going to do?"

Without looking up from his book he laid one finger on his lips and
remained silent.

"Can't I talk?"

It was a terrible punishment for Peace to keep still, and knowing this,
just the faintest glimmer of a smile twitched at his lips, but he merely
nodded gravely.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

Gravely he shook his head.

Peace stared at the chandelier, then surreptitiously stole a peep at the
face behind her. A big hand turned the curly head gently from him.

She studied the green walls with their delicate frescoing, then
cautiously leaned back against the President's broadcloth vest. Firmly
he righted her. Dismay took possession of her. This was the worst
punishment that ever had befallen her,--that ever could.

She gulped down the big lump which was growing in her throat, and
counted the books on the highest shelf around the wall.
Fifty--sixty--seventy--her heart burst, and with a wail of anguish she
kicked the book out of the President's hand and clutched him about the
neck with a grip that nearly choked him, as she sobbed, "Oh, grandpa,
I'll never, never, _never_ forget again! I'll be the most un-missionary
person you ever knew,--yes, I'll be a reg'lar heathen if you'll just
speak to me! I didn't think I was being bad in trying to help others--"

"My precious darling! I don't want you to be a heathen," he cried,
straining her to his heart. "I want you to be the best and most
enthusiastic little missionary it is possible for you to be, but in
order to be a good missionary, one must first learn obedience, and
cultivate good judgment. I wouldn't for all the world have my little
girl grow up a stingy, miserly woman. I am proud of the sweet, generous,
unselfish spirit which prompts you to try to make the burdens of others
lighter, but you are too little a girl yet to know how and where to give
money and clothes and such things so they will do good and not harm."

"I see now what you mean, grandpa. I thought when I gave my coat to the
little hand-organ beggar that she would keep it and use it. I never
s'posed her father wouldn't let her have it, and now when he takes it
away from her she will be sorrier'n she would have been if she had never
had it."

"Yes, dear; and the money the old fellow gets from selling it will
undoubtedly be spent for drink, or something equally as bad for him.
Just out of curiosity, I traced the shoes you gave to the child on the
hill not long ago, and I found