MORE BLESSED TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE.
By T. S. Arthur
"I WONDER what I shall get for a New Year's gift?" said Ellen Grant, on the day before New Year's. "I'll tell you what I'd like to have," said little Mary. "I'd like to have one of the biggest wax dolls that could be found. As big as a real baby, and a great deal bigger, too. Wouldn't you, sister?" "No; but I would like to have—let me see what I would like to have;" and Ellen sat and thought for a few moments. "Yes, I'd like to have a shawl just like Aunt Mary's." "And I'd like to have a pony," spoke up Harry. "Oh! I wish father would buy me a pony for a New Year's gift." Thus the children talked, first wishing for one thing and then for another, while Aunt Prudence sat knitting and listening to what they said. At last little bright-eyed Mary, the merry pet of the house, came and leaning her arms on the knees of Aunt Prudence, looked up into her face, and said:— "What are you going to give me for a New Year's gift, Aunt Prudence?" "A kiss, dear," replied Aunt Prudence, "won't that do?" "I want something besides a kiss. I get kisses every day." "Oh, yes, and what are you going to give me?" spoke up Ellen. "And me, aunty?" said Harry. "Wait until to-morrow, and we'll see. But I don't hear anything about what you are to give, only about what you expect to receive. Now, ain't that a little selfish? I am sure you might make somebody a present of something, and then be made to feel how true the words are, that it is more blessed to give than to receive. What do you say, children? You've got a good many dimes in your money boxes, and can make New Year's presents as well as anybody else." "Sure enough!" exclaimed Ellen, "so we can. I never thought of that. I have got two dollars in my money box. What shall I buy? Mother shall have a present and so shall father." "Can't you think of somebody," replied the aunt, "to whom you might make a New Year's present that would be useful? There are many people who have not the comforts of life, much less its luxuries. There are hundreds of poor children who never think of toys, and for whom New Year's day comes and goes without bringing a present of any kind." Not far from where Mr. Grant, the father of these children, resided, lived a poor man named Barker, who from sickness had not been able to do any work for many months. He had four children. The two oldest, William and Jane, were only ten and twelve years of age, and Hetty and Philip were much younger. Since her father's sickness, Jane had got herself a place in a family to look after some children, for which she received a dollar a week. This, with about two dollars a week which the mother earned by sewing, was all the family had to live upon. New Year's day came with a sober face to the inmates of poor Mr. Barker's comfortless home. The children looked for no presents, for even a full supply of nourishing food was lacking, and their clothing was now worn almost to tatters. For breakfast they had some milk and water and a dish of fried potatoes. Hunger made these sweet to the taste, and they ate with a keen relish. After the table was cleared away, and the room swept up, Mrs. Barker sat down at her sewing—there was no holiday for her—and Mr. Barker took a book, as he lay on his bed, and gave each of his children a lesson. "I wish they would let Jane come home to-day," he said, after he had given the lessons. "It is New Year's, and they might give the poor child a few hours' holiday." As he finished speaking, the door opened, and Jane came in. The smiles that half awoke upon the father's lips died away as he saw that tears were in the eyes and glistened upon the cheeks of his child. "Jane, dear," said he tenderly, "what is the matter?" as the child came hastily across the room, the moment she closed the door, and, sinking down upon a chair by the bed, hid her face among the clothes and sobbed. Mrs. Barker threw aside her work, and came and laid her hand gently on the neck of her daughter, repeating what the father had said, with yet a more earnest and tender expression:— "Jane, dear, what is the matter?" But it was some time before Jane could find voice to express her grief. At last, putting her hand in her pocket, she took out a dollar, her last week's wages, and, handing it to her mother, said in broken accents:— "They've sent me home, mother." "Why, dear?" asked Mrs. Barker. "Because my clothes are so poor, and my boots are all worn out so, they say I'm not fit to be seen in a decent body's house." And the child wept and sobbed again. Poor Mr. Barker caught his breath several times, like a person who tries to conceal the emotion that nearly overmasters him; and Mrs. Barker, unable to contain her feelings, laid her head down upon Jane's shoulder to hide her tears. At last Mrs. Barker, feeling that such weakness on her part was not right, raised herself up, and said, with a voice as steady as she could command:— "Don't take it so to heart, Jane. We will buy you a pair of boots with this money, and I will alter you one of my old frocks to-day, so that you can go back to-morrow looking quite smart." "But you need the money, mother, in the family," replied Jane looking up and drying her tears. "It won't do for me to spend it all for a pair of boots." "You must have boots, you know, my child. These you have are all worn out. We can't expect people to keep you if you have not decent clothes. So we will buy the boots, and trust that Providence will help us to get along. If we use the money in the family this week, you cannot earn us anything next week, nor, perhaps, at all; but if we buy the boots, and you go back, you will bring us home a dollar next week, and so on week after week. It is therefore best for us that you should have the boots. Don't you think so?" And Mrs. Barker turned to her husband. "I do certainly," he replied. And so it was determined that the boots should be bought, and that Jane should see about the house and cook their frugal dinner, while the mother altered one of her old frocks to fit her. The frock was brought down from a closet upstairs, turned over and over by Mrs. Barker, and examined in every part, before she put the scissors into it. It was very thin in many places and worn clear through in others. "It isn't worth the labor of making over," she at length said, letting it fall into her lap. "I am sure it won't hold together two weeks." Just as she said this, someone knocked at the door, and William ran and opened it. A colored man stepped in, and, putting down a large hamper on the floor, said:— "I was told to leave this here," and he turned and went out before anyone could ask him a question. "What does this mean?" asked Mr. Barker, raising himself from the bed. "There must be some mistake." "We will soon see," replied his wife, laying aside her work and taking hold of the hamper, which proved to be heavy. It was covered with a newspaper, which, on removal, showed a package neatly done up, marked, "New Year's gift for Jane." Jane, to whom it was handed, hurriedly broke the string, and out fell a pair of strong leather boots very little worn, two pairs of stockings—but there was still something else in the package, which, upon examination, proved to be a handsome print frock. While Jane was examining the contents of her package, the mother was going deeper into the hamper. The next thing taken out was a pair of India rubber shoes, a package of sugar, one of tea, another of coffee, and another containing six or seven pounds of rice, each marked, "A New Year's gift for Mrs. Barker." Then there was a very good jacket and a pair of trowsers for William, and shoes and stockings for Philip and Hetty; and last, a paper of sweet Malaga grapes, marked, "For13Mr. Barker," and as much New Year's cake as could be crowded into the hamper between the other things. Surprised, bewildered, yet happy even to tears, was that poor family on that long-remembered New Year's morning. "Where are they all from, mother?" asked Mr. Barker, as soon as he could speak, after the excitement of the first surprise was over. "Heaven only knows," replied Mrs. Barker. "They are sent from above." "And to God we are thankful," said the sick man, lifting his eyes upward. "He that feedeth the ravens will not suffer us to want." "I know where they came from!" exclaimed Jane, breaking in upon her father's expression of thankfulness, and holding up the frock she had received at the moment she stood so much in need of one. "This is Ellen Grant's dress; I remember it very well. She wore it the day I went there, a few weeks ago." "And this is Harry Grant's jacket," said Willie. "Are you sure?" asked Mrs. Barker. "Oh, yes, I know it right well. I've seen him wear it many a time." "Bless the children!" ejaculated Mr. Barker, whose mind had a strong suspicion of the truth. "If it is their presents—if they have remembered us in their happiness—may Heaven reward them a hundred-fold." Jane tried on her frock and shoes and they fitted her as well as if they had been made for her. She staid at home a couple of hours, and then went back to her place, looking so much smarter than when she went away that the lady said:— "You should have worn those clothes before." "But I didn't have them," replied Jane. "Where did they come from?" asked the lady. Thus questioned, Jane related, in the most artless yet touching manner, the distress of her father and mother when she went home; and then told of the timely relief that came from friends unknown. We cannot stop to tell of all the beautiful presents that Ellen Grant, and Mary, and Harry received on New Year's day. Papa and mamma had not forgotten them. Nor had papa and mamma been forgotten by the children, who, under the direction of Aunt Prudence, had laid out all the money in their money boxes in order to buy presents; and in bestowing them they did indeed prove it to be true that "it is more blessed to give than to receive." Evening had come—the evening of New Year's day—and all the children were in the parlor with papa and mamma and Aunt Prudence, when a servant brought in a note directed to Mr. and Mrs. Grant. On breaking the seal, Mr. Grant read aloud:— "To MR. AND MRS. GRANT: For your generous kindness to us this day, our hearts are full of gratitude. Your presents came in a moment of great need, when we knew not which way to turn, and fully supplied that need. Jane was sent home from her place this morning because her boots were worn out, and her clothes not decent for her to be seen in a respectable family. The frock and boots just fit her, and she went back with a light heart. Comfortable boots and warm stockings were needed by the children above all things. You have supplied them, and may Heaven reward you a hundred-fold. Forgive this expression of our gratitude; but I felt that I could not sleep to-night without letting you know the real good you have done, and the warmth of our thankfulness. MARY BARKER." "What does all this mean?" asked Mr. Grant. "Do you understand it, mother?" "Not a word of it," replied Mrs. Grant, with a look of surprise. "There is some mistake. We are receiving thanks for benefits conferred by others. It is good to remember the poor, but we have forgotten them this day. That touching letter of Mrs. Barker's rebukes me deeply." "Why, what's the matter, Ellen? and Harry? and Mary? What ails you children?" asked Mr. Grant, looking from face to face of the little ones, and being unable to comprehend the expression that rested upon each. "Let me explain," said Aunt Prudence. And she told how the children had spent their money in buying things for a New Year's present to the family of poor Mr. Barker, and how they had sent clothing also, that she had picked out from such as they had outgrown or thrown aside. But how Mrs. Barker knew where they came from was more than she could tell. "And my children have done this!" said Mr. Grant, with much emotion, drawing them to his side, and pressing his lips tightly upon their pure young foreheads. "How happy they have made me! And they, too, are happy—happier in thus giving than they ever were in receiving."—T. S. Arthur.