Geordies Tryst | Page 5

the "flaming swords of living words, he fought for the poor and
weak." Never before in the course of her narrow, sheltered child-life

had she, even in imagination, been brought face to face with the
manifold wants and woes of her poorer brothers and sisters, or
understood the service to which the Son of Man summons all his
faithful followers: "Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that
thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the
naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine
own flesh?"
It seemed to Grace, when the preacher had ceased, as if a new world of
loving work and of duty stretched before her; for could she not become
one of that band whom the preacher called in such thrilling words to
enroll themselves in this service of love?
When the eloquent voice paused, and the congregation began to sing
again, Grace still felt the words sounding like trumpet-notes in her
heart. How she longed to ask the minister to take her to those courts
and alleys, and to tell her in what way she might best help those
neglected ones. How many plans coursed through her eager little brain
for their succour. But the preacher had said he wanted money for their
help; a collection was to be made before they left the church.
Grace's store of pocket-money was slender, and, moreover, was not in
her pocket now. How gladly would she have emptied her little silken
purse, if she had only had it with her; but, alas! it lay uselessly in her
drawer at home. Her conventional penny had been put into the plate at
the door, as she came into church, and Grace thought ruefully that she
had nothing--nothing to give to help these poor forsaken ones, whose
hard lot had so touched her heart. Just then, however, she happened to
raise her hand to her neck, and was reminded of an ornament which she
always wore, the only precious thing she possessed. It was an
old-fashioned locket, with rows of pearls round it, and in the centre a
baby lock of her own hair, which her mother used to wear. Her Aunt
Hume had some time ago taken it out of the old jewel-case which
awaited her when Grace was old enough to be trusted with its contents,
and given it to her to wear, so it was her very own. But was not this a
worthy occasion for bringing of one's best and most precious things?
Might not this pearl locket help to bring some little outcast waif into

paths of pleasantness and peace? Yes, the locket should be given to the
special collection, Grace resolved; but it might not be wise, to divulge
the intention to Margery, who had already replied, when she was asked
by Grace if she could lend her any money, that nobody would expect a
collection from such a young lady.
When the crowd moved away from the passage, and began to scatter,
Margery and her charge left the old pew in the highest gallery and
prepared to go down the great staircase which led to the entrance door.
Near the door there stood two elders of the church, with metal plates in
their hands, waiting for the offerings of the congregation. Grace had
been holding hers tightly in her hand, having untied it from her neck
and slipped the ribbon in her pocket, and now she laid it gently among
the silver, and the pennies, and the Scotch bank-notes, hoping that it
might slip unobserved between one of the crumpled notes, and so
escape the detective glance of Margery's quick eyes. But her hope was
vain. Nurse caught sight of the pearls gleaming pure and white among
the other offerings: "Missy, what have you done? Your locket! your
mamma's beautiful pearl locket! Did I ever see the like? It's a mistake,
sir. Miss Campbell could not have meant it," she said, turning to the
elder, with her hand raised to recapture it.
"Stop, Margery, it is not a mistake; I meant to put it there," replied
Grace in an eager whisper, as she pulled her nurse's shawl, glancing
timidly at the elder, as if she feared he was going to conspire with
Margery, and that, after all, her offering would be rejected.
"Missy! are you mad? What will your aunt say? Really, sir, will you be
so kind?"--and Margery did not finish her sentence, but looked
piteously at the elder, who was glancing at the little girl with a kindly,
though questioning expression in his eyes, saying presently:
"You may have your locket back, if you wish it, my child. Perhaps you
have given it hastily, and may regret it