Harry’s Earnings by Little Sower

S. D. A. Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Sep 7, 1882

FromThe Signs of the Times, Vol. 8, No. 34; Special Edition, No. 1

Harry’s Earnings.

By Little Sower

No boy, or man either, in all the country, was more ready and willing to help the needy than Harry Gray. One day he came to his uncle with an anxious look on his face, and said:—

“Uncle, can you help a poor man who lives down in the village? He is very sick and entirely destitute.”

“No;” said his uncle, gruffly. “I haven’t any money to spare.”

Harry looked disappointed. After a moment he said hesitatingly, “Uncle, I’d like to earn some money.”

“Well,” said his uncle, looking up from his paper, “I told you I would give you three cents for every wheelbarrow load of stones you carted away from the hill, but you did not want to do it.”

“I will do it now, if I may,” said Harry.

“Very good; you may begin as soon as you like,” said his uncle.

Harry jumped up, and ran out to find the wheelbarrow. Picking up stones was dull work, yet he set about it as eagerly and merrily as if he loved it. He wheeled the great barrow up the hill, and began to fill it with stones, singing as gaily as a lark. The summer sun grew warm, and Harry’s shoulders began to ache, but with a bright smile on his face, he said to himself, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” That was the secret of Harry’s readiness for this work; he was determined to earn eighteen cents, so he tugged away at the heavy stones until the six loads were rolled down the hill.

Harry went home with that same happy look on his face, and said, “Aunty, will you give me a loaf of bread?”

“To take to that sick man?”

“Yes.”

“But you are too tired to go with it now.”

“O no; I can go. Please let me have a little pitching, too.”

“What do you want that for?”

“I’ll bring it back safely,” said Harry, coloring a little.

So aunty gave it to him, for she loved the little motherless boy.

First he went to find his uncle, who gave him the eighteen cents. Then he went to the village grocery store and bought a little paper of sugar, a small package of tea, and pitcher full of milk. If ever there was a happy little boy it was Harry Gray, as he walked up the village street, holding fast to his precious packages.

He reached a forlorn, wooden house, and knocked at the door. “Come in,” said a feeble voice. Harry went in, and there on the bed lay the sick man for whom he was looking.

“I have brought you something, because some one told me you were in want,” he said gently.

“God bless you, boy!” said the sick man; “I have not tasted a mouthful to-day!” Just then a woman came in. “See Mary,” said he, “God has sent us food at last;” and the woman took Harry’s hands in hers, and the tears poured down her face as she asked the dear Father in Heaven to bless him.

Harry lay down upon his bed that night a weary little boy; but do you think he was sorry he had worked so hard for his Saviour?—Little Sower.