All at once the young girl saw how hard it was for her parents to buy shoes, with their limited means; and from that day to this she never slid upon the ice.

There were few playthings in the simple home, but her chief pastime was in holding meetings in her father’s woodshed, with the other children.  Great logs were laid out for benches, and split sticks were set upon them for people.  Mary was always the leader, both in praying and preaching, and the others were good listeners.  Mrs. Rice would be so much amused at the queer scene, that a smile would creep over her face; but Mr. Rice would look on reverently, and say, “I wish you had been a boy; you could have been trained for the ministry.”

When she was twelve years old she began to be eager to earn something.  She could not bear to see her father work so hard for her.  Alas! how often young women, twice twelve, allow their father’s hair to grow white from overwork, because they think society will look down upon them if they labor.  Is work more a disgrace to a girl than a boy?  Not at all.  Unfortunate is the young man who marries a girl who is either afraid or ashamed to work.

Though not fond of sewing, Mary decided to learn dressmaking, because this would give her self-support.  For three months she worked in a shop, that she might learn the trade, and then she stayed three months longer and earned thirty-seven cents a day.  As this seemed meagre, she looked about her for more work.  Going to a clothing establishment, she asked for a dozen red flannel shirts to make.  The proprietor might have wondered who the child was, but he trusted her honest face, and gave her the bundle.  She was to receive six and a quarter cents apiece, and to return them on a certain day.  Working night after night, sometimes till the early morning hours, she was able to finish only half at the time specified.

On that day a man came to the door and asked, “Does Mary Rice live here?”

The mother had gone to the door, and answered in the affirmative.

“Well, she took a dozen red flannel shirts from my shop to make, and she hain’t returned ’em!”

“It can’t be my daughter,” said Mrs. Rice.

The man was sure he had the right number, but he looked perplexed.  Just then Mary, who was in the sitting-room, appeared on the scene.

“Yes, mother, I got these shirts of the man.”

“You promised to get ’em done, Miss,” he said, “and we are in a great hurry.”

“You shall have the shirts to-morrow night,” said Mrs. Rice.

After the man left the house, the mother burst into tears, saying, “We are not so poor as that.  My dear child, what is to become of you if you take all the cares of the world upon your shoulders?”

When the work was done, and the seventy-five cents received, Mary would take only half of it, because she had earned but half.