In the afternoon she took her Bible and some missionary leaflets, and going into a retired place in the garden read and studied for more than an hour. The missionary spirit within her was fully awake that day. She longed to talk with Evaline and could hardly wait until it was time for her to come home. But by Tuesday, when she did come, Marty's head was full of other matters, such as a discovery she had made in the wood of a hollow in an old tree which would be a lovely playhouse, and an expedition to Sunset Hill that was being talked of. So in one way or another nearly two weeks of vacation had passed before this Missionary Twig, who had been so ardent to begin with, had redeemed her promise of trying to interest somebody in the work. But in the meantime she had thought of Jimmy Torrence. The way he was brought to her mind was this. She was with her mother on the side porch, Monday morning, when Mrs. Stokes, coming out of the kitchen with floury hands, inquired, "Mrs. Ashford, did you see the little boy in the carriage that just passed 'long?" "Yes," replied Mrs. Ashford. "Well, you just ought to have seen him when they brought him up here three weeks ago--his folks are boarding over at Capt. Smith's; such a pale, peaked child _I_ never saw! Had been awful sick, they said, and now you see he looks right down well." "Why, yes, he does," said Mrs. Ashford. "I should never imagine he had been ill very recently. The country has certainly done him good." "That's just it!" said Mrs. Stokes. "There's nothing like taking children to the country a spell after they've been sick. Makes 'em fat and rosy in less than no time." "Oh! mamma," exclaimed Marty. "That makes me think of poor little Jimmy. I wish we could do something to get him sent to the country." "I wish we could, but I don't see any way to do it. I have given all I can afford this summer to the different Fresh-Air Funds." "Can't you think of anything, clothes or such things, that you were going to get me, and that I _could_ do without, and send the money to Mrs. Watson?" pleaded Marty. "I can't think of anything just this minute," answered her mother with a gentle smile, "but if you will bring Freddie in out of the hot sun, and get something to amuse him near here, I'll try to think." "Oh! do, please. And mind, mamma, it must be something for me to do without--not you." Marty ran down the yard to where Freddie, with red face and without his hat, was rushing up and down playing he was a "little engine." "Freddie," she called, "don't you want to come and make mud pies?" This was a favorite amusement of the small boy, and instantly the little engine subsided into a baker. Marty led him up near the porch, where there was a nice bed of mould--"clean dirt," Mrs. Stokes called it--and they were soon hard at work on the pies. Marty enjoyed this play as much as Freddie, and it was some time before she thought of asking, "Mamma, have you thought of anything yet?"