When the eloquent voice paused, and the congregation began to sing again, Grace still felt the words sounding like trumpet-notes in her heart.  How she longed to ask the minister to take her to those courts and alleys, and to tell her in what way she might best help those neglected ones.  How many plans coursed through her eager little brain for their succour.  But the preacher had said he wanted money for their help; a collection was to be made before they left the church.

Grace’s store of pocket-money was slender, and, moreover, was not in her pocket now.  How gladly would she have emptied her little silken purse, if she had only had it with her; but, alas! it lay uselessly in her drawer at home.  Her conventional penny had been put into the plate at the door, as she came into church, and Grace thought ruefully that she had nothing—­nothing to give to help these poor forsaken ones, whose hard lot had so touched her heart.  Just then, however, she happened to raise her hand to her neck, and was reminded of an ornament which she always wore, the only precious thing she possessed.  It was an old-fashioned locket, with rows of pearls round it, and in the centre a baby lock of her own hair, which her mother used to wear.  Her Aunt Hume had some time ago taken it out of the old jewel-case which awaited her when Grace was old enough to be trusted with its contents, and given it to her to wear, so it was her very own.  But was not this a worthy occasion for bringing of one’s best and most precious things?  Might not this pearl locket help to bring some little outcast waif into paths of pleasantness and peace?  Yes, the locket should be given to the special collection, Grace resolved; but it might not be wise, to divulge the intention to Margery, who had already replied, when she was asked by Grace if she could lend her any money, that nobody would expect a collection from such a young lady.

When the crowd moved away from the passage, and began to scatter, Margery and her charge left the old pew in the highest gallery and prepared to go down the great staircase which led to the entrance door.  Near the door there stood two elders of the church, with metal plates in their hands, waiting for the offerings of the congregation.  Grace had been holding hers tightly in her hand, having untied it from her neck and slipped the ribbon in her pocket, and now she laid it gently among the silver, and the pennies, and the Scotch bank-notes, hoping that it might slip unobserved between one of the crumpled notes, and so escape the detective glance of Margery’s quick eyes.  But her hope was vain.  Nurse caught sight of the pearls gleaming pure and white among the other offerings:  “Missy, what have you done?  Your locket! your mamma’s beautiful pearl locket!  Did I ever see the like?  It’s a mistake, sir.  Miss Campbell could not have meant it,” she said, turning to the elder, with her hand raised to recapture it.

“Stop, Margery, it is not a mistake; I meant to put it there,” replied Grace in an eager whisper, as she pulled her nurse’s shawl, glancing timidly at the elder, as if she feared he was going to conspire with Margery, and that, after all, her offering would be rejected.