The children's summer holidays are just beginning; now is the time to interest them, to teach and help them; to put higher thoughts into their minds, to give their hands unselfish work to do.
It is a hot afternoon, Jennie and Pollie have been playing together aimlessly, breaking out now and again into noisy bursts of passion. They are too tired to play any more now, and hot and sulky besides.
Betty calls them to her.
"Jennie, Pollie, I want to talk to you about a new way of spending your holiday afternoons; a really beautiful way. Come into the garden, and I'll tell you all about it."
The "garden" is only a back-yard, with one dusty tree leaning over the paling, and a few unhappy-looking flowers. How different from Grannie's garden, with its masses of sweet-scented, old-fashioned blossoms; its pure air and clear sunlight!
Well, well, Betty must not think of that just now. At any rate, the air is fresher here than in the house.
"Is it a new kind of game? Oh, Betty, do make haste and tell us!"
"Listen, girls. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago there lived a dear, good woman—a very good woman."
"What was her name?" demands Pollie.
"Dorcas. She lived in a little town by the seaside, in a country far away. Now in this town were many poor widows, who could not afford to buy clothes enough to keep them warm; and when Dorcas saw this she set to work, and cut out nice coats, and stitched away, and I daresay she called her neighbours in to help her, and very soon those poor widows had new garments all round. How grateful, how delighted they were! They couldn't say enough to show their thanks."