“I think He did, Annie. I’m sure we can all now enjoy the luxury of doing good as we never have before. Then just think what a luxury it will be not to weary ourselves with making over worn garments. We can now give them to the needy and help still others by hiring them to make our new clothing,—not that we may be idle, but that we may have ‘a heart at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathize.’ We can have dear grandpa and grandma with us all the time. We will have several cosey bed-rooms added to our cottage, and shall not feel too poor to invite our less favored cousins and many dear friends to spend long vacations with us.”
“But, ma, we might do all this and still appear poor, while if we had a grand home like Mrs. Duncan, and exquisite curtains, and a fine carriage, and Bell had her diamond ring, and we all wore expensive and stylish clothing, everybody would know papa was rich.”
“Yes, Annie, and what good would it do people to know papa was rich?”
“Well, I cannot think of any good it would do them.”
“What good would it do us, darling, to have people know it?”
“Oh ma, it would be so pleasant to have every one polite to us, and treat us beautifully as they do rich people.”
“Do not all who know us treat us well, Annie?”
“Oh yes, ma, very well; but you know even strangers admire those who dress, dine, and drive as only the rich can.”
“Now think, Annie, what this consideration of strangers costs. Friends envy us, the poor hate us, the irreligious question our sincerity, our own hearts are made vain, if not proud, millions are spent in useless luxuries that might bless the poor, and—well Annie, this is enough for once, isn’t it? When you have been in the city did you ever notice boys slowly pacing the streets and often ringing a bell, who were all covered over with an advertisement of some sale or show?”
“Yes, mamma.”