outer kitchen.
"I'll come in a minute, mother," the child's cheery voice replied. "I'm doing something," which was evident a little later when Jessie appeared, flushed and triumphant, bearing in one hand a little plate of well-browned toast, and in the other, her little fingers tingling with its heat, a large brown egg, evidently an unwonted luxury.
"Jessie, my child, what have you been doing?" the mother asked, peering rather closely at the dainties the child had laid upon her plate. "Oh, Jessie, you shouldn't have done it—you know we can't afford it, dear; we need to sell them all," she remonstrated, affection and gratitude nevertheless mingling in her voice.
"It was cracked, mother—it got a little fall," the child explained artfully.
"Jessie gave it a little fall; she always gets the biggest one cracked a little when there isn't much for supper—don't you, sister?" Harvey asked knowingly.
His sister blushed, but the reply she was struggling to provide was interrupted by the tinkling of the bell above the door in the little room without. This was a signal the mother was never slow to obey; customers were rare enough and must not be permitted to escape. Rising quickly, she made her way, her hands extended rather pitifully, to the little room that did duty as a store. Jessie bore the little delicacies back to the kitchen, lest they should cool in the interval.
The mother was back again in a minute, sighing as she resumed her seat.
"Did they buy anything, mother?" her son enquired.