It was a display in the candy shop they were looking at. Across the window, hung from the gas jet by ribbons, was a huge candy cane. "See that," said Willie, pulling out from his pocket a five-cent piece. "Know what I am going to do with it?" "Take it to Miss Beatrice for the poor little girl she told about." "No, sir. Going to get some candy. Five cents don't get much, though. Not the best kind. That costs money." Harlis put his hand in his pocket and quickly pulled it out. But the action did not escape Willis' sharp eyes. "You got any?" he asked. "Yes." "Let's see. Oh, a nickel! Thought maybe it was just a penny. What a lot ten cents would get. What kind do you like best?" "I like chocolate best." "Do you? Why, so do I. Say we get some?" "I don't believe mamma would like it. She said we mustn't buy things on Sunday." "She'll never know. That's nothing bad, either." When the collection basket was passed around, Harlis looked almost ready to cry. "Did you forget your money?" said Miss Beatrice, pleasantly. Harlis so seldom came without it that it was noticeable. "Yes'm," answered the little boy, almost without thinking what he was saying. He was so uncomfortable, and Willie was making eyes at him. "Never mind, bring it next Sunday," said Miss Beatrice, noticing the flushed face and telltale eyes, and not understanding quite what it meant. If mamma had not been sick, the trouble would surely have come out earlier, because mamma would have seen in a minute that something was wrong. After the late dinner, there was nothing to do but cuddle up in the corner of the sofa with his books. Just as it was growing dark, papa came down from the sick room. He found Harlis with his head buried in the sofa cushion. "What's the matter?" said papa briskly, picking up his little boy. "Lonesome? Too bad! Thought you went to Aunt Lucy's with Esther." "I didn't want to," said Harlis, breaking out in big, shaking sobs. Papa knew something was wrong, then, and by degrees the story came out. Papa said very little, for he seemed to understand the real suffering Harlis had already gone through because of his wrongdoings. "But the nickel was mine," said Harlis, as he and mamma were talking it over. "Was it?" said mamma. "What did I give it to you for?" "For the poor little girl." "You can put it back, but you must earn it," she said. "Oh, I will! I will!" Harlis was only too glad to do this. "And I'll never do so again, mamma." And his mamma felt sure he never would. --_Written for Dew Drops by Florence Maule._ * * * * * THE LIGHT OF A SMILE. If it drizzles and pours, Is there any reason The weather indoors Should be dull, like the season? There is something makes bright The cloudiest places; Can you guess? 'Tis the light Of the smiles on your faces. --_Selected_. * * * * * Mother's Valentines