The man passed the box first to father, and he put in a bill. He glanced at me, evidently thinking a child would hardly have money to give, and was about to go on; but I looked beseechingly towards him, and he stopped and extended the box to me. In an instant the entire contents of my handkerchief were emptied into it—as much money as my two chubby hands could hold.
Father looked down upon me, and a half-amused smile flitted over his face, as he beheld my unexpected act.
After we had returned home, father sat down by the window in an easy chair, and calling me to him, placed me upon his knee.
“Gracie, dear,” said he, smilingly, “tell me how it happened you put so much money into the contribution-box. It must have taken nearly all you had.”
“It was all I had, papa. It was the money I saved in my bank, and you told me I could spend it just as I pleased.”
“O, yes, dear; I am glad to have you; only it was a good deal for a little girl.”
“I gave it because I wanted to please God,” I replied with earnest solemnity. “That dreadful night, when we all thought you would die, dear papa, I promised God I would be a better girl than I have ever been before. I would be more kind, generous, and obedient, and would try and please him all my life, if he would only let you get well; and I gave my money to-day because I am so glad and grateful to him.”
“Precious child,” said he tenderly and with much emotion, drawing me close to him, “and I am glad, and grateful too, for the rich gift of my dear little daughter.”
Sarah P. Brigham.