"That makes no difference at all," said the kindly German woman, who knew Marty, as Mrs. Ashford generally dealt at the shop: "you take it all the same, and bring the penny to-morrow--any day."

"No, thank you, mamma wouldn't like me to do that," answered Marty, hastening out to hide her tears. She was so sorry for Freddie's disappointment; and disappointed he was, for he had a good memory and immediately asked for his cake. Then there was a great crying scene, for Marty cried as heartily as he did, and their mamma had to comfort them both.

"I think, mamma," said Marty, when Freddie had condescended to eat a piece of another kind of cake and quiet was restored, "I think, after all, I'll not put _every_ cent of my money in the box, but will keep a little to buy things for dear little Freddie--and you," giving her mother a squeeze.

"That will be best," said Mrs. Ashford. "I know you enjoy bringing us things sometimes."

This was quite true. Marty was very generous, and nothing pleased her more than to bring home some modest dainty, such as her small purse would buy, and share it with everybody in the house, not forgetting Katie in the kitchen.

But her penniless condition brought her a harder time yet. The next day in school a sudden recollection flashed upon her that nearly took her breath away. She could hardly wait until school was dismissed to race home to her mother, to whom she managed to gasp,

"Oh, mamma! next Friday is Cousin Alice's birthday!"

"Is it?" said Mrs. Ashford calmly. "What then?"

"Why, you know that letter-rack of silver cardboard that I have been making for her birthday, and counted so on giving her, isn't finished."

"It is all ready but the ribbon, isn't it? It wont take long to finish.

I will make the bows for you."

"But the ribbon isn't bought yet, and I haven't got a cent!" exclaimed Marty despairingly.

There were two very strict rules in connection with the money Marty received each week. One was she was never to ask for it in advance, and the other that she was not to borrow from any one, expecting to pay when she got her dime. If she spent all her money the first of the week, she had to do without things, no matter how badly she wanted them, till the next allowance came in. This was to teach her foresight and carefulness, her father said. Now she had no money and no expectation of any until Sat.u.r.day, when the birthday would be over. Of course there was all the money in the red box, but she did not dream of touching that. It was just as much missionary money as if it was already in the hands of the Board that Miss Agnes talked about.

"If I had any ribbon that would suit," said Mrs. Ashford, "I would give it to you; but I haven't. Besides, for a present it would be better to have new ribbon. How much would it cost?"

"Rosa Stevenson paid eight cents a yard for hers, and it takes a yard and a half--narrow ribbon, you know."

"Then you will want twelve cents. I am sorry I cannot lend you the money, but it is against the rule, you know."

"Yes, ma'am, I know," Marty replied sorrowfully.

She was sadly disappointed, as she had been looking forward for several weeks to the time when she should have the pleasure of presenting the nicely-made letter-rack to her cousin. She did not grudge the money she had devoted to missions; she would like to have given much more if she could; but she began to see that Edith's way of giving according to system was the best. She was still very much interested in the heathen, but they seemed a little farther off than on Sat.u.r.day, while Cousin Alice and the letter-rack now absorbed most of her thoughts. She stood dolefully gazing out the window, not paying any attention to Freddie's invitation to come and play cable cars.

"Well, cheer up!" said her mother. "We will find some way out of the difficulty. You try to think of some plan to get twelve cents, and so will I. Between us we ought to devise something."

Marty brightened up instantly and looked eagerly at her mother, sure that relief was coming immediately. "What is your plan, mamma?" she asked.

"Oh! I didn't say I had one yet," said Mrs. Ashford, laughing. "You must give me time to think; and you must think yourself."

That was all she would say then, and Marty spent a very restless afternoon and evening trying to think of some way to earn or save that money, but could think of nothing that would bring it in time for Friday. At bedtime her mother inquired, "Have you got a plan yet?"

"No, indeed. I can't think of a thing," answered Marty, nearly as doleful as ever.

"How do you like this plan?" said Mrs. Ashford. "I have some rags up in the storeroom that I want picked over, the white separated from the colored, and if you will do it to-morrow afternoon, I will give you fifteen cents."

"Oh, I'll do it! I'll do it!" cried Marty in delight, kissing her mother. "You're the best mamma that ever was!"

"It is not pleasant work, and will probably take all your playtime,"

cautioned her mother.

"Oh! I don't mind that," said Marty.

So, although the next afternoon was remarkably pleasant, and it would have been delightful to be playing with her sled in the snow-heaped little park near by, where the other girls were, she very cheerfully spent it in the dull storeroom with an old calico wrapper over her dress, sorting rags. There were a good many to do--though she candidly said she didn't think there was more than fifteen cents' worth--and she got pretty tired. Katie offered to help, but Marty heroically refused, and earned her money fairly.

The letter-rack was completed in good time, and presented. Cousin Alice said it was the very prettiest of all her gifts, besides being extremely useful.

"Mamma," said Marty that evening, "I believe after all I'll go back to Edith's plan of giving 'tenths' and 'offerings' to missions."

"I think that would be the better way," said her mother.

"Not that I'm tired of the heathen or the mission-band, or of giving, you know, but just because--"

"Yes, I understand," said her mother, as she hesitated; "you are just as much interested in the matter as ever, but you now see that there are more ways than one of doing good with money, and that it is better to give systematically, as Mrs. Howell says. Then you know what you are doing, and I dare say, taking it all in all, you will give more that way than by giving a good deal one time and nothing at all another."

"Oh! I'll _never_ come to the time when I wont give anything," Marty declared emphatically.

And she then truly believed she never should.

CHAPTER V.

THE EBONY CHAIR.

For a few weeks everything went smoothly. Marty attended the meetings of the band, in which she took great interest, and put two or three pennies in her box every Sunday morning. But there came a time when she began to find it hard to give even that much. There seemed to be so many little things she wanted, and it was just the season of the year when she had very few presents of money. She generally got some on her birthday, in August, and again at Christmas; but as she could not keep money very well, that was soon spent, and during the latter part of the winter she was very poor. Once or twice nothing went in the box but the strict tenth, and once she had a hard struggle with herself before even that went in; in fact, she had a very bad time altogether. It was all owing to a tiny chair.

"O girls!" exclaimed Hattie Green, one day at recess, "have you seen those lovely chairs in Harrison's window?"

"What chairs?" inquired the girls.

"Oh, such lovely little dolls' chairs! Carved, you know, and with _beautiful_ red cushions. I came by there this morning, and that's the reason I was late at school, I stopped so long to look at those cunning chairs."

"Let's all go home that way," suggested Marty, "and then we can see them."

"All right," said Hattie.

So after school quite a crowd went around by Harrison's toy-store to see the wonderful chairs.

There they were, rather small, to be sure, but ebony--at least they looked like ebony--and crimson satin. The girls were in raptures with them.

"They are beauties!" cried Edith.

"How I should love to have one!" said Marty.

"I wonder how much they are," said Rosa Stevenson.