"Will you ask for me?" said the little stranger; "I don't know Him very well."

And Patty promised.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_I don't believe sugar-sticks are good for little girls._"]

MOPSEY'S MISTAKE

Uncle came in one cold evening, looking for all the world like a bear, Louie thought, in his big overcoat. He caught Louie up and gave her a real bear-hug, too.

"h.e.l.lo, Mopsey! where's Popsey?" he asked.

Popsey was Louie's baby sister, two years old, and her name wasn't Popsey any more than Louie's name was Mopsey, but Uncle Jack was all the time calling folks funny names, Louie thought.

"Her's gone to bed," she said.

Then Uncle Jack put his hand in his pocket and made a great rustling with paper for a minute before he pulled out two red-and-white sugar-sticks and gave them to Louie. "It's too bad that Popsey's asleep," said he. But I'm afraid Louie was rather glad of it.

"Aren't you going to save one stick for Grace?" asked mama. Popsey's real name was Grace.

"No," said Louie, speaking low. "I don't believe sugar-sticks are good for little girls. 'Sides, I want it myself."

Just as she swallowed the last bit there came a little call from her bedroom: "Mama?"

"h.e.l.lo!" said Uncle Jack, "Popsey's awake!"

And in a minute, out she came in mama's arms, rosy, and smiling, and dimpled.

Then there was another great rustling in Uncle Jack's pocket, and pretty soon--

"This is for Popsey!" said Uncle Jack.

She took her two sugar-sticks in her dimpled hands and looked at them a second--dear little Popsey!--and then she held out the larger one to Louie.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _"Dis for 'ou."_]

"Dis for 'ou," she cooed, "and dis for me!"

Poor Louie! She hung her head and blushed. Somehow she didn't want to look at Uncle Jack or mama. Can you guess why?

"Dis for 'ou!" repeated Popsey, cheerfully, pushing the long sugar-stick into her hand.

"Take it, Louie," said mama.

And Louie took it. But a little afterward mama overheard her tell Popsey:--

"I won't never be such a greedy thing any more, Popsey, dear. And I's always going to divide with you, all the time after this, long's I live!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Suddenly, with a great effort, she began to sing._"]

A GIRL'S SONG

At the time of the terrible accident a year or two ago at the coal mines near Scranton, Penn., several men were buried for three days, and all efforts to rescue them proved unsuccessful.

The majority of the miners were Germans. They were in a state of intense excitement. Sympathy for the wives and children of the buried men, and despair at their own fruitless efforts, had rendered them almost frantic.

A great mob of ignorant men and women a.s.sembled at the mouth of the mine on the evening of the third day, in a condition of high nervous tension which fitted them for any mad act. A sullen murmur arose that it was folly to dig farther--that the men were dead. And this was followed by cries of rage at the rich mine owners.

A hasty word or gesture might have produced an outbreak of fury.

Standing near me was a little German girl, perhaps eleven years old. Her pale face and frightened glances from side to side showed that she fully understood the danger of the moment.

Suddenly, with a great effort, she began to sing in a hoa.r.s.e whisper which could not be heard. Then she gained courage, and her sweet, childish voice rang out in Luther's grand old hymn, familiar to every German from his cradle, "A mighty fortress is out G.o.d."

There was silence like death. Then one voice joined the girl's, and presently another and another, until from the whole great mult.i.tude rose the solemn cry:--

With force of arms we nothing can, Full soon are we o'erridden.

But for us fights the G.o.dly Man, Whom G.o.d Himself hath bidden.

Ask ye His name?

Christ Jesus is His name.

A great quiet seemed to fall upon their hearts. They resumed their work with fresh zeal, and before morning, the joyful cry came up from the pit that the men were found--alive. Never was a word more in season than that child's hymn.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Here, that's mine._"]

CARRIE'S MARKS

"For I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus,'" repeated Miss Evans, slowly. "My dear girls," she said, "have you these marks? It used to be the custom in India to brand the master's name upon the arms of his servants, so that all who met them would know to whom they belonged.

Do your lives show the name of the Lord Jesus to all whom you meet?"

"O Belle!" cried Jennie Day, on the way home. "Did you see Sarah Brooks in that new silk dress? Didn't she feel grand?"

"New!" returned Belle White, "I almost know it was made out of one of her mother's old ones."

"How spiteful they are," thought Carrie Maynard; "I am glad I know better than to talk that way. Girls," she said aloud, "I think you are forgetting very quickly what Miss Evans read about the marks. The Bible says, 'Charity envieth not.'"