“It isn’t.  It will take fire if you bring it near a flame, just as alcohol will, but it can’t explode.  There might be a little danger of its taking fire if you filled it when burning, but nobody would be foolish enough to do that.  I meant to tell you that this little stove is another proof to me that our Father pities us in our little troubles, and helps us.  I used to have an iron cook-stove, and even with my little work it would heat up everything so.  Just as I got all tuckered out with it, I heard of the gasoline stove, but I couldn’t afford to get one, for work was rather scarce just then.  I expected, though, he would send me one before long, and sure enough he did.  It wasn’t many days, don’t you believe, till a lady came and asked me if I wanted to sew for her, and take a gasoline stove for pay; her husband was a dealer in them.  You may be sure I said ‘Yes’ pretty quick; so I got it, and a great comfort it’s been to me these three years.  No, we don’t plod along here with nobody to care how we get along.  He cares.  I believe he thought about me and sent me the stove, and I always shall.”

“Well, good-bye, Mrs. Macpherson,” said Faith.  “I am truly obliged to you.  You have cheered and helped me.  I think I shall have more trust hereafter, and who knows hut I shall set up housekeeping with a gasoline stove,” she added, laughingly.

“Dear heart, I wish you might.”

Mrs. Vincent walked home with an idea in her head and a light in her eye that were not there when she started.  Trust a woman for doing what she wants to.  It did not take Faith long to lay a plan, and by the time she reached home a plan lay fair and clear before her.  Once in her room she sat down and mentally inventoried her possessions.  She went to her trunk and brought out her jewellery; they made a goodly array, all the birthday and holiday gifts of many years, several of them quite costly.  She hesitated a little over a beautiful watch and chain, but finally laid them with the others—­a fair offering at the shrine of love, retaining only a plain gold pin and the rings her husband gave her.  When baby took her afternoon nap, Faith gathered up her rings, and pins, and ear-rings, and bracelets, and chains, and all the other “tinkling ornaments,” made them into a package, and went with a resolute look in her eyes to Mr. Seymour’s—­one of the largest jewellery stores in the city.  Mr. Seymour was a member of the same church, and took a fatherly interest in the young couple.  Faith, with much inward trepidation, unfolded her plans to him.  After careful examination he named a price for each article that made her heart bound with joy.

“As a matter of course,” he explained, “we never give full value for goods bought in this way; but when a woman sacrifices her ornaments for such an object I want to bid her God-speed, and I shall give you what I think I can dispose of them for.”

He counted out the fresh bills to Faith; she could have hugged him, but she only said, in low excited tones: