Peace stared at the chandelier, then surreptitiously stole a peep at the face behind her. A big hand turned the curly head gently from him.
She studied the green walls with their delicate frescoing, then cautiously leaned back against the President's broadcloth vest. Firmly he righted her. Dismay took possession of her. This was the worst punishment that ever had befallen her,—that ever could.
She gulped down the big lump which was growing in her throat, and counted the books on the highest shelf around the wall. Fifty—sixty—seventy—her heart burst, and with a wail of anguish she kicked the book out of the President's hand and clutched him about the neck with a grip that nearly choked him, as she sobbed, "Oh, grandpa, I'll never, never, never forget again! I'll be the most un-missionary person you ever knew,—yes, I'll be a reg'lar heathen if you'll just speak to me! I didn't think I was being bad in trying to help others—"
"My precious darling! I don't want you to be a heathen," he cried, straining her to his heart. "I want you to be the best and most enthusiastic little missionary it is possible for you to be, but in order to be a good missionary, one must first learn obedience, and cultivate good judgment. I wouldn't for all the world have my little girl grow up a stingy, miserly woman. I am proud of the sweet, generous, unselfish spirit which prompts you to try to make the burdens of others lighter, but you are too little a girl yet to know how and where to give money and clothes and such things so they will do good and not harm."
"I see now what you mean, grandpa. I thought when I gave my coat to the little hand-organ beggar that she would keep it and use it. I never s'posed her father wouldn't let her have it, and now when he takes it away from her she will be sorrier'n she would have been if she had never had it."
"Yes, dear; and the money the old fellow gets from selling it will undoubtedly be spent for drink, or something equally as bad for him. Just out of curiosity, I traced the shoes you gave to the child on the hill not long ago, and I found that she had not told you the truth at all. She had no twin sister, nor did she even need the shoes herself."
"Is—is—there no one that really is hungry and cold and needs things?" gulped the unhappy child after a long pause of serious thought.
"Oh, yes, my dear! Thousands and thousands of them," he sighed sorrowfully; "and I am deeply thankful that my little girlie wants to make the old world happier. But after all, dear, the greatest need of this world of ours is love. It is not the money we give away which counts; it is the love we have for other people. I remember well a little couplet your great-grandmother was fond of quoting—and she practiced it every day of her life, too,—
'Give, if thou canst, an alms; if not, afford
Instead of that, a sweet and gentle word.'
"She had little of this world's goods to give away, but she was one of the greatest sunshine missionaries I ever knew. My, how every one loved her. And her son, Hi, was just like her—one of the biggest-hearted, most lovable people God ever created. He was certainly a power for good during his life, but his only riches were a great love for his fellowmen and his warm, sunny smile."