“No matter,” he said, “in the Lord’s account That guinea of gold is set down to me, They lend to Him who give to the poor; It will not so bad an investment be.” “Na, na, mon,” the chuckling sexton cried out; “The Lord is no cheated—He kens thee well; He knew it was only by accident That out of thy fingers the guinea fell. “He keeps an account, no doubt, for the puir; But in that account He’ll set down to thee Na mair o’ that golden guinea, my mon, Than the one bare penny ye meant to gi’e!” There’s a comfort, too, in the little tale— A serious side as well as a joke; A comfort for all the generous poor In the honest words the sexton spoke. A comfort to think that the good Lord knows How generous we really desire to be, And will give us credit in His account For all the pennies we long to “gi’e.” Rue’s Heathen The long line of blue check aprons followed the other line of small blue jackets through the wide hall, up the bare, polished stairs, and into the clean, airy chapel. Then, at a signal, every apron and jacket was still. Little Rue’s apron had been about midway in the procession, and so she found a seat near the middle of the chapel, where, swinging the small feet that could not quite touch the floor, she looked listlessly out through the window opposite, over a beautiful view of grove and meadow, and then up at the white ceiling, where a great fly buzzed at his pleasure, without having to walk in line. On the platform a man in fine broadcloth and gold spectacles was beginning to talk; but Rue only listened dreamily. “My dear children, I am delighted to visit this grand institution—to see so many of you in this beautiful home, so well cared for, so well instructed, and so happy.” Rue wondered why all the men who talked there said that. She wondered if he really would like to eat and sleep and walk in a row and always wear a blue check apron. Then she forgot all about him, in watching the sunlight play on the small head immediately in front of her. What a brilliant red head it was! And then a bright thought occurred to Rue. A few of those hairs, twisted together, would make a beautiful chain for the neck of her china doll, her one treasure; and, of course, Mary Jane Sullivan would never miss them, if she only pulled out one here and there. Forward crept Rue’s eager little fingers; but they were too nervous in their haste to be sure that they held but a single coarse hair before they twitched, and the result was a sudden explosive “Ow!” from Mary Jane, the turning of a battery of eyes in that direction, and an immediate investigation by the authorities into the cause of the disturbance. Poor little Rue was marched off in disgrace; but, as she reached the door, she heard the speaker say:—