"No, I didn't. When they shoved it into my face, I told 'em I'd left all my money at home—and so I had."
"You're about right, Sam," said Bill Robinson. "But I did more than you did. When the box was handed to me, I spoke right out, so that everybody around me heard. I told the old deacon if he'd take up a subscription to help the poor in our town, I'd put in something."
"What did he say to that?"
"Why—he said, 'Souls are of more consequence than bodies.' So I just said back that I guessed he'd find it hard work to save a soul out of a starving body. But you see that isn't the thing. They won't try to save the souls, or the bodies either, of their own townfolks. Now when Squire Truman came here to settle, they tried quick enough to save his soul. Ye see his body was already salted down with ten thousand dollars, so his soul was worth something to 'em. Why don't they try to save poor old Israel Trask's soul, and his wife's too?"
"Wasn't there a committee of the church that visited old Israel last month?" queried Drake.
"Yes—there was," answered Sam, giving his cigar an indignant shake; "and what did they do? They went there—four on 'em—and found the old folks suffering for want of food and clothing. They tried to make the old man believe their religion was the only true one in the world, but he would not. So they gave him three tracts and a little cheap book, and then went away. That's what they did. Afore I'd give a cent to such chaps to send off to feed their missionaries in Baugwang and Slapflam Islands, I'd throw it into the fire."
"But these missionaries are honest people, and do some good," remarked Peter Hobbs, who had not before spoken on the subject.
"Of course they do," responded Sam. "But wouldn't it look better of 'em to begin some of their charities at home? I judge of a man's order by the way his own shop looks, and not by the way he may fuss around on another man's premises. And just so with those philanthropists. I'd rather see how much their religion does toward keeping the Gentiles of their own town, than to go away off to the other end of the earth to look for the fruits of their Christianity. Them's my sentiments."
"And mine too," uttered Walter Mason, who had just thrown away the stump of one cigar, and was about lighting another. "Just think; they collected, last Sunday, to send off to the Hindoos, over two hundred dollars. Now, that would have made half the poor families in this town—and I don't know but all—comfortable for the winter. There was Mr. Netherly—worth forty thousand dollars—he put in a ten-dollar bill. It was a great, new bill, and he opened it, and held it up, and even turned it round, so't everybody could see it before he let it drop. Then at the end, when the box was carried up into the pulpit, the deacon whispered to the minister; and the minister got up, and, said, taking hold of the corner of the rich man's bill: 'Here is ten dollars from one brother. Let that brother be assured that his deed is remembered of him in heaven.' Yes, that's what was said; and Mr. Netherly held up his head, bowed very low, and then looked around at the rest of the congregation, as much as to say, 'that's me.' Now I know of another thing that I guess'll be remembered in heaven, alongside of this one. Last week, poor old Trask—Uncle Israel—called at Netherly's with some baskets. You know the old man gets out stuff in the summer, and then in the winter makes it up. Well, he went there, and asked Netherly if he wouldn't buy a basket. No; he didn't want one. Then the old man told him how he and his poor old wife were suffering, and he asked him if he couldn't help him in some way; and what do you think Netherly said?—Why, he said that he had to pay taxes to help support a poorhouse, and told Uncle Israel that he'd find help there, if he'd only apply to the selectmen! Now what d'ye think of that, eh?"
"Why," returned Sam, "I think if he's got an account in heaven, he'll find a balance against him, when he comes to settle up."