Part 3 (2/2)

Jack gasped, and two red spots glowed in his cheeks.

”You didn't take it, did you?”

”I wanted to,” said Betty slowly; ”I wanted to very much. I was just going to take it in my hand, and then I remembered how mother would feel, and I didn't.”

Jack heaved a deep sigh.

”I'm glad you didn't,” he said rather tremulously.

Again there was silence. Both children were 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 wis.h.i.+ng 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 G.o.d about it sometimes, but I think I should like to do something for a Thank Offering too.”

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