e lost his temper over a tin trumpet he drew in
a grab bag. At the end of the week there were three cases of nervous
prostration, one of pneumonia, two of grippe--and one hundred dollars
and five cents in money.

The ladies drew a long breath and looked pleased; then their faces went
suddenly white. Where was ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents to
come from in the few days yet remaining? Silently and dejectedly they
went home.

It was then that the Reverend John Grey rose to the occasion and shut
himself in his study all night, struggling with a last appeal to be
copied on his faithful mimeograph and delivered by his patient youngest
born. That appeal was straight from the heart of an all but despairing
man. Was two thousand dollars to be lost--and because of a paltry
ninety-nine dollars and ninety-five cents?

The man's face had seemed to age a dozen years in the last twelve
months. Little streaks of gray showed above his temples, and his
cheeks had pitiful hollows in them. The minister's family had meat but
twice a week now. The money that might have bought it for the other
five days had gone to add its tiny weight to the minister's
contribution to the fund.

The pressure was severe and became crushing as the holidays approached.
The tree for the Sunday-School had long since been given up, but
Christmas Eve a forlorn group of wistful-eyed children gathered in the
church and spoke Christmas pieces and sang Christmas carols, with
longing gaze fixed on the empty corner where was wont to be the shining
tree.

It was on Christmas Day that the widow Blake fought the good fight in
her little six-by-nine room. On the bed lay a black cashmere gown,
faded and rusty and carefully darned; on the table lay a little heap of
bills and silver. The woman gathered the money in her two hands and
dropped it into her lap; then she smoothed the bills neatly one upon
another, and built little pyramids of the dimes and quarters. Fifteen
dollars! It must be five years now that she had been saving that
money, and she did so need a new dress! She needed it to be--why--even
decent!--looking sourly at the frayed folds on the bed.

It was on Christmas Day, too, that the little cripple who lived across
the bridge received a five-dollar gold piece by registered mail.
Donald's eyes shone and his thin fingers clutched the yellow gold
greedily. Now he could have those books!--his eyes rested on an open
letter on the floor by