For Mother

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · Apr 13, 1911

HE was only a mite of a boy, dirty and ragged; but he had stopped for a little while in one of the city’s free playgrounds to watch a game of ball between boys of his own and a rival neighborhood. Tatters and grime were painfully in evidence on every side; but this little fellow attracted the attention of a group of visitors, and one of them, reaching over the child’s shoulder as he sat on the ground, gave him a luscious golden pear. The boy’s eyes sparkled as he looked back to see from whom the gift had come, and then turned his face again, too shy or too much astonished to speak. But from that time on his attention was divided between the game and his new treasure. He patted the pear; he looked at it; and at last, as if to assure himself that it was as delicious as it appeared, he lifted it to his lips, and cautiously bit a tiny piece near the stem. Then, with a long sigh of satisfaction and assurance, he tucked the prize safely inside his dirty little blouse.

“Why don’t you eat it, Tommy?” demanded a watchful acquaintance.

“Eat it? All meself? Ain’t I savin’ it for me mother?”

The tone, with its mingling of resentment and loyalty, made further speech unnecessary. Whatever else Tommy lacked,—and it seemed to be nearly everything,—he had learned humanity’s loftiest lesson; he had another dearer than himself, and knew the joy of sacrifice.—Baptist Young People.