class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="32"/> trying hard to keep back the coming tears. Again Betty was the first to speak.

"I suppose some mothers wouldn't mind their children taking presents," she said. "I wonder why mother is so very particular?"

"Why, don't you know?" Jack's blue eyes opened wide in surprise. "It's because we're English, and mother once lived in that beautiful place with the park and the deer. She can't forget about it, even if she is poor now. She has to remember she's a lady, and ladies never do take money from strangers."

Betty sighed impatiently.

"I suppose it's wrong," she said, "but sometimes I can't help wishing mother hadn't been quite such a grand person when she lived in England. What's the use of it now when we have to live in a flat, and mother has to give music lessons and do all the housework herself? If she hadn't had all those beautiful things once, she wouldn't mind so much about being poor now."

"Well, but it's nice to have the other things to think about," said Jack. "Aren't you glad you've got ancestors?"

"I don't think I care very much," said practical Betty; "I'd rather have relations that are alive now. Winifred Hamilton said her uncle gave her a five-dollar gold-piece for Easter. I wish we had an uncle, don't you?"

"We have got Uncle Jack," said Jack thoughtfully, "but we don't know where he is, and mother doesn't like to have us ask her about him. There's the door bell, and it's mother's ring. Wait one minute, Betty, please. Don't say anything to her about the carriage; she'd be so sorry to think we were disappointed, you know."

"No, I won't," said Betty emphatically.

CHAPTER III

WINIFRED'S THANK OFFERING

"Mother, dear, I want to talk to you about something very important."

"Well, my pet, what is it?" And Mrs. Hamilton laid aside her book, and took her little daughter into her lap.

It was the hour before dinner; the time of day that Winifred always liked best, because then her mother was never busy, and was quite ready to tell her stories, play games, or discuss any subject under the sun.

"It's about a story I've been reading," said Winifred, nestling her head comfortably on her mother's shoulder. "It's a lovely story, all about a little boy who was stolen and had to act in a circus and live in a caravan. He had a very hard time, but in the end his father and mother found him, and they were so happy that his father built a hospital for poor children just to show how grateful he was. He called it a Thank Offering."

Winifred paused to give a long, contented glance about the pretty, comfortable room. Her mother softly stroked the fluffy little head resting against her shoulder. She knew there was more to come.

"Well," Winifred went on after a moment, "I've been thinking a great deal about that story. You see, I think I feel very much the way those people did. Since you and father came home from California, and we came here to live, I've been so very, very happy. I say a little prayer to God about it sometimes, but I think I should like to do something for a Thank Offering too."

"What would you like to do?" Mrs. Hamilton asked, stooping to kiss the sweet, earnest little face.

"Well, I've been thinking about that, and it seems as if the best thing would be to make some one else very happy. You know the five-dollar gold-piece that Uncle Will gave me for Easter?"

"Yes, dear."

"Well, do you think he would mind very much if I spent it all on giving somebody else a good time?"

"He would not mind in the least, I am sure, but I thought you had decided to buy a bracelet just like Lulu Bell's."

"Yes, I had; but, you see, that was before I began to think about the Thank Offering."

"Well, and when did you first begin to think of the Thank Offering?" Mrs. Hamilton asked, smiling.

"It was yesterday afternoon, when Betty Randall was so disappointed because the man at the livery stable told her it would cost five dollars for a carriage to take her little brother for a drive. I've been thinking about it ever since, and to-day at recess I told Lulu, and she thinks just the same as I do."

"You mean that you would like to spend your five dollars in hiring a carriage to take that little cripple boy and his sister for a drive?"

"Yes, mother; do you think I might? I don't know the little boy yet, but I like Betty very much, and she was so disappointed."

Mrs. Hamilton was looking both pleased and interested.

"I do think you might," she said heartily, "and, Winnie, dear, I like your idea of a Thank Offering very much indeed. I have been thinking a good deal about that poor child myself ever since what you told me yesterday. Didn't you say to-morrow would be the little boy's birthday?"

"Yes, to-morrow; and to-morrow will be Saturday too. Oh, mother, dear, do you really think we could?"

"I will go up and call on Mrs. Randall this evening," said Mrs. Hamilton with decision. "I have never met her, but I like her little girl's appearance very much. I don't believe she will have any objection to letting the children go with us. There's father's key. Run and open the door for him and give him a nice kiss."

It was about half-past eight that evening when Mrs. Hamilton left her own apartment and climbed the three flights of stairs to the top floor. On the last landing she paused to get her breath before ringing the Randalls' bell, and at that moment her ear caught the sound of music. Some one was playing on the piano, and playing in a way that at once attracted Mrs. Hamilton's attention. This was not the kind of music she was accustomed to hearing through open windows or thin walls. Mrs. Hamilton had studied music herself under some of the best teachers the city could produce, and she knew at once that this was no ordinary musician. She had heard that Mrs. Randall gave music lessons, but she had never expected anything like this.

She stood quite still, listening until the piece came to an end, and then as the last notes of the beautiful nocturne died away, she raised her head and lightly touched the electric bell. The door was opened by the same little girl she had seen the day before.

"Good-evening," said the visitor, smiling pleasantly, "is your mother at home?"

"Yes," said Betty, looking very much surprised, but standing aside to let the lady pass; "she's in the parlor playing to Jack."

Mrs. Hamilton crossed the narrow hall, and entered the small but very neat-looking parlor. She noticed at a glance the plants in the window; the canary in his gilt cage, and the little crippled boy lying on the sofa. Jack's face was flushed with pleasure, and his blue eyes, full of sweet content, rested lovingly on the figure of the lady at the piano. At the sight of the unexpected visitor the lady rose.

"Mother," said Betty eagerly, "it's Mrs. Hamilton—Winifred Hamilton's mother."

A slight flush rose in Mrs. Randall's cheeks, but her greeting, though perhaps a little formal, was perfectly courteous. Mrs. Hamilton saw at a glance that the woman at the baker's had not exaggerated when she had described Betty's mother as "a very handsome lady." She was very tall and stately, and she spoke in a low, refined voice. Her eyes were large and dark, and there was a look in them that seemed to tell of suffering—a look that went straight to Mrs. Hamilton's kind heart.

It was impossible for any one to remain long ill at ease in the society of sweet, genial Mrs. Hamilton, and in five minutes the two ladies were chatting pleasantly together, and Mrs.