It was three weeks before Christmas, with no snow on the ground, cloudy skies, and not very cold—a good night for Ingathering. Many of the houses were already decorated with bright lights that encouraged a cheerful feeling on a dark night.
With my lighted candle and the chimes of “Silent Night” urging me on, I was calling at every house on my side of the street. My partner was working on the opposite side, and we were feeling happy that we could do our share.
After calling on a few homes, I came to one that looked much like the others in that vicinity—made of brick, sidewalk leading to the front porch with wide cement steps, lawn in front, hedge separating it from the next lot. As usual, I rang the bell. A little boy not more than 9 or 10 years of age, clad in red pajamas and bedroom slippers, quickly opened the door. Immediately he invited me to come in. Inside, I asked whether his mother or father was home.
“No,” he answered, “there’s nobody home but me.”
He listened to the chimes and watched my little lighted candle while I told him in a simple way what I was doing. I gave him the booklet and said, “Give this to your mother; maybe she can help when we come back next year.” I reached for the doorknob.
“Wait,” he said, “I can give you something,” and he disappeared into the next room. I heard the rattling of coins, and soon he was back with three pennies and a nickel and dropped them into my can. His face was all smiles when I said, “Thank you; you’re a good boy,” and bade him good night.
Clad only in red pajamas and slippers, he clutched a handful of pennies.
I continued on my way and had called at three or four more houses when I heard a childish voice calling me: “Lady, Lady, I have some more money.” Coming across the lawn was the same little boy in his red pajamas, anxious to drop more pennies into my can. “Thank you again, sonny,” I said, and before I could say more he had disappeared through the hedge and was running back home.
I kept on with my work. It was an enjoyable evening. A light breeze was blowing, and sometimes a few snowflakes would flutter down and play around the lights. Once in a while I would catch a glimpse of my partner’s candlelight bobbing along on the other side of the street. Hoping she was doing well, I breathed a silent prayer that God would bless all those who were out that night Ingathering.
Once again I was startled with the sound of a now-familiar voice: “Lady, Lady, I’m coming.” All out of breath, the same little “cheerful giver” had caught up to me again with a handful of pennies. He dropped them happily and carefully into the can.
By this time I was worried over what his mother might say, were she at home, so I said, “Sonny, are you sure your mother would want you to do this?”
“It’s my money, and Mom doesn’t care what I do with it,” he replied, and soon he was gone.
After some time, when I had finished my side of the street and was crossing to meet my partner, I heard again the voice of my little friend. This time he was on his bicycle, still clad only in his red pajamas and slippers. With one hand he clutched the handlebars and with the other he held the last of his pennies, a whole handful of them. “I got them all out,” he called as he slid off his bicycle and let it drop to the sidewalk. I shall never forget the smile of triumph and the look of joy on that little boy’s face as he gave me his last pennies, and I wondered how his little fist held so many.
“Thank you very much,” I said. “God loves little boys like you, and He will bless you for being so kind. You must be cold with no coat on. “
“Oh, no,” he answered, “it’s not far, and I go fast on my bike.” And before I could ask him his name or his house number, he had gone into the night.
