Aunt Jo’s Scrap-Bag Vol. 1

me;" and I call it practical Christianity.'

He did like it, my benevolent old bird; for he rustled his great wings,
as if he wanted to clap them, if there had only been room; and every
feather shone as if a clearer light than that of my little fire had
fallen on it as he spoke.

'You are a literary woman, hey?' he said suddenly, as if he'd got a new
idea, and was going to pounce upon me with it.

'Ahem! I do a little in that line,' I answered, with a modest cough.

'Then tell people about that place; write some stories for the children;
go and help teach them; do something, and make others do what they can
to increase the sabbath sunshine that brightens one day in the week for
the poor babies who live in shady places.'

'I should be glad to do my best; and, if I'd known before'--I began.

'You might have known, if you'd looked about you. People are so wrapt up
in their own affairs they don't do half they might. Now, then, hand me a
bit of paper, and I'll give you the address, so you won't have any
excuse for forgetting what I tell you.'

'Mercy on us; what will he do next?' thought I, as he tweaked a feather
out of his breast, gave the nib a peck, and then coolly wrote these