About Giving

Of course we both overslept the next morning and were wakened only by the ringing of the breakfast gong and the sound of my aunt's footsteps coming up to see what had happened to us. She was rather suspicious at the sight of us only just waking up.

“I believe you don't settle down properly at night,” she remarked severely, “or you'd be awake at the proper time. I believe there's a lot of running about when you should be tucked up, and I won't have it. Once in bed, you're to stay in bed, or I shall have to start locking you in.”

Philip and I looked at each other guiltily out of the corners of our eyes and hoped our aunt would not say any more on the subject. Fortunately she was very busy, so no more questions were asked.

I was simply longing for a good talk with Philip, but felt that I had really been so naughty the night before that I had better try to be extra good today. So I went down to the kitchen and offered to help, and my aunt was only too pleased to accept. We chatted together in a friendly way while we worked, and I couldn't help thinking how nice it was to have Aunt Margaret talking to me almost as though I was grown up. She never used to do it, and I began to wonder why things were different now.

“I think it's all to do with the Good Shepherd,” I thought to myself. “It really has been different since Philip and I began to know about Him. I do believe He really is beginning to make me less cross and less lazy, and I do believe Aunt Margaret is getting nicer, too. Perhaps after we've been to see Terry this afternoon we could tell her more about Him, and ask if she has a blanket to spare so he wouldn't be cold in the winter.”

Aunt Margaret suddenly stuck her head out the window. “Come along, Ruth,” she called. “Think what you're doing. You've been standing there doing nothing the last three or four minutes.”

I turned very pink and went on with my work in a great hurry. But I was longing to finish and get to Philip and tell him about my plan.

“You can go now,” said Aunt Margaret, taking off her apron. “You've been a great help this morning.”

I scuttled upstairs two steps at a time and found Philip lying flat on his bed with all the money from his money box spread out in front of him. I knelt down and we counted it together.

“One pound, seventeen shillings, and fourpence,” said Philip thoughtfully, “and I saw a camera for two pounds two shillings. If we both saved our pocket money for the rest of the holidays, we could get it by the beginning of school. On the other hand, if we gave Terry ten shillings for extra milk, we could get it around about Christmas.”

He gave a little sigh, and I knew he was thinking of the squirrels’ dreys and the dormouse nests that we would find when autumn came, and the nests of harvest mice that turned up when the corn was cut. I knew how much he wanted that camera.

“Oh, but I don't think we need give ten shillings,” I cried. “Seven shillings and sixpence would buy a lot of extra milk, and I think we could ask Auntie if she's got an old rug.”

Philip fingered his coins. “Well,” he said, “I don't think we really need to decide now. We can think it out on the way. I'll take the whole money box, and then if I want to give her seven shillings and sixpence I can, and if I decide more like ten shillings, I can, too!”

I agreed it was too important a matter to decide in a hurry, and we put the money back.

We set off after dinner to Terry's house. I carried my Bible with my picture tucked inside. Philip carried the money box, which was very heavy and jingled as we walked. He was rather quiet, and I thought he must be thinking of the camera and really wanting it, so I longed to cheer him up.

“Philip,” I said, “I think five shillings might buy quite a lot of extra milk. Let's ask how much extra milk costs.”

Philip only grunted. He didn't seem to want to talk about it at all, so we walked on in silence.

We were halfway down the hill toward the hollow when Terry's mother suddenly appeared from behind a tree, where she seemed to have been waiting for us. She looked at us with a very worried look on her face, as though we might have forgotten our promise.

“I thought we might have our talk out here,” she began nervously, “before you go on down to Terry. You won't tell my Terry nothing about them apples, will you now? I did it for his sake, but he'd get really upset if he knew. He's a good lad, my Terry.”

“Of course we won't tell Terry,” said Philip. “We promised we wouldn't tell anyone. Let's talk here on the hill, and he won't be able to hear us.”

We sat down among the flowers and were silent for a little while. Philip looked at me because he was expecting me to begin. I looked at the ground because I was shy, and Terry's mother looked very hard at the money box.

“We've brought you some money to buy milk and bed clothes for Terry,” he said simply. “It's not much, but it's all we've got,” and as he said it he tipped up the money-box and emptied the whole lot into Terry's mother's lap.

“It's one pound, seventeen shillings, and fourpence,” he said clearly, so that there might be no mistake about it, “and we hope it will do Terry a lot of good. Now we will go down to the cottage and see him for a little bit.”

He stood up and started off down the hill, but I stayed behind for a moment. The Good Shepherd had given his life. Philip had given all the money for his camera. And I wanted to give something, too. I suddenly remembered that my most precious possession was in my hands. So I opened my Bible and pulled it out and laid it with the coins in Terry's mother's lap.

“This is my favorite picture,” I said softly. “And you can have it to remind you that Jesus, the Good Shepherd, wants to find you. Philip and I both belong to Him now.”

“Thank you, little lady,” she replied, and I left her sitting there counting her coins on the hillside while I ran after Philip.

“I hope you didn't mind that I gave her all the money,” said Philip as we were walking home an hour later. “After all, a lot of it was yours, really, but somehow I felt we couldn't keep it. I mean, the camera doesn't seem to matter much compared with Terry, when you come to think of it, does it?”

“No,” I agreed. “And the funny part is, I was thinking the same thing. When I thought about the Good Shepherd giving His life, it seemed awful to be giving such a little, and I was trying to make you look at me, to tell you to give more.”

“Funny,” said Philip, “I thought I should feel miserable without my money, but actually I feel really happy.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “I thought it would be terrible giving away my picture, but I sort of feel glad she's got it now. Isn't it strange?”

“We never guessed it would be so nice,” said Philip. “But when you come to think of it, Ruth, I believe it's the first time we've given away anything that we really wanted to keep badly, so we couldn't have known.”

We walked on in silence, thinking about it.