Christy looked down at the cheque in his hands; he looked at Jim’s box. “I said the real Christmas was forgotten. I said that all the missionary spirit of the present resided in the missionaries and me. I doubt whether Mr. Richards at my age was such a fool. Poor Richards! He is old. I shall have a good part of my life yet, I trust.” He wrote on the back of the cheque and folded it small. “Richards, and Jim, and Lin, and the others have spoiled my taste a little for happy strokes, however innocently come by. The mission shall enjoy this one.” He pushed the cheque through the slit in the money box, which was getting frayed and worn. Christy met Mr. Richards on the street soon afterwards. “I hope,” said Mr. Richards, “that you have found a good investment for your money.” “I have,” said Christy. “Is it reasonably sure?” “Perfectly.” “Nothing in this world can be perfectly sure, Mr. Morton.” “But there is another world,” said Christy. “It may be,” he said. As the man of millions passed on, Christy heard a faint sigh. Three days later the office door burst open and in walked Jim Perry, broad and brown. Christy stared at him speechlessly. “I’m well again,” announced Jim, superfluously. Christy shook him by the hand, clapped him on the shoulder and thumped him on the chest. “Providence knows how to give to missions!” he said. Jim turned to the mantelpiece and shook his money box. It was empty. He was openly disappointed. “You lazy beggar,” he cried. “Are you leaving all the giving to Providence?” “I am not a lazy beggar,” said Christy. “I am a very industrious one. Look at this.” He put the contents of the pigeon-hole in front of Jim and watched him fall upon them, and enjoyed tremendously his blank delight. “Why,” stammered Jim, “what does it mean? Is it all for us?” “It means,” said Christy, “that a week from to-day will be Christmas.”—_Y. P. M. M._ The Penny Ye Meant to Gi’e There’s a funny old tale of a stingy man, Who was none too good, though he might have been worse; Who went to church on a Sunday night, And carried along his well-filled purse. When the sexton came with his begging plate, The church was but dim with the candles’ light; The stingy man fumbled all through his purse, And chose a coin by touch, and not sight. It’s an odd thing now that guineas be So like unto pennies in shape and size, “I’ll give a penny,” the stingy man said; “The poor must not gifts of pennies despise.” The penny fell down with a clatter and ring; And back in his seat leaned the stingy man, “The world is so full of the poor,” he thought, “I can’t help them all—I give what I can.” Ha, ha! How the sexton smiled to be sure, To see the gold guinea fall into his plate; Ha, ha! How the stingy man’s heart was wrung, Perceiving his blunder, but just too late!