HOW THEY DIVIDED IT

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Oct 21, 1889

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 15, No. 40.

HOW THEY DIVIDED IT.

It was a hot summer afternoon. A gentle breeze stirred among the tree-tops and occasionally came down into the garden and fanned the flowers that drooped their heads under the sun's fervent heat. It was very hot out there, where something seemed to be quivering in the air, but under the wide varanda, where the sun could not penetrate, it was cool and comfortable. A hush pervaded everything, as though nature were taking her afternoon nap, and the only sounds to be heard were the distant buzz and hum of the insect world and the click, click of "jack-stones" on the hard floor of the veranda. Then a voice was heard to mingle with the click, click.

"It must be fine to make a will like that."

"Like what?" asked another voice.

"Why, didn't you hear papa tell mamma about old Mr. Smith's will. You know he died the other day."

"The Mr. Smith the boys call 'Stingy Smith,' Howard?"

"Yes, only he wasn't stingy, Laura, 'cause he gave away all his money in his will, and he had loads of it."

"But," said Laura, "he never gave anyone a cent if he could help it, while he was alive; I heard mamma say so one time."

"He must have been saving it," said Howard, "to put it all in his will so it would be worth while to make a will. I tell you it must be splendid to give so much money away."

"But he's dead, Howard," said Laura, with her hands full of jacks. "I guess he thought he might as well give it away, 'cause he can't have it any more, anyhow." Laura was a little girl, but she sometimes spoke very plain truths in a very plain way.

"Why, Laura, aren't you ashamed to say such a thing," said Howard; "if he is dead his money's going to do lots of good, 'cause he gave it all to societies and things."

There was a pause in the conversation and the click, click mingled again with the buzz and hum. Then Laura looked up and said:

"Do you know, Howard, it seems to me if I had lots of money like Mr. Smith had, I'd rather give it away while I was alive, so as to see the good it would do, than to just die and not know anything about it."

"But what would you live on, Laura, if you gave it away when you needed it yourself?"

"Oh," said Laura, "I'd keep enough for that; anybody would."

Laura was nearer right than she knew. Howard was silent for a few moments and the jacks began to fly again. Then he turned to Laura and said, "Anyhow, Laura, I wish I had some money to give away, don't you?"

"What would you give it to?" asked Laura.

"Oh, lots of things!" replied Howard; "missionaries and hospitals and poor people and—oh, lots of things! But I haven't, and I suppose I never will have enough to do any good," and a cloud passed over the bright face.

"But, don't you know, Mr. Freeman said last Sunday that sometimes the little things help the most, and he read about the widow's mite."

"Yes, I know," said Howard, "but don't you remember that lesson we had about giving a tithe (a tithe is a tenth, our teacher said), and a tenth of such a little as I have isn't anything at all."

"Then you can give more than a tenth," said practical Laura.

"But the Bible says a tenth is enough," replied Howard, who, like a great many others, was for following the Bible rule to the letter, in this particular at least. With such authority Laura could not argue. She soon gathered up her jacks, and, walking to the farther end of the veranda, threw herself into a deep chair and closed her eyes, while Howard stretched himself out full length on the smooth, hard floor; and soon they had joined nature in her afternoon nap, and the insect world won the day with the buzz and hum.

Howard and Laura were the children of Christian parents, whose greatest desire for them was that they, too, should be followers of the blessed Jesus. But there was one subject upon which their father and mother did not talk much to them, and that was the subject of giving. Not that they were not generous people, for they were and always gave freely to every good cause. They had their children give, too, and every Sabbath morning handed them each a nickel or a dime, which they dropped into the contribution box without another thought. Like all other children, Laura and Howard liked to earn a little money sometimes, and Laura would help mamma with the mending and Howard would keep her favorite flower-beds free from weeds, for which they would always be well paid, for there is no employer so generous as a mother. But the thought never entered their minds that they should give the money for which they had worked to any object. Papa could provide such offerings, and their own money was to be used for their own pleasure. That is about the way it would have been expressed if it had been put into words, but the subject was never discussed because it was so well understood.

A short time before that hot summer afternoon, however, they had received a new idea. Their minister had preached a sermon to the children on giving; and he made it all so plain to them, how, and why, and what we should give to God, that the closing hymn, "What hast thou done for me?" had a new meaning to them as they thought how great were God's gifts to them, how small theirs to him. After that they were more careful of their earnings, and mamma, laughing, said she feared they were getting miserly, for she received so many offers of help that her ingenuity was oftentimes taxed to keep them occupied. Their business was "strictly cash," and as soon as a task was completed and paid for, away they would run to deposit their earnings in their savings banks. What was to be done with all this money they did not know, but they did know that the more they put in them the more they would have to give away when the time to divide it came, for they were going to follow the plan of giving one-tenth.

At last the time came. One day at the dinner table papa looked at mamma and said, "It is terrible the way those poor people in the South are suffering."

"What is the matter, papa?" asked Laura.

"My daughter," he answered, "hundreds upon hundreds are sick and dying with that terrible disease, yellow fever. We can have little idea of what a dreadful thing it is to feel that our dear ones all about us, and strangers as well, are sick and dying, and we are likely to be the same any hour."

"Can't anything be done for them, papa?" asked Laura, whose face expressed her lively sympathy and interest.

"Nothing to prevent the spread of the disease, dear," he replied, "but they are asking for money to help care for the sick, and contributions are being sent them from all over the land."

"O Laura," exclaimed Howard, who had been listening intently to what his father had said, "let's send them our money, it might help a little."

"Yes, indeed, Howard," replied Laura, pushing back her chair eagerly, "let's get it and count it now. It will be giving it to God, won't it, mamma?"

"Yes, dear," she answered with an approving smile. "Whatever is done to relieve the suffering of God's children is done for him."

So they ran for their banks and were soon poring over their contents. It required all the arithmetic they were able to master to divide it into two piles, nine-tenths in one and one-tenth in the other. At last it was accomplished, but they were evidently not pleased with the division, as they looked from the little pile to the big one and back to the little

one. It didn't seem right, somehow, to keep so much for themselves and give so little to the One who gave them such rich gifts. They sat in silence for a moment, then Laura said, softly:—

"Doesn't it look mean, Howard?"

"Yes, Laura, it does," he replied. "I am going to divide mine differently," and he commenced to take from the larger pile and add to the smaller one.

Still Laura sat looking from one pile of hers to the other and over and over in her mind rang the words:—

"I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee, What hast thou brought to me?"

At length she looked up, her face beaming with happy decision as she said, "Howard, I'm going to give them the large pile and keep the small one for myself, and even that seems very little to do when I think of all I have beside."

"You're right, Laura," Howard answered, "and I'll do as you do." So he divided his money as before, and after returning the portion they were to keep to the banks, with happy faces they carried the remainder to papa, who gladly took it in charge and sent it on its way.—Nellie Helm, in Interior.