Bettys Bright Idea | Page 2

thing I can think of, and said the
other day she did hope nobody'd give her any more worsted work!
Then Aunt Maria and Uncle John, they don't want the things I give
them; they have more than they know what to do with, now. All the
boys say they don't want any more cigar cases or slippers, or smoking
caps. Oh, dear!"
Here the Shining Ones came and stood over the little lady, and looked
down on her with faces of pity, which seemed blent with a serene and
half-amused indulgence. It was a heavenly amusement, such as that
with which mothers listen to the foolish-wise prattle of children just
learning to talk.
As the grave, sweet eyes rested tenderly on her, the girl somehow grew
graver, leaned back in her chair, and sighed a little.
"I wish I knew how to be better!" she said to herself. "I remember last
Sunday's text, 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.' That must
mean something! Well, isn't there something, too, in the Bible about
not giving to your rich neighbors that can give again, but giving to the
poor that cannot recompense you? I don't know any poor people. Papa

says there are very few deserving poor people. Well, for the matter of
that, there aren't many deserving rich people. I, for example, how much
do I deserve to have all these nice things? I'm no better than the poor
shop-girls that go trudging by in the cold at six o'clock in the morning--
ugh! it makes me shiver to think of it. I know if I had to do that I
shouldn't be good at all. Well, I'd like to give to poor people, if I knew
any."
At this moment the door opened and the maid entered.
"Betty, do you know any poor people I ought to get things for, this
Christmas?"
"Poor folks is always plenty, miss," said Betty.
"O yes, of course, beggars; but I mean people that I could do something
for besides just give cold victuals or money. I don't know where to hunt
them up, and should be afraid to go if I did. O dear! it's no use. I'll give
it up."
"Why, Miss Florence, that 'ud be too bad, afther bein' that good in yer
heart, to let the poor folks alone for fear of goin' to them. But ye needn't
do that, for, now I think of it, there's John Morley's wife."
"What, the gardener father turned off for drinking?"
"The same, miss. Poor boy, he's not so bad, and he's got a wife and two
as pretty children as ever you see."
"I always liked John," said the young lady. "But papa is so strict about
some things! He says he never will keep a man a day if he finds out that
he drinks."
She was quite silent for a minute, and then broke out:
"I don't care; it's a good idea! I say, Betty, do you know where John's
wife lives?"
"Yes, miss, I've been there often."

"Well, then, this afternoon I'll go with you and see if I can do anything
for them."
[Decoration]

SCENE II.
An attic room, neat and clean, but poorly furnished; a bed and a
trundle- bed, a small cooking-stove, a shelf with a few dishes, one or
two chairs and stools, a pale, thin woman working on a vest.
Her face is anxious; her thin hands tremble with weakness, and now
and then, as she works, quiet tears drop, which she wipes quickly. Poor
people cannot afford to shed tears; it takes time and injures eyesight.
This is John Morley's wife. This morning he has risen and gone out in a
desperate mood. "No use to try," he says. "Didn't I go a whole year and
never touch a drop? And now just because I fell once I'm kicked out!
No use to try. When a fellow once trips, everybody gives him a kick.
Talk about love of Christ! Who believes it? Don't see much love of
Christ where I go. Your Christians hit a fellow that's down as hard as
anybody. It's everybody for himself and devil take the hindmost. Well,
I'll trudge up to the Brooklyn Navy Yard and see if they'll take me on
there--if they won't I might as well go to sea, or to the devil," and out
he flings.
"Mamma!" says a little voice, "what are we going to have for our
Christmas?"
It is a little girl, with soft curly hair and bright, earnest eyes, that
speaks.
A sturdy little fellow of four presses up to the mother's knee and
repeats the question, "Sha'n't we have a Christmas, mother?"
It overcomes the poor woman; she leans forward and breaks into
sobbing,-- a tempest