Part 5

Over and over the darkness caught him, The lid came down on him tight; But he soon found out that after the darkness Always would come the light. He was a hero! Up he went Whenever the lid rose; not content With merely rising, he came up smiling, Though all of his strength was spent.

That was the story. Grave and silent Sat my small Goldilocks, Looking down with a tender pity, At brave Jack-In-The-Box. "Thank you, auntie," was all she said. But I found that night, when she'd gone to bed, Jack's box in the grate, and Jack on her pillow, Close to the golden head.

M. VANDERGRIFT, _in Youth's Companion_.

_Volume 13, Number 30._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO. _May 29, 1886._

THE PANSY.

PATTY PLUMMER'S TRIAL.

PATTY PLUMMER awoke one lovely August morning with a delightful feeling that something nice was going to happen that day. The sun was shining in on the rough board walls of her little chamber, and she could see the bits of broken china and glass glitter in her playhouse--a corner of the room outside. Then she thought of her dream! Patty laughed aloud as she dressed herself, at the thought of her old broken dolly Lulu Jane chasing her round the house, and squeezing through a tiny crack when she tried to shut her in the sitting-room!

"Aha! I just know why I dreamed that! I know what makes me so happy!" and she danced round in her stocking feet, singing her gayest song, quite forgetful of the old saying,

Sing before eating And you'll cry before sleeping!

"Oh! I do hope she'll bring it to-day," Patty cried as she put on her slippers and ran out to her play-house, where in a parlor gorgeous with yellow paper carpet and green pasteboard chairs, stood an old accordion as a doll's piano, with a gayly-dressed rag lady sitting before it on a velvet-covered spool, and a fine gentleman by her side in blue paper trousers and black silk jacket.

Now the "she" of Patty's remarks was her clever cousin Charlotte who had taken home the "it"--no other than broken-headed, torn-to-pieces old Lulu Jane herself--to make therefrom, as she declared to Patty the day before, "the finest rag doll she ever saw!"

"I do b'leeve she'll bring it home this very afternoon," happy Patty kept saying to herself, as she flew out of doors after breakfast and worship was over. Everything seemed lovelier than ever this one fair morning. The little rock-basin filled by water trickling down from a higher one, which Charlotte had named "the fountain," seemed the most wonderful thing that ever was; the hollyhocks and lady-delights fairly smiled as she bent over the flower mound to admire them--all was cheerful and gay.

How Patty loved to go over by herself the events of a pleasant play-day with Charlotte! There was the little stone oven place with a mock fire of sticks, where they had played at boiling a pudding made of mud and tied in a rag, while the pot was a hollow ribbon block from old Miss Simpkins' store! there hung the swing her father had made between two ash-trees for her and her cousin. She climbed on the notched board and swayed to and fro, every now and then looking up the pasture hill to see if Charlotte was coming down the path from uncle Nathan's.

By and by she gave a joyful shout. An old-fashioned, two-seated carriage was coming up the long grassy lane from the big gate opening into the street. Mother Plummer ran to the door with flowery hands to see Patty's Grandmother Pratt getting out of the carriage. Such goodies as grandma always brought from Mill Village when she came to see the Plummers! This time the driver, uncle Dave, lifted out a huge basket of big fresh blackberries and a large newly caught salmon. Patty was not forgotten; grandma never came without something for her little namesake. The last time she brought Patty a pretty plaid gingham; this time the gift was a gay Indian basket full of tiny pats of yellow butter, covered with cool, broad rhubarb leaves.

"O, this is the goodest day that ever I did see!" warbled Patty to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic, as she followed the dear plump old lady into the house. The summer day was as perfect as a day could be. Inside the house everything was sunshiny and cheerful too; and Patty opened her glad heart to take in the pleasure of all things to the uttermost. Grandmother sat in the arm-chair swaying the huge palm-leaf fan as she loosened the ribbon cap strings at her fat white throat, and Patty sat on a cricket beside her in perfect content. They were going to have such a lovely dinner! Tempting pink salmon, mealy new potatoes, blackberries with cream and sugar, and a dainty pie which Patty's eyes spied through the half-open pantry door. A dainty turnover beside it too, on purpose for Patty! Never thought of clouds or showers came into her heart as she sat there softly stroking grandma's gown of silver gray.

"Tinkle, inkle," came the sound of old Daisy's bell from the pasture; and the sound started a new train of glad thoughts. If Charlotte would only come with Lulu Jane, what fun she would have showing the doll to grandma! Grandma always took an interest in her doll babies--even in Augustus with his blue paper trousers!

They were all seated around the dining-table, Patty beside grandma, with the turnover in her hand to keep it from uncle Dave who pretended he was going to eat it, when the back door opened. Patty's heart went pit-a-pat, and she ran out with mother's leave, turnover and all, to meet cousin Charlotte in the dim little entry.

"Here it is," said Charlotte. "I hope you'll be pleased with it; and I must go right back, 'cause I've got to do a big stent o' patchwork 'n help aunt Betsy get supper for comp'ny." Patty took the bundle to the out-door light, and when she opened it, danced and screamed with delight.

"You dear, darling old thing!" she cried, hugging Charlotte so hard she fairly hurt her. "How did you fix her up so nice?" she sat on the doorstep admiring Lulu Jane between bites of turnover while Charlotte flew home like a bird.

The doll had a new smooth white linen face, the head nicely joined at the top instead of being sewn with big black stitches as Patty sewed hers. The face had beet-juice cheeks and black bead eyes, the feet were neatly shod with velvet, and the old gown had been replaced by a pink ruffled one of calico, edged at the neck with a frill of lace. But the crowning glory was a little pink bonnet trimmed with a downy chicken's feather and a tiny spray of snakeberry vine from which hung wee scarlet berries! Patty hugged her treasure closely, and ran to the swing to enjoy it by herself. Uncle Dave was coming, and he might run off with it just to tease her. By and by she ran in to show it to grandma.

"Deary, deary!" said grandma, as she took the dolly from Patty and examined it through her spectacles. "Nice piece o' work, quite a neat little gownd, 'n a bunnit too! Charlotte must be quite tasty."

Grandma held it in her fat hand a minute and then after fumbling in her big pocket she brought out a shining new quarter-dollar.

"Patty," said she, looking down into the wondering eyes of her little granddaughter, "I'd like to buy this pretty doll to take home to your little cousin Bessie Alice. She's coming to spend to-morrow with me and she'll think so much of a doll that came 'way from Mapleton." The cloud had come down over the sun; the gladness of the perfect day was completely darkened by the trial which suddenly loomed up before the child.

"Why, gra'ma!" cried she, the tears flowing fast, "you don't want me to let you have my darling sweety Lulu Jane, when she just got all fixed up new! I never could let her go! Please give her to me, grandma." Grandma placed the precious doll in Patty's arms and said quietly:

"I won't take your doll away if you aren't willing; but I was thinkin' how pleased Bessie Alice would be; you know she's no ma now 'n no Charlotte to make dolls for her like you have. Then you'd have the quarter to help buy you a winter hat, and Charlotte would make you another dolly, I'm sure. But if you aren't willing I'll say no more about it," and she put the bright quarter away in her big pocket again.

"Can I have a little while to think it over?" asked Patty timidly. Her good mother had taught her to think matters over before she decided, and the sight of the money had brought something to her mind. The Sunday-school superintendent had told the children only last Sunday about two good women who had left their homes to teach the poor Labrador children about Jesus. They needed books and papers. Miss Bridgman, Patty's teacher, had asked her class if they could not bring some money next Sunday even if they had to deny themselves of something to get it. Patty thought it all over upstairs. She looked at the beautiful bonnet, the velvet shoes and the pink ruffles, and gave the doll a hard hug as she cried amid falling tears:

"I can't give her to gra'ma, I can't sell her! I wish gra'ma 'd never come! I wish Bessie Alice 'd never been born! That hateful thing! She's got red hair, 'n she did just pinch me awful, once! Oh, dear, _dear_, DEAR! this is the nastiest day I ever did see!" and she threw herself on the trundle bed in a spasm of grief.

Then better thoughts came.

"Why, ain't I a goose! What am I cryin' for? I needn't sell her 'f I don't wan't to! Poor Bessie Alice, I'm awful sorry she's got no mother to tuck her in bed 'n' kiss her! I s'pose Jesus 'd be pleased if I let her have it. I'd rather have Lulu Jane than twenty quarters; but I'd have all that money to take to Miss Bridgman Sunday, 'n that would please Jesus too. And I do want to please Him, I'm sure! Of course Charlotte would make me another! She's such a '_genius_ girl, mother says. I'll go right away 'n give dolly to gra'ma. I'm goin' to sell it to you," handing the fine lady to Grandmother Pratt. "I want the money for the missionaries, 'n I do pity Bessie Alice. Put her away quick, so I won't want her again," said Patty, dancing away with the quarter in her hand.

"You are a darlin' child, cert'in," said grandma, looking fondly after her.

"Well, this has been the queerest day!" said little Patty as she sat on the doorstep that night watching the old carriage roll away toward Mill Village. "I'd like to have Lulu Jane to play with, 'n' I don't know what Charlotte'll say; but I b'leeve I feel happier now than I did this mornin', 'n I was happy then 's I could be!"

GUSSIE M. WATERMAN.

HARRY'S SACRIFICE.

"SELL Jack! No, indeed, not for any money!"

Harry Danvers responded to Colonel Bates' offer almost indignantly.

"It is a good offer for the dog," continued the colonel, "more than he is really worth, but Frank has taken a fancy to him, and to gratify him I am willing to give a good price."

"No, sir; I shall want money worse than I ever have yet when I part with Jack. Thank you for the offer, but I cannot sell my dog."

"That is a foolish boy," said the colonel, turning to a friend as Harry went off down the street whistling to his dog; "I made him a good offer. You know my boy Frank is an invalid, and it was to gratify a whim of his that I offered the boy twice the worth of the dog."

"I heard your offer, and I confess I thought it very liberal," replied the friend; "has the boy rich parents, that he can afford to reject such offers?"

"No; Danvers is only a day laborer, and I do not suppose the boy ever had five dollars pocket money in his life."

"Humph!" was the expressive rejoinder of the friend; then the subject was dropped.

There was a missionary convention in progress in the town where Harry Danvers lived. Harry was not specially interested in missions, though he was a Sunday-school scholar and a member of a Mission Band; but someway he did not get interested in the Band. And I suspect that boys generally fail to become interested in the Mission Bands. Can you tell why it is that our missionary societies are so largely made up of girls?

Harry had no thought of going to any of the meetings in progress, but at tea time his sister Alice said:

"Harry, they say that the teacher from the school where our Band supports a pupil is going to speak to-night at the First Church; let's go down."

"I don't want to hear any missionary women speak," said Harry.

"But, my son, if your sister wants to go, you will not refuse to go with her?" said Mr. Danvers.

"I suppose I can go," replied Harry, not ungraciously, but somewhat indifferently.

"I do want to go; and, Harry, you know you said you were to write an essay on the Indian question for next Wednesday; maybe you'll get some ideas; you know Miss R---- is from the Indian Territory."

"All right! Count me in. I'll be ready in a jiffy."

Harry Danvers was never the same boy after that evening. You might not have noticed the difference, but it was there. He could never again be indifferent towards Missions. He gained, as Alice had suggested, some ideas, but not altogether in the line of his school essay. He for the first time in his life realized that he, Harry Danvers, had a part in the great work given to the church of Christ; that the responsibility of sending the Gospel to the heathen nations rested upon him in proportion to his ability, and the question, What can _I_ give? was pressed home upon his heart. The duty and privilege of sacrifice were set before him, and he asked himself, What can I sacrifice? The questions were unanswered when he went to bed that night. Harry was a Christian boy, and he carried his questioning to his Heavenly Father, and waited for the answer. The next morning as he went down stairs, with Jack's customary greeting there came to him the answer he had sought. Here was an opportunity to prove his sincerity! Was he equal to the sacrifice?

"What is the matter, Harry?" asked his mother; "are you sick?"

"The missionary meeting was too much for him, I guess," said Alice.

"Didn't you like the speaker?" asked Mr. Danvers.

"Yes, sir; _I_ liked it all very much. Mother, you ought to go this morning; they say there is a perfectly wonderful speaker to be on the platform--a woman from Syria; are _you_ going, Harry?"

"I don't know," replied Harry indifferently.

"Dear me," said Alice; "boys are so queer. Now I thought it was just splendid last evening, but Harry won't even say he liked it. I was all stirred up and ready to give all my jewelry--only I haven't any to give," and Alice chattered on until breakfast was over, and the family went their several ways. All the time Harry was thinking, and, as you will see, thinking to some purpose. He had an errand down town for his mother, and as he went out of the gate he said with energy, "I'll do it!"

Now Mrs. Danvers was a timid woman, and very much afraid of dogs. True, she tried to hide her fear and aversion for Harry's sake, but she had a nervous dread of some member of the family being bitten by the dog, and only a few days before, Harry's father said: "My boy, I sometimes wish you could make up your mind to give that dog away; your mother dislikes dogs so much."

Remembering this, Harry did not consider it necessary to say anything to his father about what he intended to do. His way down the street led him past Colonel Bates' residence. He stopped at the door and rang the bell, asking to see Colonel Bates. When that gentleman appeared he said, though his voice trembled,

"Have you bought a dog for Frank yet?"

"No; have you made up your mind to part with yours?"

"Yes, sir; if your offer holds good for to-day."

"Certainly; walk in and we will settle the business. I am very glad; we are going to a rather lonely place for the summer, and the dog will be both a comfort and protection to Frank."

The transfer of property was made in the course of the morning, and, strangely enough, Colonel Bates sat beside Harry that evening in the meeting and caught the glitter of the gold piece which the boy dropped into the basket as the collection was taken for the Indian Mission. And this is what he thought: "Here's a boy who has made a sacrifice; he has given that which cost him something, and I gave what I can spare as well as not! for once _I_ will give something that I shall feel."

"Father, why didn't you buy those horses you were talking about?" asked Frank Bates a few days later.

"Because I bought a dog for you instead!"

"But my Jack did not cost a thousand dollars!" said Frank, puzzled.

"That is just what it cost me," replied Colonel Bates, smiling at his boy's bewildered looks. And then he told him the story of the gold piece and his own sacrifice, and the boy, after a little silence had fallen between them, said:

"Father, you need not buy the dog cart; the old pony phaeton will do. Give me the money it would cost in gold pieces, please, and I will go to the next missionary meeting and offer _my_ sacrifice."

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

OUR MISSION BAND.

THE president of our Band appointed, at the beginning of the year, twelve girls and boys to take charge of the Band Meetings, one for each month. When Lucia Lawrence read the little slip of paper upon which was written her subject, and the month for which she was assigned, she said brightly,

"I don't know a single thing about Persia, but I can find out." And I am going to tell you just a few of the things she found out about Persia. She found that in July last the semi-centennial of the beginning of the missionary work among the Nestorians at Oroomia was celebrated. More than fifteen hundred Nestorians came to the jubilee on the college grounds.

"College grounds!" exclaimed Lucia's brother Tom as the two sat together working up the programme, for this brother and sister were accustomed to study and work together, "do you mean to say that they have a college over there?"

"Yes; there are schools of all grades in Persia," replied Lucia. "The first school was opened in a cellar with only seven small children; but now there are village schools, high schools, seminaries for boys and girls, a college and theological seminary."

"Are there many who attend these schools?" asked Tom.

"I do not know what you would call many; I should think it was a large number, all things considered, when they can count the day-school pupils by thousands and the boarding-school students by hundreds. But the population of Persia is between seven and eight million, and there are only seven Mission stations in the whole country. Five of these are under the management of the Presbyterian Board of America, and two are under the care of the English Church Missionary Society."

"It seems like putting little bits of wedges into a narrow crack in a big rock and thinking to split it by pounding with a hammer. The wedges go all to pieces and the rock stays just as it was."

"But, Tom, if your wedges are of iron, with power enough in the arm that strikes the blows, the rock is bound to yield."

"Yes; but sometimes people use up a lot of wedges and mallets too."

"Well, these missionaries who had given their lives as wedges to make an opening for the Gospel, were only too glad to be used in the service of Christ. That is what wedges are made for, I suppose, to be hammered and go to pieces at last."

"But what did they do at this jubilee? That is what I want to find out," said Tom.

"Just what we do in this country when we celebrate. They sold tickets which entitled the holders to the privilege of spending the night on the grounds, and also to their meals. The women were made comfortable in the college building, but many of the men had to sleep out of doors. A large booth had been built for the meeting, and men and women told the story of the last fifty years. They had 'papers' prepared. Some of them, on female education, were written by native women who had been educated in the schools. They told about the native churches, about the medical work of the Missions, and about the hospital; you know the only hospital in Persia was built by the missionaries. The history of the work of Miss Fidelia Fiske, and of Mrs. Grant and Miss Rice were given. There was one old woman who came a long distance, part of the way on foot, and that over a rough mountainous road, to attend the celebration; she was one of Miss Fiske's first girls. Seems to me she might have told a story worth hearing. The history of the Hamadan Mission is interesting. Miss Montgomery says, 'What hath God wrought? Come and see his work in Hamadan.' Nine years only since the first missionary was stationed there, and now a church of seventy-five members. A weekly prayer meeting and a woman's prayer meeting; a Sunday-school and several day schools. But this work is done under the most trying circumstances, without either church or school buildings. The schools are gathered in private houses, and in summer the preaching and other church services are held in the yard of Miss Montgomery's house and in winter in the house. It just seemed to me when I read about the work in Hamadan that I wanted to be rich. I should think some wealthy man would want to build a church there."

"It seems as though there is such a wide crack there a big wedge would go in and do good work."

"There is another thing which is encouraging," said Lucia, "and that is the fact that the people have the Bible in their own language; that is a big wedge, because you see if they once get the Bible into their homes the work will go on faster. The women too are being educated. There was a strong prejudice against the education of women, but that is wearing away and of course the influence of educated Christian mothers will be a great help. Now, Tom, I am going to give you the station at Hamadan for your topic at the meeting, and I shall give Ella the fire worshipers, and Dick will tell us about the Mussulmans. Then I must find somebody who will give an account of the work at Oroomiah. O, dear! there is so much about Persia that the hour will not begin to hold it all."

"Well, you may leave something to piece out my hour with. I don't believe I can ever find enough to fill up."

"What is your topic?" asked Lucia.

"Mexico; and I don't know a thing about it."

Lucia expressed her sympathy by laughing at him, and saying, "Just wait until you study it up!"

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

SELECTION FOR RECITATION.

WHY DID YOU NOT COME BEFORE?

[An aged Hindoo woman, while first hearing the Gospel, said, "Why did you not come before? My hair has grown gray waiting for the good news."]

AN aged woman, poor and weak, She heard the mission teacher speak; The slowly-rolling tears came down Upon her withered features brown. "What blessed news from yon far shore-- Would I had heard it long before.

"O, I have bowed at many a shrine, When youth and health and strength were mine; How earnestly my soul has striven To find some gleam of light from heaven; But all my toil has been in vain-- These gods of stone but mocked my pain.

"A weary pilgrimage I've trod, To win some favor from my god; And all my jewelled wealth I've laid Beneath the dark Pagoda's shade; But still, the burden on my breast Bowed head and heart with sore unrest.

"Now, I have waited many a day, My form is bent, my hair is gray; But still the blessed words you bear Have charmed away my long despair; O sisters, from your happy shore, Would you had sent to me before!

"O, precious is the message sweet I hear your kindly lips repeat; It bids me weep for joy again; My stony eyes were dry with pain; My weary heart with joy runs o'er-- Ah, had you come to me before!