“Mission band! I’d like to know what’s a mission band?” she demanded sharply.
“Why,” spoke out the bolder of the two; “it’s lot of us children all together, working and sewing for poor folks. We bring our pennies to Miss May for them, and she says it’s giving to Jesus. We have just the nicest time; do let her go.”
“Oh, mother,” and Sallie’s brown eyes looked appealingly into her mother’s face; “please say I may—do let me.”
Mrs. Tucker slowly folded the garment she had ironed, and hung it in its place before she answered.
“No, she can’t. I can give her all the sewing she wants to home, and we’ve got nothing to give the Lord; he don’t give to us. So go along, and tell Miss May that Sallie Tucker’s better set to work.”
When Mrs. Tucker, the hard day’s work at last completed, toiled wearily up stairs, she found her little daughter seated upon the top stair, while about her on the floor, were scattered all her childish treasures.
“What on earth, child,” exclaimed her mother, “is all this clutter for? What are you trying to do?”
“Why, mother,” chirruped the sweet child’s voice; “I am looking to find something to give to Jesus.”
“Give to Jesus! What do you think the Lord wants of such stuff as this?”
“But, mother,” she explained, and her voice grew unsteady, and the bright eyes filled with tears, “my teacher said anything we give to him, he would like it; and if we gave what we loved best, it pleased him most. And this is what I love most—my wax doll and my birthday book. Won’t he take it, mother? Can’t I give him anything?”