785
December 1924
T H E
K I N G ’ S
B U S I N E S S
T h e C h i l d r e n ' s G a r d e n Sophie Shaw Meader
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A CHRISTMAS GIFT The joyful day is here again, That glorious day of days, When heaven-sent angels sang to men With wondrous words of praise. Sang of God’s gift we ne’er could earn; Oh, love of God, that gave His best, And only asketh in return/^- To be our heart’s own Guest. We’ll tend the gardens of our hearts, Thy Word our rule and guide; Safe in thel light that Book imparts, May we in love abide. /—Eunice Cogburn. A A It was Christmas Eve in a great Eastern city. Wind, bitter cold, was whirling fine snow in beautiful white, eddying wreaths about the streets. Wrapping their garments tightly about them, people— most of whom were carrying mysterious packages in their arms—were hurrying to and fro. As the shadows of the night were falling, a lad of about nine years stepped out of a dimly-lighted alley-court, that he called home. Even as he came out of the house, he was too cold to shiver, though both his hands were tightly jammed into the rags beneath. “ Billy” (for by that familiar old nickname he was always called)— “ Billy” Raymond was the chief sup port of a pale-faced mother, who for several years had been fighting a los ing fight against the ravages of the Great White Plague. His father had died from the same trouble four years before. The mother managed to get together enough to pay the rent, through her long hours of toil in the miserable “ sweat-shops” o f the neigh borhood, while for coal, clothes, and food, the burden fell on “ Billy” , who was busy from morning until late at night, selling papers or running er rands. i Mrs. Raymond many years before, as a young girl, had left a country home for the allurements of the great city. A pride that she knew as a girl forbade her ever going to church in such garments as she had had since the days of her sorrow in a great city had begun. Besides, during the past five or six years, her failing strength
a C h r is tm a s song Christmas stockings filled with toys, For all the girls and all the boys, On gentle zephyrs float away As in Long Beach I chant my lay. Not only toys but love I’ll pack, In-toes and heels there is no lack; So take your gifts, dear Gardeners mine, May joy be yours this Christmas time. But greater gift, yes greater love, Was sent to all from heaven above; Your loving Savior, oh, receive; Accept your King this Christmas Eve. — Sophie Shaw Meader. ,
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combed, and possibly his face not too clean. But something pushed, and, stealthily, Billy entered the vestibule of the basement room, and hid himself back of the inner door. Any way, it was warm in there. The Christmas program was being concluded by “ a talk from the pastor” . Billy was peeking through the crack back of the door,; and listening. “ Do you know, children,” asked the man of God, “ why we always have a tree on Christmas Eve? Why don’t we have a tree like this on Easter, or on the Fourth of July, or Thanksgiv ing Day?” No one seemed to know. “ Well, then, let me ask, what did our good heavenly Father give to us on Christmas Eve long ago?” “ Jesus! He gave us Jesus!” rang a chorus of voices. “ Exactly right, children, He gave us Jesus,” said the man of God. “ But did God give Jesus to US-—just to US?” “Naw” , drawled a freckle-faced boy in a back seat; “ He gave! Him to everybody— to black kids as well as white ones.” “ He didn’t neither give Jesus to everybody,” chirped a little -tousle- headed mite of a girl in a faded dress. “ He never gave Jesus to million-bil lionaire’s kids!” “What? Why, Minnie,” exclaimed the pastor, “ don’t you think God loves rich boys the same as poor ones? Doesn’t He love everybody?” “ Maybe He loves ’em,” said Minnie; “ but He didn’t give Jesus to ’em, (Continued on page 828)
almost compelled her to make her Sabbath a day of rest—«in bed. As for Billy, he knew absolutely nothing about the inside of a church or Sun day School. Not that no one cared—• but no one seemed to care enough to search him out for the Sunday School. Anyway, it seemed necessary that while other boys and girls were at places of worship, Billy had to be get ting bread, clothes and coal, by selling Sunday morning papers. The things he knew most about were running errands, selling newspapers, and en during hunger and cold. On this particular Christmas Eve, Billy had some packages to deliver. His errands done, on his way home, he passed a great church, about which the fine mists of snow were whirling, while the winds whistled and moaned. Within the basement of the Church, throngs of children had gathered for their usual Christmas festivities. A bit of curiosity caused Billy to peek through the plate-glass of the door. No one was in the vestibule; but, through the inner door, a sight strange to his eyes was seen. A large Christ mas-tree was covered with brilliant little lights of many colors, and strung from top to bottom with glittering or naments and strings of snowy white pop-corn. Billy felt a bit of warm air in his face as he pushed the big door slightly open. Something urged him to enter. What that “ something” was, we shall let those who read this story say. Billy looked at his patched and ragged clothes. He knew his hair was un
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