NOBODY knew or even dreamed how large a thought was puzzling the brains of little Sadie Wilmot. It had begun at family worship that morning. Or no; perhaps it began back of that, at the meeting of “Cheerful Givers,” on Thursday. Mr. Wilmot said it was an absurd idea for such little dots as Sadie to be going to missionary meeting, but grandmamma quoted to him: “As the twig is bent, the tree is inclined,” and herself dressed Sadie for the gathering. Then Miss Harlowe, the leader, had told a story about a little heathen boy who prayed to an ugly little wooden image, with a hideous face; she showed a model of the little heathen’s god, and Sadie was shocked and distressed. She thought about the heathen a good deal that day. Now, this Saturday morning grandfather, at family worship, had read a Psalm. Sadie had not been listening very closely; in fact, it was hard for her to listen to Bible reading, some way, unless it had a story in it. This was not in the least like a story, and Sadie’s thoughts were, if the truth must be told, upon her dollie’s new hat and how she should make it, when she heard these words: “Ask of me, and I will give thee the heathen for thine inheritance.” It was that word “heathen” which caught her ear. Who was talking? To whom were the heathen to be given? Had some naughty king given them away to a bad man, and was that why they prayed to ugly wooden dollies? Sadie’s thoughts were in a turmoil; she could hardly wait until the prayer was over, before she was at grandpapa’s knee questioning. “Why, child,” said grandpapa, with a puzzled air, for he was not used to explaining the Bible to little people, “it means what it says; the heathen are to be given to Jesus.” “Given to Jesus!” said Sadie, amazed, “then why do they pray to ugly wooden dollies?” “Because He hasn’t got them yet; they don’t know they belong to him.” “Why doesn’t somebody tell them?” “They do. People are at work telling them. Did you never hear about the missionaries, child? I thought you belonged to a Mission Band?” Of course she did, and had heard about missionaries, and assured her grandfather that she gave five cents a month to support them. He did not say that that was a larger sum than he gave regularly for the same purpose; for some reason he did not care to do so; he only said: “Very well, then, you understand all about it. The Bible says the heathen will be given to Jesus, and the missionaries have gone over there to tell them about it, and show them how to serve the Lord.” “Has every single one of them heard it?” questioned Sadie, in great earnestness. “Well, no,” said grandfather; “I believe they haven’t yet.” “Why don’t they do it faster? Why don’t lots more missionaries go, and take Bibles, and hurry? Because maybe some of them will die before they hear it.” Sadie was in intense earnest, but her father laughed, and said: “That’s the question, father. Puts some of you Christians in a tight place, doesn’t it?”