In a certain city lives a family which, until quite recently, consisted of a father and mother, and a strong, healthy boy, just two years old at the time of which I write. Ever since he has been able to use playthings, his main source of joy has been a hammer. Indeed, he usually has two or three of them among his belongings. Nothing pleases him more than to drive tacks into a board, or to mend the furniture with repeated blows.
He sleeps with his hammers. When he was photographed, he insisted upon holding one in his hand. Some time ago, while at his grandmother's house, he found a large carpenter's mallet. This was the biggest and heaviest hammer he had ever seen, and at once it became his chief treasure. It was carried about by day and taken to bed at night.
Not long ago a little sister was born into his world, and the boy was finally taken to see her. His parents wondered how he would receive the little stranger. He gazed upon her for a few minutes, while they told him who she was, and then went to the nursery and tumbled over his toys. Soon he returned, bearing his "heavy hammer," as he calls it, and presented it to the little girl. It was his most precious possession, and he showed his love by giving it to her.
Would that we were more childlike in our love! Would that we who bear the name of Christians might show our love by being willing to give up our most precious things for Him whom we profess to love! It may be that the things we value most highly are really of as little worth as the baby's hammer, but we can use them to show that we sincerely love Him who died for us.—William D. Murray.