Jill's Red Bag Part 26

"We want a donkey ride," said Jack bluntly; "and we haven't got enough money."

The old lady quietly drew out a rusty black bag from her pocket.

"I used to like donkey rides when I was a little girl," she said, "so I'll treat you to one. Where would you like to go?"

The children could hardly believe their ears. But Jill's one thought came uppermost at once.

"To Chilton Common," she said. "Oh! we should love to go there."

The old lady spoke to the man.

"Where is your nurse?" she said. "Will she like you to go so far?"

"Oh, Annie won't mind. We always play out here till dinner-time."

So in a few minutes, four donkeys were going at a steady trot towards Chilton Common; the man himself riding on one of them. It seemed a long way to the children, but Jill enlivened the way by telling the man about their tenth bag, and the room that they hoped to build on the Common.

"You might help if you like," she suggested. "You could give a tenth out of what the lady is going to give you this morning. It's going to be a tenth room or church, because it's going to be built out of our tenths."

"Don't believe in parsons or churches," said the man emphatically.

"Do you mean you don't like them?" questioned Jill. "Don't you go to church yourself?"

"Never been inside a church since I were a Sunday-school brat."

"Oh! that sounds dreadful!" said Jill, eyeing him with severity.

"Fact!" said the donkey man, giving Jill's donkey a vicious whack with his stick, and making her start off at a gallop. But Jill could stick to her donkey and to her point at the same time.

"Well, if you don't want to go to church, other people do; and they can't do it on Chilton Common. You wait till we get there, and then you will see what it is like! And I'm sure you would like to give G.o.d some of your money, wouldn't you? You must get a lot of money by your donkeys. _Everybody_ likes to ride on donkeys!"

"I'm a poor man, an' has a hard job to get my vittles," was the response. "Let rich folk build churches and such like. Let 'em throw away their money on such foolery, but a hard-workin' man has better to do with his'n."

"But," argued Jill, who from her long discussion with Sam was quite prepared for these sentiments, "you aren't as poor as we are. If no one gives me a present I get threepence a week, but it doesn't matter how little you have, the first ten pennies you get, you put one aside for G.o.d. Now do, won't you? You really ought to, for G.o.d gives you your donkeys and your money. Supposing if your donkeys broke their legs, or you broke yours! Then you wouldn't be able to get any money. And if G.o.d takes care of you and your donkeys every day, I expect He's very disappointed that you don't give Him a little money!"

This and much more Jill eagerly poured forth, and at last her driver took refuge in silent chuckles and shakes of his head. He would not be drawn out any more. They arrived in due time on the Common. It was a lovely day, and a few women came out on their doorsteps to watch the little cavalcade.

The children dismounted, and began earnestly disputing about the best site for the mission-room. Jill took into her confidence one of the women who seemed greatly interested.

"You see," she said, "Mr. Errington and us are going to build a church here when we can get enough money. Where would you like it put?"

"We bain't church-goers," said the woman laughing.

"No, but you will be when you get a church."

"Now," said the donkey man, getting bolder when he saw he would be supported by a majority; "will 'ee tell us, little miss, what good a church does 'ee?"

He raised his voice, and several lads and women drew near to listen.

Jill climbed back on her donkey. She did not like the look of the rough boys, but she bravely held her ground.

"It's a place where you can hear about Jesus," she said reverently, "and where you can ask Him what you want. Miss Falkner says He is always there to meet you."

"And what good do He do?" asked a lad with a mocking laugh.

"He helps you to set out, and keep on going to the Golden City,"

said Jill, looking at him with shocked disapproval. "You wait till you get your church, and Mr. Errington comes out to tell you all about it. You'll wish when you hear about it, that you'd been told _hundreds_ of years ago!"

There was loud laughter, but one of the women came forward and looked at Jill somewhat wistfully.

"Your Golden City reminds me of a hymn I used to sing in Sunday school,"

she said. "It began, 'Jeroos'lem the golden'!"

"Yes, I know it," said Jill, nodding; "and when you get your church I'll ask Mr. Errington to let you have that hymn every Sunday if you like."

"Shall we have hymn singin'?" questioned a boy, with a white face and dark shock of hair. "Who'll do the moosic?"

"Mr. Errington will do it _all_," said Jill with proud emphasis. "And when the church is open, I shall come over, and Jack, and b.u.mps, and Miss Falkner. And we'll be in our Sunday clothes, and you will be in yours, and the church will be _crammed_! And there'll be lots of music and singing, and we shall all enjoy it awfully! And after it's over"--here her imagination ran away with her--"we'll all shake hands, and say how glad we are, and then we'll have flags waving and bells ringing, and a lovely tea which we'll sit down to all together, with cakes and buns, and tea in urns, like a schoolfeast!"

Jack, who had been listening in silence, broke in now with enthusiasm.

"And then we'll have three cheers for the King, and three cheers for Mr. Errington, and three cheers for our red bag that got the money, and we'll finish up with a bonfire and fireworks!"

Jill pulled out her red bag which she had stuffed into her pocket, and wildly waved it in the air.

"Hurray for Chilton Common Church!" she cried, and the children and rough lads round joined in her cheer with a hearty good-will.

"Now," she said, relapsing from enthusiasm to business, "where would you like us to build it?"

There was a little silence. Some of the women went indoors. The group thinned. Jack looked round wisely.

"I think we'll let Mr. Errington choose the place," he said. "I'm sure it's time to go back."

"Well," said Jill, turning to the blacksmith, who had left his forge and had come out to know what the cheers were about, "I've told you what is going to happen, and if you like to give a tenth of your money and give it to G.o.d, I will take it and put it in my red bag and give it to Mr. Errington."

The blacksmith put his hand in his pocket and brought out sixpence.

"There be my mite towards it," he said. "I always did say a parson up here would be the thing!"

Jill thanked him profusely, dropped the sixpence in her bag, and the children rode away, followed for a short distance by a screaming crowd of small boys and girls.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THERE'S MY MITE TOWARDS IT."]

XII