THERE lived in a little village an old man and woman who were very poor. They earned their living by weaving. By working hard they could earn about four shillings a week. By being very careful they managed to live on this sum. They had no debts, but not a penny to spare.

One day they returned home from a missionary meeting feeling very sad. They had nothing to give.

"Wife," said the husband, "doesn't it make you feel bad to think that we haven't a penny to give for the heathen. We both know how blessed it is to have a Saviour, yet we cannot help to spread the news."

"I've been thinking about it," she said; "if we only knew a way to earn a little money. There is what we put aside to bury us, but it wouldn't be right to take it, for then somebody else would have to pay our funeral expenses; and as for eating less than we do now, that is impossible, for then we should get sick, and other people would have to take care of us. I don't see any way."

"We must just tell the Lord about it," the old man said. And then it was time for family worship, and they knelt down to pray.

Two months afterward, one cold winter evening, there came a knock at the minister's door.

When he opened it, there stood the old woman, her face bright with joy.

"I've brought our money for the missionaries," she said. "My husband and I are so glad to show somebody else the way to the Saviour." Then she unwrapped a large piece of paper, and carefully counted out five pennies.

The minister was surprised, for he knew that these two people were very poor. How could they spare even five pennies? But she had a joyful story to tell.

"Why, we wanted to give something, and we didn't see how; so we asked the Lord about it; and he put it into our hearts to save the potato-parings. We have to use a dozen small potatoes in a day, for it is about all that we have to eat. Well,

I dried them, and kept them in a bag until I got a nice lot, and this morning I took them to a neighbor who keeps pigs, and she gave me five cents.

We are so glad to give it!"

Then the old woman, nearly eighty years old, limped away, leaning on her cane, her face aglow.

Her pastor said he could not keep back the tears as he looked at the five pennies.

"O thou faithful God!" said he. "How well these children of thine have understood thee. And thou wilt, by and by, give to them good measure, pressed down, shaken together, and running over."




The Pansy.