Little Spencer Nelson, a poor boy, eight years old, recently died in a hospital with a little bank clasped to his breast. The bank had $3.41 in pennies the boy had saved to buy presents for poor children.
The little hero had fought manfully through three months' suffering, enduring the torture of five lacerating operations. The pain failed to dim his spirit of unselfishness that burned brightly and clearly in his tired, fever-racked body.
After each operation his mind became more securely fixed on his project to help bring cheer to poor children.
A little savings bank was his companion and each visitor was asked to contribute to his fund.
Three hours before he died a smile beautified his thin wasted face as the nurse dropped a dime in his bank. His last words were to his mother and the message was in a scarcely audible whisper, asking her to remember to use the money to make poor children happy.
That was real charity; that boy had no hypocrisy in his heart.
The daily paper chronicles sensational charity, where men vie with each other to see who can give most and get the most advertising. They overlook the wonderful love and charity they are capable of, if they would look into out-of-the-way places and get direct connection with pain and suffering.
Little Spencer looked from his cot and saw the suffering of other little children and he wanted to help them, and the very resolve and impulse made him forget his own pains and misery.
In the Book of Good Deeds the name of Spencer Nelson will be recorded as a sweeter act of charity than any million-dollar gift to a great institution.
What one of you who read these lines can read the story of that little hero and not be touched by the generous love and beautiful conception of charity he possessed.