A SERMON IN CROSS-STITCH.
By Anna F. Burnham
THE Mission Circle was at its merriest. It was held in the little parlor of the little minister's wife in—well, in "'way, 'way out West;" so you needn't think I mean any of the mission circles in your church, if it does sound like it. "Hand that basting cotton over here, Sallie Bryan!" cried Lilly Saunders gaily, giving her end of the quilt a shake that nearly took it out of its frame. "Going to the fair to-night? Oh! we'll have lovely times, and there's a five-hundred-dollar prize for somebody. I've got twenty-five tickets already. Don't you want one?" "My mother won't let me," said the Sallie addressed, tossing over the spool of cotton petulantly. "Well, I should like to know why!" "Oh! she says it isn't proper anyway for little girls like us to be out late and sitting up nights, and besides she says it isn't Christian or decent to countenance these lottery things." Lilly made the solemn statement pertly, with a little perk of the head and shake of her shoulders, as if she thereby shook off all responsibility of Christian behavior. "Oh, well, your mother is a 'B. B.'—that explains it!" she added scornfully. "What's a 'B. B.'?" asked Sallie, flushing a little as the girls giggled, and wondering if it had anything to do with her grandfather's being a D.D. " 'B. B.' is Born in Boston! They're the strait-lacedest set ever I got hold of—can't dance, can't play cards, can't look at a grab bag! I hope I'll live to go to Boston sometime, and see if they ever do anything besides singing psalm tunes through their noses." Spite was so evidently the animus of Lilly's speech that even the girls laughed at her comical exaggeration. Sallie meekly accepted the imputation of being born in Boston (though, as it happened, she had never been nearer the State House than the little corner of Cape Ann, whose "ancient, fishy smell" she often longed for), and answered softly, with her head bent a little lower over the quilt corner:— "Well, Lilly, I'm a Christian, you know, and I'm sure I don't want to go if it isn't—nice!" Sallie meant fit, proper, becoming—"becoming the gospel of Christ." At the same time she wondered silently if her mother wasn't a little strait-laced, and if "Boston" hadn't had a pernicious influence on her, and if the same moral laws were really as binding on church members in the Territories as in the States. But she loyally kept her thoughts to herself. Nella Mills spoke up sharply. Nella was a Christian. Christians do sometimes speak sharply, more's the pity. "I don't think there's any need of setting yourself up above everybody because you're a Christian. I never pretended to be better than all the deacons and old church members. I know they go to lottery fairs, and Deacon Wiley lets his children play whist or any other game they want to. As for dancing, you won't find a girl in this church that doesn't do it. I guess if we do as near right as other folks, it will be near enough." The minister's little wife looked up from the basket of fancy work she was busily allotting to the older girls, and gazed at the group around the album quilt nervously. Sally was looking perplexed and troubled. There was a soul in danger. "Who wants to do some fancywork?" she cried eagerly, gathering all the bright worsted and canvas into her work apron. "The little girls can do that. I want somebody on these sofa cushions." The girls jumped up joyfully. They had envied the senior girls in their Berlin work for a long time. The prudent directress had always been afraid these younger ones would spoil it. "But I'd rather spoil cross-stitch than some other things," said the minister's wife to herself, earnestly. "Oh, aren't these pansies just sweet?" "Do let's have some needles and wool and get to work," cried half a dozen at once. "You haven't given me any pattern," said Lillie Saunders, presently, while the rest threaded needles expectantly. "Nor me," said Sallie, stepping up. "Never mind about the pattern," said Mrs. Bell, carelessly. "I don't seem to see it just this minute. Here is one that Carrie Myers did. You can look at that for a pattern." "But, Mrs. Bell," cried the three girls in perplexity, "there are mistakes in hers!" "Oh, yes! some mistakes, probably. But it will be near enough." "We don't want to copy mistakes!" cried Nella Mills. She spoke sharply—very sharply for a Christian. Mrs. Bell drawled out the word sweetly, with a rising inflection. There was meaning in the steady brows she bent on Nella, but she said nothing beyond that exasperating little monosyllable. "Why, of course not!" they cried in chorus. "What's a pattern for but to follow? What makes you talk so funny—when you're always so strict about doing things exactly?" "Oh, well," said Mrs. Bell, mildly, "maybe I've been a little too strict! I don't suppose it's well to be too strait-laced about anything. Aim to do about as near right as other folks—that will do well enough." "Nice-looking sofa cushions we'd have on that principle!" cried the girls in amazement. "We shouldn't get any too near if we looked at the real, right pattern, but when it comes to following Carrie Myers' work, or anybody else's, I don't care whose it is, why, Mrs. Bell, you know yourself we shouldn't get it half as near right as theirs was." "Well, I always thought so, too, girls, till to-day," said Mrs. Bell, frankly, folding her hands and looking at them in an earnest little way she had. "But when I heard you talking over there in the corner this afternoon—" "Oh!" cried Lilly, with dawning intelligence, "about lotteries—" "Mrs. Bell!" said Carrie, explosively, "and dancing." "We didn't think," said all the girls together. "I didn't know but you thought being a Christian was easier than doing fancywork." "You can't get along without looking at the pattern in cross-stitch," said Nella thoughtfully. "Nor cross bearing either, Nella," said Mrs. Bell, softly, drawing the flushed cheek down to hers. "Nor cross bearing either," repeated Nella, slowly. Mrs. Bell went back to her work and the girls to theirs. This thing was done in a corner, and the mission circle was no wiser for the little object lesson. But Nella and Sallie will be better Christians all their days for learning to look at Jesus, the true Pattern, instead of his imperfect followers.