HARRIET AND HER SQUIRREL.
It was on a Sabbath eve, when at a friend's house, we were all sitting
in the piazza, conversing about the efforts which were being made for
the poor heathen, and the number of Testaments which were being sent
to them.
"Father," said little Harriet, "do the little heathen children wish to
learn to read the New Testament?"
"O yes, my child, many of them do," said the father.
"But have they all got Testaments if they did know how to read?" "No,
my love; few of them have ever heard about the Testament, about God,
or about Jesus Christ." "Will half a dollar buy one?" said Harriet. "O
yes, my child."
"Then," said Harriet, "may I sell anything I have, if I can get the
money?" Her father told her she might.
Now, every child has some favorite toy. Harriet's was a beautiful tame
_gray_ squirrel. It would eat from her hands, attend her in her
rambles, and sleep on her pillow.
She called its name Jenny. It was taken sick, and the little girl
nursed it with care, but it at last died in her lap.
Little Harriet wept sadly about it, and her father tried to console
her, and told her not to feel so.
"Ah," said she, "you know, father, you told me that I might sell
anything I had to buy a Testament for the heathen children, and I was
going to sell my pretty squirrel to Mr. Smith, who said he would give
me half a dollar for it; but now my Jenny is dead." The Father then
put a silver dollar into Harriet's hand, and she dried her tears,
rejoicing that Jenny's death would be the means of his little daughter
having two or three Testaments instead of one.
More
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