ut
money;--real good, wise things I mean."

"And if we have real good, wise things in our head to do, which cannot
be done without money, I can quite enter into the wish for money. But
you know, my little boy, you did not tell me of any good or wise
thing."

"No! I believe I was not thinking of good or wise things just then, but
only how much I should like money to do what I liked," answered little
Tom ingenuously, looking up in his mother's face. She smiled down upon
him, and stroked his head. He knew she was pleased with him for having
told her openly what was passing in his mind. Presently he began again.

"Mother, if you wanted to do something very good and wise, and if you
could not do it without money, what should you do?"

"There are two ways of obtaining money for such wants; one is by earning;
and the other is by saving. Now both are good, because both imply
self-denial. Do you understand me, Tom? If you have to earn money, you
must steadily go on doing what you do not like perhaps; such as working
when you would like to be playing, or in bed, or sitting talking with me
over the fire. You deny yourself these little pleasures; and that is
a good habit in itself, to say nothing of the industry and energy you
have to exert in working. If you save money, you can easily see how you
exercise self-denial. You do without something you wish for in order to
possess the money it would have cost. Inasmuch as self-denial, energy,
and industry are all good things, you do well either to earn or to save.
But you see the purpose for which you want the money must be taken into
consideration. You say, for 'something wise and good.' Either earning or
saving becomes holy in this case. I must then think which will be most
consistent with my other duties, before I decide whether I will earn or
save money."

"I don't quite know what you mean, mother."

"I will try and explain myself. You know I have to keep a little shop,
and to try and get employment in knitting stockings, and to clean my
house, and to mend our clothes, and many other things. Now, do you think
I should be doing my duty if I left you in the evenings, when you come
home from school, to go out as a waiter at ladies' parties? I could earn
a good deal of money by it, and I could spend it well among those who
are poorer than I am (such as lame Harry), but then I should be leaving
you alone in the little time that we have to be together; I do not think
I should be do