A Little Rag Picker

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Dec 20, 1883

A Little Rag Picker.

A HEAP of little bits of calico and linen lay just ahead of Phenie's broom. It was a very cunning new broom, and it swept as clean as new brooms always do. The sitting-room had to be swept a good many times in a day, for Miss Poor the dress-maker was there, snipping and making all the litter she could—so Phenie thought. But she liked to sweep it up very well indeed.

"I'd pick those pieces out and save them for paper-rags," said Aunt Anna, coming in just at that minute.

"There's such a little of 'em," said Phenie. "I don't believe it's a cent's worth. I want to sweep the veranda, too."

So Phenie fidgeted for a minute with her new broom, and when she found Aunt Anna didn't say any more she left the bits of cotton in a corner of the wide brick hearth, and went out to sweep the veranda floor. And when she went in again the rags were all out of the way.

All through the summer there were a good many bits of cloth and paper to pick up; but Phenie didn't touch them very often. There was always such a little, and she didn't like to any way. But in the fall a tin peddler drove up to the door in a shiny green cart, lettered with gold; and among other beautiful things he had some little tin pails, painted and lettered too.

"O Auntie!" screamed Phenie, in the greatest delight, "can't I have one?"

"Thirty cents, only," said the peddler.

After one look at Aunt Anna's face, Phenie felt with a dreadful sinking of her heart, that he might as well have said thirty dollars.

"I'll take rags," said the peddler, swinging one of the pails on his finger; "four cents a pound."

Aunt Anna's eyes began to laugh.

"Have you got any rags, Phenie?" she asked.

"No'm," said Phenie, solemnly!

"If you had only saved them, Phenie!"

"But there was such a little," said Phenie.

Aunt Anna laughed. Then she brought in from behind the shed door a bag stuffed full of rags.

"Here they are, Phenie," she said.

Phenie opened her eyes, and the peddler began to laugh. In a minute he had weighed the rags. "The pail's yours," he said, "and two cents over. Many a little makes a deal, little girl. Now, I'm coming round again next spring. Can't you save some rags for me?"

"Yes sir," said Phenie, hugging her pail, with her two gingling coppers.—Temperance Banner.