“Oh, we must not, we must not do that. It would be horrid to pretend to give the best corn that has been grown, to try and show God how thankful we are, and then for Him to see that there is ever so much empty straw amongst it. It’s all very well to say that we could make the fringe look as if it were real corn and nobody would find out, but God would know, and——” The child speaker could not utter another word. The trembling voice broke into a sob that was more eloquent than the simple words which had however gone home to the hearts of the elder ones present. “You are right, Nelly darling,” said one of these as she drew her little friend to her side and kissed her tenderly. “There must be no ornamental shams amongst our thank-offerings to God. We should not like our neighbours to know that a portion of the fringe ought to be labelled ‘Only straw,’ should we?” “No, indeed,” was the answer from all the rest, and one said, “How could we bear to look at it and think that it was a miserable counterfeit? Better no fringe than straw where corn should be.” To this all the workers heartily assented. I do not remember how the little difficulty was got over, but I know it was not by the substitution of straw and empty husks for corn. I know, too, that all present learned a solemn lesson from the child who, out of the fulness of her heart, spoke on the side of truth. It was indeed a question of truth or untruth, reality or pretence, which had so stirred the young speaker. The child’s words and the circumstances under which they were uttered have often recurred to my mind during intervening years, and I believe that in repeating them I shall have done good service to you, my dear girl friends. Does not the very thought of that little scene suggest self-examination? Are we not inclined to ask ourselves how much of what we may well call “straw” is mingled with our offerings to God? When we kneel with every appearance of devotion and even our lips repeat the familiar words of praise, is our worship always what it seems to be? Do not you and I know that often, when the knee has been bent and the head bowed in apparent reverence, and when our lips have moved in prayer or response, or our voices have rung out tunefully in psalm or hymn, our hearts have had little share in our seeming worship? It has been a poor, mechanical thing in which true reverence, penitence, faith and the spirit of love, thankfulness and praise, have been almost entirely absent. It has seemed to our neighbours like true corn, but has been mostly empty straw. I say mostly, because it would be hard to think that there was no reality in it. Even amongst the straw cast aside from the threshing machine, a few grains of corn will always be found, each of which contains the germ of a new and fruitful life.