LITTLE CORNERS
G EORGIA WILLIS, who helped in the kitchen, was rubbing the knives. Somebody had been careless and let one get rusty, but Georgia rubbed with all her might—rubbed and sang softly, “ In this world of darkness We must shine, You in your small corner, And I in mine.” “ What do you rub at them knives for ever for?” Mary asked. Mary was the cook. “ Because they are in my corner,” Georgia said brightly. “ ‘You in your small corner,’ you know, ‘and I in mine.’ I’ll do the best I can. That’s all I can do.” “ I wouldn’t waste my strength,” Mary said. “ I know no one will notice.” “ Jesus will,” said Georgia. And then she sang again, “ You in your small corner, And I in mine.” “ This steak is in my corner, I sup pose,” said Mary to herself. “ If that child must do what she can, I suppose I must. If He knows about knives, it’s likely He does about steak.” And she broiled it beautifully. “Mary, the steak was very nicely done today,” Miss Emma said. “ That’s all because of Georgia,” said Mary, with a pleased red face. And then she told about the knives. Miss Emma was ironing ruffles. She was tired and very warm. “ Helen will not care whether they are nicely fluted or not,” she said. “ I’ll hurry over them.” After she heard about the knives, she did her best. “How beautifully my dress is done,” said Helen. Emma laughing, answered, “ That is owing to Georgia.” And then she told about the knives. “ No,” said Helen to her friend, who urged, “I really cannot go with you this evening. I am going to prayer meeting. My corner is there.” “ Your corner! What do you mean?” Then Helen told about the knives. “Well,” said the friend, “ if you will not go with me, perhaps I will go with you.” And they went to the prayer meet ing together. è “ You helped us ever so much with the singing this evening,” their pastor said to them as they were going home. “ I was afraid you wouldn’t be here.” “ It was owing to our Georgia,” said Helen. “ She seemed to think she must do what she could, if it was only knives.”
Then she told him the story of the knives. “ I believe I will go in here again,” said the minister, stopping before a poor little house. “ I said yesterday there was no use, but I must do what I can.” In the house, a sick man lay dying. Again and again the minister had called, but the man wouldn’t listen to him. But tonight the minister said, “ I have come to tell you a little story.” Then he told him about Georgia Wil lis, about her knives and her little cor ner, and her doing what she could. And the sick man wiped the tears from his eyes and said, “ I’ll find my corner, too. I’ll try to shine for Him.” The sick man was Georgia’s father. Jesus, looking down at Georgia Willis that day, might have said, “ She hath done what she could,” and He gave the blessing. “ I believe I- won’t go to walk today,” said Helen, hesitatingly, “ I’ll finish that dress of Mother’s. I suppose I can if I think so.” “Why, child, are you here sewing?” her mother said, “ I thought you had gone to walk.” “ No, Mother, this dress seemed to be in my corner, so I thought I would finish it.” “ In your corner,” her mother repeat ed in surprise, and then Helen told her about the knives. The doorbell rang, and the mother went thoughtfully to receive her pastor. “I suppose I could give more,” she said to herself as she slowly took out the ten dollars that she had laid aside for missions. “ If that poor child in the kitchen is trying to do what she can, I wonder if I am! I’ll make it twenty-five.” And perhaps Georgia’s guardian angel said to another angel, “ Georgia Willis gave twenty-five dol lars to our dear people in India today.” “ Twenty-five dollars!” said the other angel. “Why, I thought she was poor!” “ Oh, well, she is poor, but her Father in heaven isn’t poor, you know. She did what she could, and He did the rest.” But Georgia knew nothing about all this, and the next morning she brighten ed the knives and sang cheerily, “ In this world of darkness We must shine, You in your small corner, And I in mine.” —Silent Evangel
A BABY IN A BASKET-BOAT . Exodus 2:1-10 L ONG, long ago God sent a tiny baby to a Hebrew home. In the home were a father, a mother, a big sister Miriam, and a little brother Aaron. All of them loved the baby dear ly, but they could not tell anyone about him, for the king had said the Hebrews could not keep their boy babies. For a while the family hid the baby. Then, when he was too old to be hidden, God helped the mother think of a way to keep him safe. She took some of the tall reeds or grasses that grew near the water and made them into a basket. Then she put mud and tar into the cracks so no water could get in. We do not know what soft things she put into the basket, but we know she made a nice, comfortable basket-home and put her little baby inside. Very gently the mother, with big sister Miriam, carried the basket down to the river, and placed it on the edge of the water. She did this because she knew this was where the king’s daugh ter, the princess, would come with her maidens to bathe. And she felt that the princess loved little babies. The mother knew it was best for her not to stay, so she left Miriam to watch to see what would happen. The little girl stood afar off and watched, and before very long she saw the king’s daughter coming with her maidens. Right away the princess saw the small basket among the grasses, and she said to one of her maidens, “ Bring it to me.” When the basket-boat was brought to her, she looked inside and saw the tiny baby boy lying there. He was a beauti ful baby and he was crying. The prin cess felt sorry for him and said kindly, “ This is one of the Hebrews’ children.” (Continued on Page 2U) Page Fifteen
J U N I O R K I NGS BUS I NESS
Martha S. Hooker
S E P T E M B E R , 1 9 4 9
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