After that, she wore it in church and to Sunday-school. It looped itself beautifully over her best, brown striped dress, and gave her the sense of being equal in appearance with the other children. Miss Raymond, her teacher, told me that Ida really seemed to understand the lesson better, and to take more interest in reciting her golden text, after she came into possession of her precious sash. It was so thick and soft and rich; it felt so nice to the little black fingers, which every now and then stroked it lovingly. I am sure the sash was a means of grace to Ida. Children who have everything they want, who are clothed in purple and fine linen every day, cannot imagine how much delight a poor child sometimes takes in an innocent bit of finery. Now, I want to tell you what became of the sash at last. One day the superintendent at the Sunday-school asked the children to come to order, because a lady was about to talk to them. The lady was a missionary; her work had been somewhere a great way off, among people who had hardly any money, and had a great deal of trouble to get bread and meat. Their minister, the lady said, had to live in a house dug right out of the side of a hill. She had lived in such a little bit of a house herself for a great many weeks. Poor as these people were, they had built a little church, and were trying very hard to pay for it. They had not any singing-books nor Bibles for their Sunday-school, nor any library-books; but the children thought nothing of walking five miles or more to go to Sunday-school. What would the children here in this lovely room give for those children in the far, far West? It happened that Ida's teacher had lately talked to her class about the meanness of giving to the Lord that which it cost them nothing to give. So when the collection-box was passed around, they dropped in their pennies and silver-pieces, and those who had nothing with them were told to bring their share on the next Sunday. And some of them began to plan their little sacrifices. Ida's dusky face was a study. Once or twice she paused, irresolute. At last, when school was over, she whispered; "Teacher, may I stay a moment?" "Yes, dear," said Miss Raymond. When the two were by themselves in the little half-circle where their class usually sat, Ida, with trembling hands, untied the beloved sash, and, laying it on her teacher's lap, said, "Please, Miss Raymond, this is the prettiest thing I've got, and I want to send it to the children who haven't any Bibles." "But the sash will do them no good, Ida." "The worf of it will," replied the child; "and it's worf free dollars, any way; mammy said so." Ida stooped down and kissed it; it was not giving what cost her nothing to part with her treasured ribbon. Mass Raymond took it with a tender look, rolled it up and carried it home.