26 ; ‘
A WHITE HYACINTH.

UCH a beautiful flower it was! Little Lizzie
Hardy, who had watched and tended the tiny
A green shoot that had sprung so wonderfully from the
mc brown, dead-looking bulb until it had reached its
/) perfect beauty, thought no other flower could ever
have been guzte so lovely as her white hyacinth—
her one treasure.
nif A great struggle was going on in Lizzie’s mind.
Gi She had been to church, and had heard the minister
plead. for help to carry on the Master's work amongst the
heathen. Very touchingly he had urged his hearers to do
something for the spread of Christ’s kingdom; and at the
end of his appeal he announced his intention of attending
at the vestry the next morning to receive whatever his
congregation might care to give. Lizzie was much troubled
about the matter. Her tender little heart ached for the poor
people who knew nothing of God or of Jesus. But how could
she help them? She had nothing to give. Stay, though!
Her flower! That, at least, was her very own. Could she
give that? Yes, she could; and she did, although in giving it
she gave her all. The old clergyman looked up in surprise
when Lizzie approached him, carrying her precious burden ;
but he understood, and accepted the offering. :

The little girl thought her gift poor, but God did not so
regard it. The clergyman told the tale of Lizzie’s white
hyacinth a few days later at a missionary meeting, and many
were so touched by the simple story of love and sacrifice
that they gave more liberally than they would otherwise have
done, in support of the good work of the missionaries.