Urge the children to put the cards thus received in a little book, and put under each card the date you preached the sermon. If any child who attends regularly is absent mail a card to them the next day, with a short lesson written on the card. Children always like the postman to bring them something by mail. If they are out of town, find their address and send it to them. If they "just did not come," say to them that some Sunday morning if they will call to see you, you will give them the card they missed. It will give you a chance for a pleasant word with them. It often goes a long way with little folks. On the last Sunday of the course bring your full line of cards you have used, and have a short review and ask some questions about each card. This is only another, but a new, way of preaching to the wonder eyes of the wonderful folks we call our children. =32 MAKING JOY OBJECTS: Large Cardboards Containing the Word "Joy"= This is a day of making things. The wise man could have said of things as he said of books, "Of the making of many things there is no end." Did you ever try to make joy? It is a big business. All the world is trying to learn that trade. The world is richer than it has ever been, that is because we have learned to make money. The world is wiser than it has ever been; that is because we have learned to make many books. The world at heart is sadder than it has ever been; that is because it has never learned how to make JOY. The joy the world knows is like the desert plant. It fastens its root by the side of a little stream, and drinks in the moisture, and spreads out its leaves of life. The stream is dried up at last by the heat of the desert, and the roots loosen their hold on the soil, and the windstorm rolls the plant over the desert like a dead leaf until another piece of wet ground is found. There it fastens for another short season, and again the sun dries up this spring of life, and hurls the root on in the heart of the desert storm, This is repeated over and over again until at last it tosses it out into the piercing rays of the sun a withered dry old root dead at the heart. So men and women are like this dry root. They absorb this pleasure and another until at last, when old age finds them they are like the old dead root east up by the winds of time. Dead in the inside. They never found any joy to which they could anchor. They never knew where to find real joy.