ing right even for our 'good and wise purpose' to earn
money, if it took me away from you at nights: do you, Tom?"

"No, indeed; you never mean to do it, do you, mother?"

"No," said she, smiling; "at any rate not till you are older. You see at
present then, I cannot _earn_ money, if I want a little more than usual
to help a sick neighbour. I must then try and _save_ money. Nearly every
one can do that."

"Can _we_, mother? We are so careful of everything. Ned Dixon calls us
stingy: what could _we save_?"

"Oh, many and many a little thing. We use many things which are
luxuries; which we do not want, but only use them for pleasure. Tea and
sugar--butter--our Sunday's dinner of bacon or meat--the grey ribbon I
bought for my bonnet, because you thought it prettier than the black,
which was cheaper; all these are luxuries. We use very little tea or
sugar, it is true; but we might do without any."

"You did do without any, mother, for a long, long time, you know, to
help widow Black; it was only for your bad head-aches."

"Well! but you see we can save money; a penny, a halfpenny a day, or
even a penny a week, would in time make a little store ready to be
applied to the 'good and wise' purpose, when the time comes. But do you
know, my little boy, I think we may be considering money too much as the
only thing required if we want to do a kindness."

"If it is not the only thing, it is the chief thing, at any rate."

"No, love, it is not the chief thing. I should think very poorly of that
beggar who liked sixpence given with a curse (as I have sometimes heard
it), better than the kind and gentle words some people use in refusing
to give. The curse sinks deep into the heart; or if it does not, it
is a proof that the poor creature has been made hard before by harsh
treatment. And mere money can do little to cheer a sore heart. It is
kindness only that can do this. Now we have all of us kindness in our
power. The little child of two years old, who can only just totter
about, can show kindness?"

"Can I, mother?"

"To be sure, dear; and you often do, only perhaps not quite so often as
you might do. Neither do I. But instead of wishing for money (of which I
don't think either you or I are ever likely to have much), suppose you
try to-morrow how you can make people happier, by thinking of little
loving actions of help. Let us try and take for our text, 'Silver and
gold I have none, but such as I have give I unto thee.'"