and I must
confess that I have my doubts in regard to the collection for Foreign
Missions. That always seems to me romantic and wasteful. You never
hear from it in any definite way. They say the missionaries have done
a good deal to open the way for trade; perhaps--but they have also
gotten us into commercial and political difficulties. Yet I give to
them--a little--it is a matter of conscience with me to identify myself
with all the enterprises of the Church; it is the mainstay of social
order and a prosperous civilization. But the best forms of benevolence
are the well-established, organized ones here at home, where people can
see them and know what they are doing."

"You mean the ones that have a local habitation and a name."

"Yes; they offer by far the safest return, though of course there is
something gained by contributing to general funds. A public man can't
afford to be without public spirit. But on the whole I prefer a
building, or an endowment. There is a mutual advantage to a good name
and a good institution in their connection in the public mind. It
helps them both. Remember that, my boy. Of course at the beginning
you will have to practise it in a small way; later, you will have
larger opportunities. But try to put your gifts where they can be
identified and do good all around. You'll see the wisdom of it in the
long run."

"I can see it already, sir, and the way you describe it looks amazingly
wise and prudent. In other words, we must cast our bread on the waters
in large loaves, carried by sound ships marked with the owner's name,
so that the return freight will be sure to come back to us."

The father laughed, but his eyes were frowning a little as if he
suspected something irreverent under the respectful reply. "You put it
humorously, but there's sense in what you say. Why not? God rules the
sea; but He expects us to follow the laws of navigation and commerce.
Why not take good care of your bread, even when you give it away?"

"It's not for me to say why not--and yet I can think of cases--"

The young man hesitated for a moment. His half-finished cigar had gone
out. He rose and tossed it into the fire, in front of which he
remained standing--a slender, eager, restless young figure, with a
touch of hunger in the fine face, strangely like and unlike the father,
at whom he looked with half-wistful curiosity.

"The fact is, sir," he continued, "there is such a case in my mind now,