er birthdays and all her home life
heretofore, there came a timid knock on the door, and as Marcia opened
it, there stood little crippled Joe, one of her scholars in the
Mission Sunday school. As he saw her, he gave a little exclamation of
surprise and delight, and said: "O Miss Marshay! I hearn last night
'twas yer berthday today, an' I wanted to guv yer suthin' white, like
Mr. Robinson he told us 'bout, don't yer know?--an' 'caus yer has
allers treated me so white--'n'--'n' I didn't hev nuthin', 'n so I
axed Him, ye know, what yer telled us 'bout in Sunday school--Jesus;
who died on the cross, and who's allers willin' to help a poor
feller--an' I axed Him to help me get suthin' real nice 'n' white fer
uer birthday; 'n I kep' me eyes peeled all day 'xpectin' it, 'n just
now a reel swell feller buyed a paper of me, 'n then he guv he this
here bunch uv white sweet smellin' posies, 'thout my sayin' a word.
Here they be, Miss Marshay fer yer. Giminy, teacher, ain't them purty?
An' O, teacher--He made 'm in the fust place 'n had the man guv them
to me, 'n so I reckon He 'n me's pardners in this here white gift
bizness." And he held up in his thin, grimy hand a bunch of white,
sweet-scented violets.

Marcia's first impulse was to catch up the little fellow and his gift
in her arms, and baptize them with a flood of tears from her own
overcharged heart! But she hadn't taught boys in a Mission Sunday
school class for nothing--Joe would have thought she had gone crazy,
or been struck silly, or was sick unto death; so she controlled
herself, and kneeling beside him took the violets reverently in both
her hands, saying in a choked voice: "Joe, they are just beautiful!
This is the only really truly white gift I have had today, and I don't
deserve it--but I thank Him and you."

The boy looked at her with shining face, drew his hand across his
eyes, and then answered brightly: "Oh, that's all right, Miss Marshay;
'tenny rate 'tis with me, 'n' I reckon 'tis with Him"--and seizing his
crutch, he hopped like a little sparrow through the door and onto the
street, and she heard his boyish voice calling out: "Evenin' papers,
last edishun--all 'bout the big graft 'sposure."

Just then the big white touring car discharged its merry load at the
door, and the house was filled with the chatter and laughter of the
children. In vain she tried to find a quiet corner where she could be
alone with her heart--it was impossible to escape from the h