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-PANSY’S BOYS AND GIRLS
STORY BOOK
BY
PANSY (MRS. G. R. ALDEN),
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BOSTON
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY
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Copyright, "1896,
BY
Loturop PUBLISHING COMPANY.
All rights reserved. -
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MOTHER'S BOYS AND GIRLS.
CHAPTER I.
First. I must show you their pictures, and’
introduce you tothem. Here are Nettie and’
Louise, perched each side of the kitchen stove..
Just after the tea dishes are washed, and.
the water thrown out, and the pan hung away,
_ and everything made tidy for morning ; |
MOTHER'S BOYS AND GIRLS.
Nettie’s bowl and spoon are standing on the
table, and she has sat down to rest her feet
and arms, and have a little growl with Louise
before she stirs up the breakfast cakes. The
truth is, both these girls are rather tired; they
have spent-a good deal of the bright day, i in
the kitchen.
“ Kitchen work is funny,†Nettie said, rest-
ing her elbows on her knees, and her chin in
her hands. You no sooner get it done, than
it begins again; now it isn’t five minutes
since I washed that yellow bowl, and you
wiped it, all clean, and now I've got to go and
stick it up again, with sour milk and oatmeal;
what's the use in doing things? Why could
not we just as well have left it as it was?â€
“There are different kind of stickiness,â€
Louise said, ‘Oat meal makes one kind, and
corn meal another, and I don’t suppose the
two stickies mix well together.â€
Nettie sighed. “Well, it’s all. stickiness,
she said gloomily; then, after a little, “weren’t |
those biscuits just horrid to-night ?â€
“ Awful!â€
“Great, heavy things, cite yellow streaks
all through them!†_
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MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
«And Aunt Helena said they were lovely!â€
“She thinks. we don’t know any better, and
she must say so to please us. Nice. to have
her here all summer to please, isn’t it?â€
«“Humph! I don’t want anyone to tell lies,
to please me, even about biscuits, do you?â€.
“ Maybe she really thought they were good;
-she lives in a city boarding house, you know.â€
“No, she didn’t; I saw her curl her lip at.
them behind her napkin, and shake her head
at Fanny for taking another. I think that
was rude. Mother wouldn’t have done that,
if she isn’t a city lady.â€
«“ Mother knows more than most ladies do;
how nice she was about the biscuits, She
just said, ‘ Nettie very seldom fails in her bis-
cuits. And then she let it go; she didn't
keep up an everlasting talk about them, as
_though biscuits were the only important
things in the world; and she didn’t say they
were good, when they weren't.â€
-“T wonder what they will turn into by Sat-
urday night, when we have our ee a
“What!â€
“Why, I hope you don’t think you have
heard the last of those biscuits? You see if
a
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
mother doesn’t dish them up in some way, for
Saturday night. I saw her shake her head
at Harley for making wry faces, when Aunt
_ Helena said they were lovely; and she saw
Aunt Helena behind the napkin; besides, she
- saw how cross and glum we looked; it was
my-fault that they were doughy, you know.
Oh, we'll hear from them. I don’t know
whether they will be cookies, or doughnuts, or
what,—but mother will get them up in our
story. ‘Fanny stuffed them in as though she
_ was starved; mother saw that too.â€
“Well,†said Nettie; “I’m glad I threw the
last one in the cow’s pail; I hope it won’t
choke her; now I must mix up this sticki-
ness; then we'll be done with messes for
this day.†as
CHAPTER IL.
THIS is mother’s boy Robbie; handsome
fellow, isn’t he! He is only six years old,
but such a great, splendid looking boy that
people are always saying: _
_ “Why, is it possible ‘that your Reo is
only six!â€
On the morning when this picts was
taken, he had sat down on Pero’s back to rest
a bit, and think out a question in moral phil-
osophy. You think he was young to be
thinking about such big words? Indeed, I
assure you he had a great deal to do with
those words, just as you have, for that mat-
ter. Perhaps I can best tell you what sort of -
a boy he was by explaining the question he is»
trying to decide. You see he has his bat in
-
NY
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
his hand, and his ball at his feet. The point
is this:
As he was passing the side gate, young
Tom Stuart, who lives just around the cor-
ner, called out to him:
“Come over here, Robbie, and have a
game; we've got our new balls: Freddie is -
here, and John; come on!†|
I dare say you all know just how much he
wanted to go.
Four boys to play with, instead of racing
around the garden with only Pero to catch his
ball! Why doesn’t he go? Did mother tell
him not to? No; instead, she told him he.
might go out for an hour, and have a good
game; now mothers know that boys can’t
have good games of ball alone.
Besides, mother thought a great deal of
Tom Stuart, and he and Robbie were always
together. What was the matter? Just this.
'« Freddie is here, and John,†Tomnt had said:
' Now it so happened that it was only yes-
terday morning that’ mother had said, while
she was combing Robbie's curly hair:
“My boy, mother doesn’t like the way that
John Wheeler acts. I saw him on the street
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS. .
yesterday, afid at the corners, when I was
down town, and I don’t think he is a nice boy.
Mother doesn’t want you to be with him any
more than you can help. Don’t go down
street with him any more.â€
-“No’m,†said Robbie; and he hadn't
thought much about it since.
John Wheeler wasn’t one of his friends,
and he didn’t care much about going down
street with him. But here he was over in
Tom Stuart’s yard, playing with the boys!
That was mean; when Robbie wanted so
much to go. He talked to Pero about it.
“Mother didn’t say I mustn't play ball with
him, Pero; she just said she didn’t want me
to-go down street with him any more. Now
Pero, playing ball.isn’t going down street,
you know.â€
“Bow, wow!†said Pero.
“But, then, you see, she said she didn’t
want me to be with him any more than I
could help; I could help going over there, I
suppose, but I want to, awfully.â€
“Bow, wow!†said Pero.
“Oh, bow, wow! what has that got to do
- with it; I say I want to go and play ball. I
MOTHER'S BOYS AND GIRLS.
‘don’t want to go.over there ‘to see John
Wheeler, and I am sorry he is there, but J
can’t help it.†. |
Bow, wow! wow!†said Pero.
‘Come, Robbie!†called Tom Stuart. “We
are waiting for you; there is just time for a
prime game.†ae
“T can’t come!†shouted ‘Robbie, back to
him.
“Why? Did your mother say you
couldn't?â€
“T haven't asked her!†yelled Robbie;
“you needn’t wait for me; I can’t come this
morning.†Then he said to Pero: “and I
ain t goiug to ask her, either. You and I know
what she meant, don’t we, Pero?â€
That’s the kind of a boy Robbie is.
CHAPTER IIL.
You remember Aunt Helena? This is her
_ Fanny; she was spending the summer at her
aunt’s, and always came in for her share of
the Saturday evening stories; and, in fact,
she had her share in most of the good times
that mother got up for her boys and girls;
so.she shall count as one of them. Isn't she
having a high time, though!
Rain? I should think so! Why, rain was
no name for it; it ouved: Everybody said
there hadn’t been such a hard shower in forty
years Thunder and lightning, too. Terrible
storin. Everybody who could stay in a safe
and sheltered place, stayed there. No, Iam
mistaken; Fandy didn’t. She was all alone
in her room when the rain began; as she
watched it come down in torrents, she said:
“Oh, dear me! I wish there was some dzg
MOTHER’S Bos AND GIRLS.
reason why I ought to ee out in all this
rain! what fun it would be! I never was out
in a real hard, splendid rain in my life. I
just wish I was a beggar girl without any
home, then I could stay out in any kind of.
storm I liked.â€
Sensible girl, wasn’t she? She never
stopped to think that she would he able to
stay out because she WOES have no place to
Stay 7m /
At that moment, fee eye caught sight of
the hogshead of water, standing under the
spout; it was bubbling up in great white
foam, and pouring over the sides like a little
water-fall.
“Oh, my!†Fanny said, “see that water
waste! It ought to be saved; good, nice
water running away. I believe Uncle Fred
would like to have it saved. If that hogshead
was deeper, it would hold a good deal’ more.
It might have a row of those great stones
built all around it; that would make it a good.
' deal bigger. The water couldn't get through
those great stones. It ought to be done.. I
just believe I’ll go out and do it.â€
No sooner said-than done. : She waited to
WOTHER’S BOYS ,.AND GIRLS.
-slip on her water-proof, and her nice white
sun-bonnet, that had been bought for her to
wear in the country, and out she slipped
through the back hall; down the back stairs,
and went to work.
Doesn't she look nice? Think of oe to
build a hogshead larger by putting a row of
stones around it; mothers Robbie would
have shouted over such an idea, but Miss
Fanny had always lived in the city, and it
was wonderful how little she knew about
some things.
“What could have eee you!†Aunt |
Helena said, for the fourteenth time, as she
shook out, and turned, and mourned over the -
ruined dress, and pointed to the French kid
boots lying in a shriveled. Heep by the kitchen
stove.
“T wanted to save the water,†pouted
Fanny. “It was running away awfully, and ~
I knew Uncle Fred would like to mrave it
saved.â€
_ “What an idea! What did you think had
become of the two great cisterns: running
over full of water; that a special barrel must
be built to save some more!†And then
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
Aunt Helena laughed; it seemed so very av ©
surb.
“T didn’t think of the cisterns,†Fanny
said, looking foolish; “I truly thought the
water ought to be saved; and though it was
such a dreadful rain, it seemed to me it ought
to be done; so I did it.â€
“Just hear the child!†said Aunt Helena,
laughing again; “she thinks she has the af- —
fairs of the country on her shoulders; and if
there is anything that ought to be done, she
must do it, at whatever sacifice. She has
been so, ever since she was born.â€
The mother in this home looked sober and
asked her niece just one question:
“Fanny, did you very much dvead going
out in the rain?â€
CHAPTER IV.
Miss WINNIE WILBUR, at your service.
She is at the glass, where she is fond of be--
ing. She ought to have lived in New York -
with Aunt Helena. She would certainly
-have never thought of going out in the rain
to save rain water! The story of the looking-
glass, which has this picture for a beginning,
is very queer:
Winnie went onan errand for Aunt Helena,
to the great house on the hill, where they
have all sorts of lovely things. She was
shown up to Mrs. Emerson’s room, and left
there to wait, while that lady answered Aunt
Helena’s note. She amused herself by look-
ing in the glass, as you see. It was six times
as large as any at home, so Winnie thought. _
She could see herself from head to foot, and
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MOTHER'S BOYS AND GIRLS.
she tried to make a bow like Aunt Helena, .
now that she had a chance to see the effect.
_ Then she tried to courtesy as Cousin Fanny
said she did, when she went to dancing school.
It was very fascinating sport.
~ Winnie looked about her for something to
try on. The bed was piled high with finery,
for Mrs. Emerson’s trunks were being packed.
What fun it would be to try on her white
hat! It was tried,—-it looked lovely, so
Winnie thought; and she put a sash on with
it, but the sash was too long; it dragged on
the floor.
Cort al only had a long dress on,†said Win.
nie, “it would look Jovely.†It would be so
easy to slip on one of those dresses. That
blue silk, trimmed in white lace would match
the blue and white sash beautifully.
She slipped the skirt on; and almost held
her breath over the effect. How grand it was
to be dressed up! If she could only be a
grown up woman, right away, and live in a
grand house like this, and have wonderful
dresses, how happy she would be!
She heard some one coming up-stairs; it
put her in a great flutter. What if it were
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
Mrs. Emerson, coming back? What would
she think. In great haste and dismay Winnie
tugged at the silk sack she had slipped on,
and tried to get out of it; in her haste, her
hand knocked against the detente toilet bottle
of pink glass, and over it went!
“Oh, dear me!†said Winnie, dreadfully
frightened; “what skal/ I do?†and she hur-
ried to pick it up. It wasn’t broken! Yes,
it was! No, it wasn’t! But, oh, dear, dear!
There was acrack! Yes, and a little bit of
-anick right out of the top! How perfectly
dreadful! —
She got all the fine clothes off, and laid ‘on
the bed, and was just lifting off the stylish
bonnet when Mrs. Emerson came in.
“What in the world are you doing, child,
with my bonnet 2.†asked Mrs. Emerson, look-
ing at her with two great blue eyes, that
seemed to see right through her.
How ashamed Winnie felt! But that was
nothing to having to tell about the vase. Let
me remind you that she did not for a moment
think of zof telling about it, because she was
her mother’s daughter, you see; she would
have been ashamed to do such a thing.
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
“T am very sorry!†Mrs. Emerson said,
speaking coldly; “I think a great deal of
those vases; I wouldn’t have left some chil-
‘dren here, but I thought Mrs. Wilbur’s little
girl could be trusted!â€
As Winnie walked home, the thought that
made her cheeks the reddest was that she had
disgraced her mother.
CHAPTER V.
On, here is the baby! Little Ned; papa’s
boy. Blue eyes and frowsly hair, like papa’s.
He has been out to play; let me tell you what
he has done. -
It is twenty-five minutes by the clock since
he started; in the kitchen he saw the milk
_ pail standing, the milk not strained; there
was a plate with slices of bread on it stand-
ing beside the pail. Ned thought what a —
great big “bread and milk†that would be!
So he popped in the bread and watched it
sail around for a minute,—then he went on
his way. | :
In the back kitchen there was washing go-
ing on; a bottle of blueing stood on the
bench. Ned took it up; it was a nice, pretty
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MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
color; he wondered if it would make his
brown dress, that lay in a little heap on the
floor, into a blue one? What harm could
there be in trying it? So he poured the con-
tents of the bottle on the little brown dress.
“My sakes!†he said; “what a puddle!â€
Then he went on.
At the pump in the back shed was a pail
brim full of water. Ned thought the flowers
ought to be watered. He tried to lift the
pail, but it wouldn't lift; so he tipped it over
and told the water to run “right straight
down to the flowers.†It had to run along
the plank walk to get there.
“Dear me!†said Ned, “a little of it did
spill right on my shoe; I must go in the sun
to dry it.†So he went.
Papa was painting the fence. His paint
pots and brushes sat there by the gate. Papa
had gone around to the ooo gate to speak
to a man.
“Tl paint,†said Ned. “Then papa will:
find it all done when he comes; won't that be
nice!†So he took the grey brush and ©
dipped it into the white paint, and put a dab
on the gate, “My sakes!†he said, “that
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
isn’t the right color, I'll have to take the
green paint.†|
So he dipped the same brush in the pot of
green paint, and put a dab of green over the
white. He didn't like the looks of it, and as
he heard papa coming, he trotted on.
Taking a peep in at the barn, he discovered
that Whitie was off her nest.
“Qh, oh,†he said; “I wonder if little bits
of chickies that Nettie said were going to
come in these eggs, have got here; I mean
to look, and if cy are here, I'll cal) them
all to mamma.’
Then he went to work. Smash! Crack!
Sizzle! went one after another of poor
Whitie’s eggs, that she had been patiently
sitting on for more than a week.
“There isn’t a bit of any chickie here; and
oh, my sakes, what a smell!†and his dainty
nose went up.
“Why, Neddie Wilbur!†screamed Aunt
Helena, right at his side.
“What in the world are you doing? Oh,
you naughty boy!†as Ned, in his fright at
her words, let the last egg smash and spatter.
Some of it went on Aunt Helena’s white
: é
MOTHER'S BOYS AND GIRLS.
wrapper. She seized little Ned with no gen-
tle hand and dragged him to mother. nee
“Here is a child who will have to be
whipped !â€
Mamma groaned a little; during the twenty-
five minutes that he had been’ gone, no less
than five people had been to complain of him.
But when Ned put his dear frowzled head
close in her neck, and said: _
_“Ned wasn’t naughty, he helped; and he
brought you a dangyline,†what could she do
but love him? ‘
CHAPTER VI_
. AnD here, last, but not least, in this list of
mother’s boys and girls, comes Harley, or
Hal, as all the boys call him; in fact, every
one calls him Hal.
He is the boy that is always getting into
mischief ; not such outrageous mischief as his
young cousin Ned, but scrapes of one sort or
other that takes time and trouble to help him
out of he is the queerest fellow for a city
boy! He hates the very sound of that word;
and is sure that if he could live with Uncle
Fred a/ways he would be a good boy; but he
doesn’t act.as though he would be. |
“You ought to set little Robbie a good ex-
ample,’ says his mother to him, a dozen times
a day.
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
But the truth is, Robbie is ‘the one who
sets the good example, and Hal does the mis-
chief. He is the boy who is always being
asked : :
“Why he did this,†and “why he didn't do
that?â€
And he always answers:
“J didn’t think,†or “I forgot,†or “ I meant
to, and didn’t,†or some of those changes that
mean the same thing. He is one of those
fellows who always leaves doors and gates
open, and bars down, ‘and whistles when he
ought to study, and goes fishing when he
ought to be in school. In fact, he almost
never, by any chance, does just exactly the
thing he ought to do. And yet, everybody
smiles when they speak of him, and hunt him
up when they get in trouble; and say he is
the most mischievous fellow that ever was
born, and the most careless; and the best
swimmer in town, and the best ball player in
the lot, and the best fisher who goes to the
trout brook; and the most good natured, un-
selfish, heedless youngster that was ever
made. That is Hal.
In the city he always has to wear boots.
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
When he comes to Uncle Fred’s, he takes his
revenge by mever wearing them, except on
Sundays while he is in church.
. I might tell you of dozens of pranks of
Hal's; and I ‘dare say I shall, before I get
through—but what is the use? There is
really no end to his scrapes; he no sooner
gets out of one, than he Se copay into
another.
Yet, of all the boys in town, he is the one
that you want if you are in need of a little
good natured, unselfish help of any kind.
Uncle Fred threatens to call him “I didn’t
think,†but he laughs when he says it, and
adds that Hal’s thoughtlessness always stops
this side of anything cruel, or mean.
He might be a much happier boy if he
only would think; a great many times he ap-
pears like an idiot because he doesn't; and
yet I must say I can't help loving Hal, and I
never saw anybody who knew him that
aid help it.
Well, all these boys and Bits had a certain
‘ Saturday hour when mother,—the real home
mother at Mr. Wilbur's, sat in the little west
- room, with her work basket in hand, doing
a s
MOTHER’S BOYS AND GIRLS.
the Saturday’s mending... There trooped the.
boys and girls ; and there they heard some of
the nicest stories that you canimagine. Some-
times they fitted pretty closely, and made a
good many blushes, and laughs, and nudging
of elbows, as Louise said:
“The biscuits were sure to appear in some.
form on Saturday night.â€
In fact, a great many things that had hap-
pened during the week came in. It was a
nice time, though; and to prove it to you, I
have written out all the stories that have
been told in that little west room for many a
day, and here they all are. . Read for your-
selves.
ALL ABOUT APRIL FOOL.
“Oh my!†said Billy, “last April fool,
_ We had the jolliest kind of fun!
We watched, when the boys came out from
school,
They always come, you know, with a run —
Well, we strung a line, from door to gate,
"Twas made of wire, they couldn't see it,
And every one of ‘em plumped, as straight,
Right into the ditch, if you'll believe it!
“Oh poh!†said amaniel —* that wasn’t much,
_ We found some men, at work on a shed;
They had pails, with cousnnats and pie, and
such, =
We hid them all aad then Tommy Said
‘Let’s eat the doughnuts, and pie, and cheese,’
- And we did, from every pail, you know;
Then we spread their bread with snuff for a
Sneeze 3,
And ¢hen we fought it was time to go.â€
- “Oh hum!†said myeiie’ “what of it all?
I don’t know about such kinds of fools,
The boys got mad, and hurt by their fall;
The men had to work away with their tools,
ALL ABOUT APRIL FOOL.
With nothing to eat, but nasty snuff!
I tell you, I like my kind of fun,
It isn’t mean and it isn’t rough.
And you feel real good when the thing is
done. |
“Oh dear!†said Dickie, “it was so nice!
I never had such fun in my life!â€~
“ What was it?†asked the boys in a trice.
“Why you know, old father Moore, and his
wife ?
They hadn't a thing in the house to eat!â€
And us boys got our mothers to help,—
And we took the biggest kind of a treat,
And piled it up, on the cellar shelf.
“Oh my!†said Dickie, “it was such fun!
I laughed till both of my sides were sore;
Old father Moore got out his gun,
And came stumbling down, —and then —
_ we four
Scud under cellar stairs ;— and there
Stood the bread, and milk, and apples and
meat!
I fell you, old father Moore was beat/â€
| DAISY AND ALICE.
THEY went out to play in the lovely garden.
Alice brought her dollie, and said:
“Now, Daisy, play I was a sewing girl, and-
you had hired me to make a dress for Ange-
lina. Play it was to be pink silk, with! an
overskirt of white lace, looped up with lovely
yellow ribbon.â€
“Oh, no,†said Daisy, “ I don’t want to play
‘that. Let's: play, You was a little girl out in
the woods, and I was a great big bear, arid I
~- came behind you, and growled awful, just like
this.†Then she growled. “Play the kisses
I give you were great big bites, and I ate you
all up.’
Oh, dear! How nee did want to make
that new dress for Angelina; it was lovely
pink muslin, and she could play it was silk,
and when the girls came in the afternoon, to»
play with her, nee would be all dressed
tp
But Daisy was the fe and- mamma had
said, “ Take good care of the baby, daughter,
. and keep her happy, so she won’t want to
come to me, for I am very busy this morn-
“ing.â€
4 DEAR LITTLE GOOSIE.
Alice thought a minute, then she said:
“Well, Daisy, come on, and be a bear if
you want to — I’m ready.â€
So Daisy climbed up behind her, with a
dreadful growl, and there never was a sweeter
bear, or softer bites than she took from Alice’ s
fat, Bink cheeks.
A DEAR LITTLE GOOSIE.
“Srp here, dear,’ said mamma to Ellie,
stopping before the lovely tulip bed; “ Ellie
mustn’t ever pick mamma's pretty flowers.
See all those pretty red flowers in there,
Ellie will not touch them.â€
“No indeed,†said Ellie, shaking Her wise
little head, “ Ellie never will at all.â€
Just the very next afternoon, she went out
to make a bouquet for mamma; some dande-
lions,some sweet clovers, and then she stepped
into the very middle of the tulip bed. How
she dd pick off the great yellow beauties |
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MAMIE'S TROUBLES.
Showers of them, until not a yellow tulip was
left- Then she went, in glee, to her mother.
“Why, Ellie,†mamma said, “what did I
tell you only yesterday ?†.
“Ellie. didn’t pick a single ved flower,
mamma, not a single one; these are all Loe:
low.â€
“Oh, the dear little Goosie,†said mamma,
_“she thinks because I spoke of the red. flow-
ers, that I meant only those. Now al! my
‘lovely yellow tulips are gone. Never mina,
my darling did not disobey, or she ¢hinks she
didn’t, so her heart is always sweet.â€
&
MAMIE’S TROUBLE.
Tue afternoon sun was low; it peeped in —
at the west window of the old school-house,
and saw Mamie, sitting before her desk, her
elbows resting. on it, and her head buried in
‘her hands, while the great tears followed each
ether out, between her fingers, and dropped
on the dusty ¢ desk. Beside her stood sister
MAMIE’S TROUBLES. ©
Jennie, waiting for her, trying to comfort
her, looking so sorry for her; but Mamie
would not look up, would not speak, would.
only send out those great hot tears. |
All the rest of the scholars had taken
their sun-bonnets, and their dinner baskets, ~
and their books, and gone. Mr. Matthews ~
_ was ready to go; but he stopped when he
saw the bowed head, and came over to her.
“What is the trouble with you, Mamie?â€
he said, resting his hand on her head. And,
by way of answer, Mamie cried harder than
before.
“What is it,. JOC: †Mr. Matthews
asked.
“J don’t know, sir; but I think it is be-
cause she missed in geography. If she
didn’t miss once this ‘term, papa was going -
to get her a pony, and she is so sorry.â€
“Why, she didn’t miss,†Mr. Matthews.
said. “Did she think she was wrong about
the isthmus? It was all right. She said it
wrong at first, but she corrected herself in a
minute; she is marked perfect on the roll.
Look up, little Mamie, you haven’t lost the |
pony yet, and I don’t believe vee will.â€
| MAMIE!S TRO UBLES.
Still Mamie cried. "She shook her head
violently when Mr. Matthews said it was all
right, and seemed-to feel worse than ever.
Her teacher was very much puzzled.
“Can't you get her to tell you what it is ?â€
. he asked the older sister.
Then she tried again: “Come, Mamie, Mr.
Matthews says it is all right; let’s go home.â€
“Go and tell mother about it,†Mr. Mat-
thews said. “That will make it all right, I
amesuie. (2
But it was an unlucky sentence. Mamie
laid her head flat down on the desk, and cried
as though her heart would break, sobbing
out something that neither teacher nor sister
understood. At last Jennie seemed to hear
what she said, for she drew back, and her
cheeks grew very red.
“What does she Ay "asked Mr. Mat-
thews.
«She says she peeked, aa mamma won't
love her any more.’
Ah! the secret was out! Poor little Nene
in her eager rage after that pony, “ peekedâ€
to see what isthmus it was that she couldn’t
remember. You see how happy it made her.
CROQUET. |.
Mr. Matthews sat down beside her, and tried -
to comfort her; he told her that mother
would forgive her, since~she was so sorry,
and as for himself, he would give her another
chance. She might recite to-day’s. lesson
again, to-morrow after school, and if it was
entirely perfect, the perfect mark should stay |
down opposite her name. And still Mamie
_.cried, and when she could speak aioe she .
sobbed out:
“That won't take away the ‘ peek.â€
| hoor jitte girlie, learning so early that
being “sorry†doesn’t take the Bees out
of our lives. .
CROQUET.
_ “Sur’s through! She’s through!†Mattie
said, clapping her hands. They were playing —
~ croquet, and Mattie was Ella’s partner. Ella
had been having a hard time trying to get
through the middle wicket.
Now they all thought it was done; ones
ak
CROQUET.
- Ella knew it wasn’t. She knew the ball
- bumpes against the wire, and shied off a little
bit, just enough not to go through, and so lit-
tle that to those looking on, from the other |
end, it seemed to have slipped right through.
Ella didn’t say a word; she was so tired of |
trying for that wicket! And she was the
_ youngest there, and they were going to beat
her anyway. Why couldn’t she let it go?
She stood leaning on her mallet and think-
ing about it, till it was almost her turn again,
then she said suddenly: ;
_ “Play for me a minute, Mattie,†and ran
away out to the flower garden, under the big
old tree—it was her thinking place. She
went all-over it again; you don’t know how
hard she wanted to play she was through that _
‘ old wicket.
“J sha’n’t beat,†she said to herself. “ But’
I’m sick of that spot, and I want to’get away ;
they all think I’ve been through.â€
It was strange that Ella should think, just
then, -of one who knew she had not . been
through.. x
What, do you suppose the Lord Jesus looks
down. on people when they are playing cro .
CROQUET.
quet, and knows about the honest and dis-.
honest ones? Just listen, and see what he
says about it:
“The eyes of the Lord are in every place,
beholding the evil, and the good:†-
. “But I-didn't-intend to cheat,†said: Ella, _
aloud. - Nobody made any answer; she didn’t —
need one. * She knew in her heart that that
was a very silly thing to say. She sat still
' there, with a sober face, looking about her
until she heard herself loudly called —then |
she started up, and ran quickly Gutito the =.
croquet ground. 7
“Why, where have you been?†said Mattie;
“T have played for you twice, and it is your
turn again; I have put you through the side
wicket, now you are for the two, down there.â€
“No, I’m not,†Ella said, with a quick stroke »
that sent her ball flying up the hill. «I
“haven’t.béen through the middle one yet; you
think I have, but I haven’t.†Then- they all
talked at once, and were very much bewil-_
“dered. How Ella did want to say, “I forgot.
that I hadn’t been through,†if that could only -
-be.truth, but it wasn’t. So she came out
_ boldly, in answer to, “Why didn’t you tell us?â€
see
Ys
g
NI
Oe
“ti bo ar
agin
ow
Ke flu
=f
.
THE GRUMBLERS. -
-“ Because I was so tired of this old wicket,
when you thought it went through here, I
wanted to let it go; but I won’t, ’cause it
isn’t honest.â€
They all stood still a minute:after that;
then Horace, the boy who was ahead, said:
“Let’s all go back and start fair; my ball
didn’t hit this stake, I] don’t believe; it came
— awful near it, but ’m not sure that it hit.â€
=
THE GRUMBLERS.
THEY were on their way home on pas-
ture. They had spent the long, bright day
together in a pleasant field, where all they had
had to do was to chew sweet grass, and love-
ly smelling clover, and take a drink now and
then, from the brook which rippled along
through the meadow; and-when they were
tired, lie down and take nice naps, under ©
the shade of spreading trees. Shouldn’t you
have thought they might have been happy?
THE GRUMBLERS.
Yet, just look at their faces. You can imag:
ine what they were ‘saying, as well as if you
-had-heard’them. -
“Well?†old Whitie ee “ another eo is
gotten along with; eating, and drinking, and
sleeping, and tramping home, and being
milked, and all the milk given to other peo-
ple; so it goes—no change of any sort; I’m
just as sick of it as I can be.â€
“T know it,†Brindle said; “there isn’t an
other living creature has such a stupid life as
we. There’s the worms, they change into but-
THE GRUMBLERS. —
terflies— what can be gayer than their life?
But for us, it is nothing’ but the same tread-
mill thing —always at work for other people,
making butter and cheese, and I don’t know
how many more things, that we never get a
taste of, and, for the matter of that, wouldn’t
like if we did. If we ever hada new walk to
take now and then, it would be better than
nothing; but no, we have to go the same
old road every morning, and come home the
same road every night. Any kind of a
change would be better than this, I. don’t
care what it was.â€
Addie stood looking at them; she couldn’t
hear what they were saying, but they looked
so sober, and stood around in such a dismal
way, that she°felt rather sorry for them, and
thought they must be having a gloomy time.
“ Papa,†she said, calling to her father, -
_ whom she saw coming down the hill, “ these
cows look awfully discouraged; what do you
suppose can be the matter with them ?â€
“Oh, they have been grumbling, I dare say;
either finding fault with themselves, or with
some of the other cows. They look as though -
there might have been a quarrel.â€
4A WALK AFTER DARK.
- “J don’t believe they like being cows, and
going to pasture every day, and giving milk
—they look just as though they didn’t.â€
-«No, we don’t,†said the cows to them-
selves; “we don’t like it a bit.†|
“Oh, well!†said papa, “as for that, one
of these days, if they wait patiently, we will
give them something new —we'll fatten them
up all nicely, and sell them to the butcher, and
he will kill them, and get them ready for peo-
ple to eat up. Perhaps they will like that.â€
ir
A “WALK AFTER DARK.
Tuy were coming through the woods,
Charlie and little Joe; not much woods, and
not very dark, but these two people had never
“been out so late before, and it seemed very
dark and wild to them. They had been hav-
ing such a splendid time, and it got dafk be-
fore they thought of such a thing, and they
- wandered a good deal further than they
meant to. The next thing to do was to
hurry home as fast as they could.
es:
. 4 WALK AFTER DARK. .
Almost down the hill, in another five min-
utes they would be in Deacon Jones’ pasture,
then the way was safe and clear. But what
is that. great black thing under the trees
ahead? Both boys see it, and both are ae
as frightened as they can be.
“What is it? Oh, Charlie, what zs it?â€
whispers little Joe. “See! it is moving.
Oh, Charlie, Charlie, 7s it a bear?â€
“I’m afraid it is,’ Charlie said, and his
teeth chattered, and his face grew very white.
What were they going to do? This was
‘the only road home. They couldn't turn
around and go back to that dreadful woods ;
besides, if they did, the bear would follow
them. They must pass it; there was noth-
ing else to do. Charlie thought very fast;
he was a little fellow, only six years old, but
he meant to take care of his brother if he
could.
“Come around this side, little Joe,†he said.
“Keep close to me, and I will put my arm
around you, and don’t speak, nor scream —
that is a dear boy —and we will go as far
away from him as we can, and creep along so.
softly, that I don’t think he will see us; then
A WALK AFTER DARK.
-~we will climb the fence, and run to Deacon
Jones’ house, as fast as we can.â€
“T’m afraid I can’t help crying out loud,â€
said little Joe, sobbing as he spoke.
On yes you, can; you are mother’s brave
little man, and she is waiting for-us, and we
_ must get home to her, you know. Brother
will take care of you, and in a few minutes
mother will put her arms tight around us.â€
On they went, little Joe being as still, and
as brave as a soldier; Charlie, with his arm -
tight around him holding him as close, and
as far away from that dreadful bear as he ©
could; and so they came softly up.
What do you think! ‘Little Joe had his
eyes hid, so he would not be too much afraid,
and scream; so he didn’t know what to make
of it, when Charlie suddenly stopped, then
began to laugh, and clap his hands, and kiss
- little Joe’s cheek.
“We're safe!†he shouted. “We're safe!
Look up, little Joe; it isn’t a bear, it is good
dog Shag come to see us home.â€
Then what laughing and shouting there
was, and how nice it was ‘to hear little Joe,
when he told the story†at home, finish with:
TOMMY’S MAMMA,
“JT was awful scared, but Charlie took care
of me; 4e wouldn’t let anything hurt me.†—
Then mamma patted Charlie's head, and
- said:
“Mother's brave boy; she can trust her
baby with him.â€
TOMMY’S MAMMA.
Ou, poor mamma! Here she sits crying!
Why, what is the matter? Is Tommy lost?
- Has he been drowned, or shot? Have they
buried him in the little green cemetery on
the hillside?
~ Qh, no indeed! Tommy at this minute is
up stairs in his bed, sleeping quietly. Then
what is the matter with mamma?. Doesn't’
she know, where to get anything for Tommy’s
breakfast > Is the flour barrel empty? Is
there no wood to make a fire in the morn-
ing, and cook his potatoes? Doesn’t she |
know how to get him a fair of shoes to keep.
his toes from the ground?
TOMMY’S MAMMA.
Oh, bless your dear hearts! Tommy’s
papa owns the great flouring’ mill, with its
wheels, and bands, and its roaring, tumbling
waters; and he owns the great store in town,
and the splendid row of houses that are just
around the corner from the store; and really, ©
. I hardly know what he does own —he has
hard work keeping track of it himself. But,
so far as mamma can see, there: is no reason -
why Tommy could not have a thousand bar-
rels of flour, and ten thousand pairs of boots
to-morrow morning if he wanted them. And
yet, oh, poor mamma! She sits there and »
cries, and it is all about Tommy. She must
be afraid he’s sick.
Why, just go up and look at him as he
sleeps in his small white bed. He has tossed
off the clothes, and his round arms are out
and his cheeks are flushed with health, and
_his- arms look as strong and stout; nobody
ever looked or felt better than Tommy, and
yet mamma-cries. How strange it is!
There must be a' reason; happy mothers .
don’t cry about their dear-little boys, when
they are safe in bed, and sweetly sleeping.
I know the reason. If you will-bend your
TOMMY’S MAMMA.
heads so I can whisper it, I will tell you.
This afternoon when they were playing out
under her window, Tommy and his three -
friends from across the street, and around
the corner, this mother heard her Tommy
say a naughty word—not a very bad word,
as some people think, but something so bad
that his mother would rather have seen him
struck, than to have heard him say it.
TOMMY’S MAMMA, —
_ It Zurt her so, she could not get over it.
She sat and thought what she ought to do—
how she could teach Tommy what a wicked |
thing it was to use such words; and when
at last she called him in, and had a talk with-
him, she got a hurt that was almost worse
than the other. What do you think Tommy
said? Hesaid: >
“Ho, mother! That isn’t anything! - All
the boys say that!â€
Oh Tommy, Tommy; if you could Rave
seen into your mother’s heart, and known
how that made her feel!
To think that her Tommy knew no more
than that! Cared no more for right and
wrong than ¢hat/ Let me tell you, little boys,
that mothers’ tears are very solemn things.
Tommy may live to be very sorry that he
_ made them come to his mother’s eyes. And
I don’t know anything that will bring tears’
to mother’s eyes much sooner than coarse,
wicked words, spoken by her boys.
WHAT KEEPING STILL DID.
CRASH went something in Mrs. Avery’s
great kitchen. Of all the dreadful things in.
the world, it was Mrs. Avery’s big platter ;
the one that always held the turkeys and
ducks. How did it get broken? Why, you
see Anna slipped away from the piano, where
she was practising, to the kitchen for a drink
of water; after she had got that, she thought
she would have an apple; then she went hunt-
ing about the table for a certain knife that
~ she chose to have to peel it with; the knife
was under a pile of plates; there were plenty
- of other knives, indeed, there were two fruit
knives in the fruit basket, but nothing would
suit just then, but the one under the plates.
Anna tugged at it, and pushed the plates a
little nearer the edge. Pe
_ “Take care, Miss Anna,†Sarah’said; Sarah
was the little girl who wiped dishes and
swept, and pumped water, and did everything.
_ that she was told to do. .
“Oh, don’t you be frightened,†said Anna;
. “I guess I have been where dishes were,-
- before now.†| |
WHAT KEEPING STILL DID.
Then she gave a little harder push, and
then came the crash; the plates had hit
against a covered dish, and the covered dish
had shoved a little and hit against a tumbler,
and the tumbler had rolled over and hit
against the big platter, and. down the big
platter went! Break? Yes, indeed it did,
in four pieces. Dear me! How sorry and
frightened Sarah was! She just stood still
and looked at it. |
_ “My sakes!†said Anna, though what that
had to do with it, I am sure I don’t know.
Mrs. Avery came out from the pantry,
where she was making a ae pudding, and
a fruit cake.
“What is the matter now?†she said;
“ What crash was that, I hearda minute ago?
My patience! I wonder if you have broken.
the large platter?â€
Nobody spoke; what was the use of speak-
ing? Anybody. with eyes could see that
somebody had broken the big platter into four
pieces. The question was: who did it? Sarah
did not feel that it was her place to tell. But
greatly to her surprise, Anna did not seem to
think it was fer place. She went on peeling
yp, ©
q
ee KEEPING STILL DID.
her apple, though her cheeks 1 were pretty. Red;
but she said not a single word.
“ Anna,†said Mrs. Avery. at last, “what are
you doing here? Why are you not at your _
practising? Sarah, really, I think I have had . -
as many things broken as I can afford to lose.
It isn’t a week. since you broke the glass
pitcher, and now this elegant platter that
matched the dinner set! I can’t keep you any
longer; you may finish the work as soon as"
you can, and then go out and try to find a
place; you may stay here, of course, until one
is found, but be as quick as you can.†-
Poor Sarah! She did’t say a word; what
was the use? If Anna would keep still, when
she ought to spead, surely, if she. spoke, she _
would say what was not true, just as she was
-. saying it-by her silence. There was nothing
for Sarah, but to hunt up another home, if
she could. So an hour after that,’she tied her
little clothes in a bundle, and went slowly
down the hill towards the village; and Anna
strummed away on the piano! How do you
suppose she felt! —
GETTING AHEAD.
CHARLIE STONE harnessed his team, and
started for the city, twenty miles away. Lulie
_and Karl Baker were his horses. Karl was
older than the others, and thought at first that
he was much too old to play horse; but the
_fun of a race was too much for him: so he
came up, and was harnessed.
“Now get app!†said Charlie; and away
they went. The barn-door was to be the city,
twenty miles away; and they were to get a
load of coal, and run back in time to be har-
nessed to the carriage, and go to the post-
office,—at least, that was their orders.
“Take hold of my hand, eae said Lulie;
“J-can’t run as fast as you.†So Karl took
hold of her hand; but this gave him an idea:
he did like to get ahead,—-in fact, there was
nothing he liked quite so well in the world..
What fun it would be to keep hold of Lulie’s
hand, and yet get ahead of her! There was
a chance to be two feet ahead, and show that
_ he was dragging the other horse after him; so
- he put in his. best speed. . ,
“Oh, dear me!†squealed Lulie; “don't
GETTING AHEAD.
pull me so! Oh, dear! I can't go so fast.
Let go! Iam all out of breath.†:
~ «“Can’t stop for idlers!†screamed Karl,
glancing around behind him to see if she was
~ being dragged along all right; “ this team
must reach the city in twenty-five minutes.
Come on!â€
And he went on, in spite of Lulie’s cries
that he pulled too hard. and was hurting her.
He wasn’ta cruel boy; he was just heedless,
and liked to get ahead. He kept looking back
to see if it was safe to keep pulling; and just
then they, reached the barn-door. He turned
suddenly; and bump came his nose right
- against the door!
Oh, my! how it felt! He rubbed his nose,
and danced up and down on one foot, and
said: “Oh, jingo!†and all the words he
could think of that didn’t sound too badly.
The skin was off his nose, aie a splinter was
in it. Lulie said :—
“Dear me! Tm just as sorry,’ ’ and offered
her bit of handkerchief to do it up:
It seemed so funny to try to do up a nose,
that Karl couldn’t help laughing.
“That comes of trying to get ahead too
THE BOY WHO COULDN'T BE TRUSTED.
fast,†Charlie said. “I say, Karl, doesn’t it |
make you think of that day when you tried.
so hard to get ahead in the spelling-class, and
spelled sulphur ‘ p-h-u-l—sul—phir?’†,
Then both boys sat down on the grass, and _
laughed; but Karl held his nose, and said
“Oh, dear!†at the end of the laugh, and
added: “The next time I go fast, Ill go
- slower.†2
THE BOY WHO COULDN'T BE
TRUSTED.
_ “Speak for it!†said Harvey; and he held
up his fingers, as if there was something
in them, and waited for his dog to take a
seat on his hind-feet, and bark a request for
it; but the dog did no such thing; instead,
~ he poked his nose between thé rails of the
fence, and looked surly. ;
«Why, what a dog!" said Harry Wheeler,
who was on a visit to Harvey, and waiting to
see the dog perform. “ Now, my Trusty, the
minute | bring him anything, and hold it up
ah
My an
a ae
Sn
mu
ag
NTN
|
THE BOY. WHO COULDN'T BE TRUSTED.
so, will speak just as plain. Everybody
knows what he says.â€
“ This dog used to do so,†Harvey said, look-~
ing crossly at him. “I’m sure I don't know
what’s got into him; he doesn’t mind at all.
He ought to be whipped.â€
Just then, Miss Lily Barr came out to see
the fun. She was Harvey's sister; she was
in time to hear what was said. :
“T know just what’s got into him, Harvey
Barr,’ she said; “and, if I were a dog, I
- would do exactly so. He doesn't believe a
word you say. You cheat him all the time.
You snap your fingers, and say, ‘Speak for
it!†and you haven't got a thing for him; and
he knows it. What should he speak for? If
Z had a dog, I wouldn't cheat him.â€
“Pshaw!†said Harvey. “Asif adog knew
when he was cheated.â€
as Why, of course ne does! If he don't, nav
wouldn’t he mind, when you spoke to him?
He used to ask so nicely for things; but
now, he knows you are just doing it to fool
him.â€
“Well, he ought to me whether I have
anything or not,†Harvey said. “A dog ought
THE BOY WHO COULDN'T BE TRUSTED. -
to mind. Anybody who wouldn’t mind, isn’t
worth acent. Papa makes us mind, whether
he has anything for us or not,†;
“Oh, Harvey! As if papa ever cheated us!
You never heard him say: ‘Come here, and
I'll give you something,’ and then not do it,
after all.â€
“I don’t care,—if he did say so, we would
have to mind him.
“But he won't say so, ever,—because it
isn't right; and I don’t think it is right to
treat a dog so: it just ruins him,— mamma
said so. Mamma said Aunt Hattie was bring-
ing up her Tommy just as you bring up your
dog. She tells him to be a good boy, and she
will bring him something; but she always
forgets it; and Tommy knows she will. He
says ‘Oh, poh! —she wont.’ I suppose that
is exactly what your dog is saying to himself
now.â€
“Boys are boys, and dogs are dogs,†said
Harvey; but he jumped down from the fence,
and went away. He had made up his mind
that there was no use in trying to have the
dog “speak.†Whether it was bad bringing-up
or not, he wouldn't mind.
A RECOMMENDATION.
“WELL, sir,†said Mr. Sanderson, looking
ap from his book, “what do you want with
mers ,
«JT want to get some work to do, very much
indeed,†was the quick answer of our boy,
whose name was Willie Thompson.
“Some work; what makes you think I~
have any work?†a
“TI read your advertisement in the paper.â€
“So you read the paper, do you? Well, do
you answer the description that I gave?â€
“JT don’t know, sir; I thought, perhaps, you
would be willing to try me, and see.â€
“ Well, now, that’s fair; what can you do?â€
Willie hesitated a minute, there were a
good many things he thought he could do;
he didn’t see how he was to get them all into
a short answer; at last he said:
“T can do what I am told.â€
“Can you, indeed! Now, if you are en-
tirely sure of that, you are a very unusual
boy.†.
“Well, I mean,†said Willie, his cheeks get-
ting red, “that I can ¢vy to do it; I suppose
= 4 RECOMMENDATION.
a pentleman would not give me things to do,
that he knew I couldn't do.†i
“But suppose I should hire you, and the »
next morning I should tell you wo yo to my
store, and roll down the hill at the back door,
twenty-five times; what then?†=
“Why,†said Willie—and he could not help.
4 RECOMMENDATION.
laughing —“I am sure I could do that, and I
would go at it as fast as I could.â€
“But what would you think of me for giv-
ing you such work as that?â€
“Why, I might think you a very silly man,
but that wouldn't hinder my doing the work,
you know, as fast as possible.â€
“Just so; we agree in that. Well, suppose
I should tell you to go to the store next door
to mine, and watch your chance, and seize the
nicest looking codfish you saw, and run back
with it, and put it on my counter; what
then?â€
“That I couldn't do, sir,†Willie said, and
his cheeks were a fine red, and his eyes shone.
“Why not? You told me you could do
what you were told to do.â€
“So-I can, but I had my orders about that,
a good while ago; ‘thou shalt not steal,’ is
one of my orders; I have to follow that.â€
“Ah, ha, then! my orders come next to
those, do they ?â€
“Yes, sir, always.â€
Willie’s voice was as firm as before, but he
began to think that Mr. Sanderson must be a
wicked man, and it would be just as well not
SEEING AND HEARING.
to work for him; but just at this point the
gentleman held out his hand:
' “We'll shake hands on that, my boy,†he
said, “and we'll try each other for two weeks,
if you say so; I want a boy who puts God's
orders first, and mine next.â€
SEEING AND HEARING.
Ou! little maiden, sitting on a log,
What are you thinking: Wishing you were
a frog?
Which sounds the sweetest of all the music
here?
-Of all those singing creatures, which best
suits your ear?
Is it that swéet tenor frog, sitting by the rush?
Or the bright wood roin robin, hiding in the
bush?
It couldn’t be the June bug, that strikes you
with a thug!
Nor can it be the bull-frog, who answers you
—‘ker-chug !†.
SEEING AND HEARING.
Perhaps it is the beauty of that bright butter-
fly,— is
Or else the shining needle, that just now flut-
tered by; |
Perhaps it is a fairy, you’ve found down in
the dell! -
Oh, little maid, what zs ¢¢ 2? Won't you speak
and tell ?
Then the maiden answered; the maid with
wavy hair, — :
“There’s music all around me,—and beauty
everywhere |
SEEING AND HEARING.
I love that birdie’s warble; I love the laugh-
ing brook,—
I love to be, by this old tree, hid ina ney
nook!â€
And J said: “ Little en yeu ‘ve learned
to read right well,
The book that God has opened, within this
shady dell, |
You've preached a precious sermon, — its
truth I'll not forget!â€
And I thank the Lord, my master, that I that
maiden met.
A VISIT.
Tury had never been in such a nice house
before, those three boys. They had often
looked at grand houses from the outside, and
wondered how they looked behind those
closed doors, and never expected to know;
but they had a new Sunday-school teacher,
and don’t you think she had asked them to
come and see her! They were wonderfully
astonished, and had thought about it all the
week. .
When the night came for them to go, they
dressed in their best, and started, feeling very
much scared, not being able to think what
they should do with their feet and hands.
It was dreadful, but the teacher was not at
home! It wasn’t her fault; a message from
a very sick friend, called for her presence, and
the last thing she said as she went out of the
door was: _
“Now, mother, be sure you make my boys
feel at home.â€
“Dear me!†said the old lady; “as if 7
A VISST.
1�
knew what to do with them!†and she,was —
as much in a flutter, as the boys were. —
She came very near letting them go out
again, into the night, and the darkness, after
that glimpse into paradise, wishing that they
had not come, and promising each other that
they would never be caught there again.
She saw the look in their faces, and she hur-
ried to say:
“Boys, do you like pictures of old people,
who lived a long time ago? If you do, come
in here, and I will show you a picture of my
grandfather; he was a soldier in the revolu-
tionary war.†And she actually opened the
door that led into the grand parlor! |
What a splendid old gentleman he was, in
his powdered wig, and silver knee buckles!
They were so amazed at the sight of him that
they couldn’t help asking a question or two,
and his grand-daughter loved to talk about
him, so what did they do, but all sit down on ~
the elegant sofa, and easy chairs, and listen to
a long story of those wonderful days; a story
that sounded just like fairy land. |
“T tell you, she’s just gvazd/†one of them
FATHER’S HELPER,
said, with a nod of his head, as he went down
the steps an hour afterwards.
“Ain’t she though!†said the others, They
meant the old lady, and they all knew that
they would accept her invitation, and “come
again†just as soon as they could.
FATHER’S HELPER.
He tramped in, the back way, just at noon,
with his satchel of books on his arm; no
school that afternoon, he was going to “ help
father.†He felt in a great hurry to begin, or
he thought he did.
The wood basket stood by the door, and he
might have filled it with kindling wood, that
would have been a help, but he never thought
of it; the hoe was leaning against the door,—
he might have put it away, but he didn’t; his
father’s hat had blown out of the window,—
he might have picked it up and brought it in,
but ne passed right by it, and looked around
for something to do.
There was no one in the kitchen ; but a nice
FATHER'S HELPER.
roast of beef was lying in a platter, all ready
for the table. Josie’s mother had got as far
as that with it, when she heard the baby cry,
and she sat it down, and ran to her.
“Ah!†said Josie, “here is just the thing. .
I mean to cut the meat for father; he-doesn’t
like to cut meat, I’ve heard him say so. [ll
cut it all up in nice slices, and then he
won't have anything to do but put it on the
plates.†.
Now nearly ever since he was born, as often
at least as once a day, Josie had heard this |
ScCmlenece
“Josie, Josie! Don’t touch the carving
knife.â€
It was very strange that he couldn’t remem-
ber it, just then. He flung satchel and hat
aside, and climbed up to the table, carving
knife in hand. The last thing he had done
with those hands was to make spit-balls to
throw at Tommy Jones! Never mind! Now
they were going to carve! How he did dive
into that nice piece of meat! Mother in the
bedroom, trying to coax baby to takealonger ~
nap, would have groaned instead of sung, if
she could have seen him!
MI
THA a i
GH
le
Ue
FATHER’S HELPER. |
“Ough! Ough! Ough!†-roared Josie.
“Oh, mother, mother! Come quick!†.
And mother heard him; so did baby, and
_ opened her eyes wide, and mother ran with
baby in her arms, to see to Josie. He needed
seeing to, a regular little river of blood flow-
ing into that platter, from Josie’s cut hand,
and how he was roaring!
Oh, dear me! Such a time as that mate,
had! ~~ The baby cried, and Josie cried, and
mother felt like crying. I don’t know what
she would have done if father had not come
just then to help.
It was a long time before they sat down to
dinner, and when they did, the nice baked
potatoes were as watery as apples, and the.
pudding was burnt to a crisp, and as for the
meat, they had none at all, for who wants to
eat meat that has floated around in a Pisce
of blood?
They threw the most of it away, and didn’t
feel like touching the rest, or ever seeing it
on the table. And allthis, because Josie had
come home determined to be father’s helper!
Now do you believe that was the true reason?
I don't. Let me whisper to you: I think it
OOR LOUISE.
was because he was determined to do the
things that he couldn’t do, and to Jet alone
those things that he coudd have done as well
as not. Do you know any such helpers as
he?
ma a OUR LOUISE.
THE school bells were ringing, that snowy
- morning. when in her scarlet cloak, with its
_ pretty hood drawn over her. head, Louise
- started for school. Mother came to the door
to see her off; she had to. go alone, for the
twelve year old sister, who took care of her,
was sick with a cold. Mother didn’t quite
~iike to have Louise on the street alone. She
called after her: aesâ€
“Remember, my dear, and do not cross the
street; mother doesn’t like you to cross
alone.â€
“T’ll’member,†said Louise; and she flut-
tered along, like a little red robin. Around
the corner, down Mill Street, and at the corner
_ of Tracy Street, she stopped: no path at all!
OUR LOUISE.
Piles and piles of freshly fallen snow, and na
scraper along yet.
“Oh, dear!†said Louise, “what shall I do?
I can’t go on through all that snow; it looks
as if it would most reach up to my head!
And I can’t wait for the scraper; that will
make me late.â€
“ Hello, Robin Red Breast!†called Morris
Brooks to her from the other side of the
street. “Come across, my chicken; the
scraper has been on this side, it crossed the
street right here, and It will come down on
that side.†|
' «Then I'll wait for it,’ said Louise.
“Wait for it! What.the mischief would
you do that for, on this cold morning? It
has gone up as far as Hersey Street; it will
‘be as much as half an hour; why shouldn't
you come over here?†, | ;
“’Cause my mamma told me not to go
across the street; and so you see I can’t go;
I don’t know what to do; course I can’t wait
here half an hour, it will make me late, and
it’s cold besides.â€
“What a little goosie!†said Morris;
“your mother meant that you were not to
OUR LOUISE.
cross, unless it was necessary, of course;
there is no danger now, there isn’t a sleigh to
be seen; come along, I'll watch you.â€
“My mother didn't say, not to cross unless
it was necessary, she said ‘remember do not
cross the street, and I ain't going to, not if
you call me twenty goosies.â€
“Oh, what a dunce!†said Morris.“ What
are you going to do, I should like to know?
Stand there and. freeze? I suppose your
mother will like that!â€
Louise didn’t answer; she was thinking ;
the end of it was, that she turned around, and
sped back over the road that she had come,
as fast as her swift little feet would take her,
followed by Morris’ loud laugh; he thought
her the greatest simpleton he had ever heard
of. :
It was a red little face that poked itself.
into the door a little while afterwards, and a
breathless voice said;
“Mamma, may I cross the street at the cor-
ner of Tracy? It is all snow on this side,
the scraper hasn’t been there, and there is a
big wide path on the other side, and I’ll be
very careful, and look each way.
OUR LOUISE.
“Why, yes,†said mother, with an aston.
_ ished little laugh; “of course you may, dear,
if it is necessary; I am sorry you had such a
long run back.†Almost before the words
were spoken, Louise was off; she expected
every minute to hear that last bell.â€
“What a little goosie!†said the twelve
year old sister, as she came to the window to |
watch the /¢¢/e sister, “to think of her run-—
ning-away back home to ask that, when there
was nothing else to do, but cross!â€
“I don’t know about that, Mary,†said
mother; “Louise isn’t old enough to be ex-
pected to use her judgment much, about such
things, but she is old enough to odey, and
you see she does it, with her whole heart. I
never felt prouder of her than I do this min-
â€
ute. . :
BARGAINING.
HE was a great boy for bargains ; “ Sharpie,â€
the boys at school called him, “for short,†be-
cause he was always trying to make some-
thing. His real name was Allen Wilson;
- but boys like him are very apt to have nick-
names. Even his sister Kate had to come -
in for her share of bargaining; she climbed,
_ one day, into the old apple-tree; now it is
sometimes easier to climb into a thing than it
is to climb out .of-it. Kate couldn't get down
from that apple tree; she hopped along like
a squirrel from one side of the limb to the
other, and tried to make up her mind to climb
down; but she couldn’t. At last, she saw
Allen, and called to him; of course he came
at once, and helped her down. Well, he
started, but the temptation to make a bargain
came over him, before he got there. -
“If I help you down,†he said, “will you:
give me your ball 2â€
_ “What, my new one that Uncle Louis gave
me? Oh, dear! Yes, I will; I’m afraid I
shall fall, if you don’t hurry.â€
“No, you won't. But you can’t come down
BARGAINING.
inless you will give me your wheel-barrow.â€
“My new wheel-barrow, that is on purpose
for my flower garden? Why, Allen Wilson,
you £uow I can’t give you that!†~
“All right, then; you can stay up in the
tree awhile. .
“Oh, what a naughty, wicked boy! Well,
I'll give it to you; only do please hurry,
Allen, for I tremble all over.†-
“But, there’s one thing more; I want you
to promise not to tell mother that I missed
my class to-day.†_
“What will I do if she asks me?â€
“You can say you don't know.â€
“But I do know.â€
“Qh, you little goosie! You know how to
get around it, well enough; do you want to
come down from there or not?â€
“No,†said Kate; “not bad enough to tell
a story. If you won't take me down till I
promise to tell what isn’t true, I'll have to
stay here, and fall, maybe; then you'll be
sorry.â€
“You're a real dunce! Who wants you to
tell a story! As if you hadn’t sense enough
to answer a question, without telling all you
_ DAISY’S PRAYER.
know. I'll go and leave you, as sure as my.
name is Allen, if you don’t promise.â€
“ Boys who try to drive sharp bargains, are
very often too sharp for their own good; I'll
save Kate the trouble of telling, by doing it
myself.†It was Uncle Louis who said this,
as he appeared from behind the barn, and
lifted Kate down from the tree.
I'll leave you.to imagine how Allen felt —
then. o
ae,
DAISY’S PRAYER.
Tus was the way she said it; “ Now I lay
me, — Oh, mamma! may I have both ab
dollies in bed tonight?â€
: Hush | my eae: you are saying your
prayer.â€
“Down to sleep, I pray—mamma! oh,
mamma! there flewed a robin right by the.
window, just as red! and a worm in his
mouth.â€
“My darling child! if your eyes had been
closed, as mamma taught you, when you say -
Yl
Lh;
DAISY’S PRAYER.
your pi vyers, you wouldn't have seen the
robin; ¢'o on, dear.â€
“T pray the Lord my soul to take; mamma,
what are souls made of; are they made out
of thistles gone to seéd, and do they blow -
away, away Up. in the 9), like thistles, when
we die?’
“Daisy, dear! are you going to say your
prayer, like a good little girl?
“Why, yes, mamma; but thinks come right
in my heart, and I can’t help it, and I had my
eyes shut just as tight! =~
“Tf I should die—oh, mamma! Jimmy
Wilson’s pussy died this afternoon; it had a
fit, or something, and died; if it only hada
soul, it could go right straight up to heaven:
don’t you think it can Jossibly squeeze into a
little place there?â€
“Now, Daisy, mamma isn’t pleased with °
you, because you talk while you are saying
your prayer; now I want you to close your
eyes, and say carefully, without speaking
again, about anything else, the rest of your
prayer.†.
_ So Daisy drew a long sigh, and tried again;
“Tf I show'd die, before I wake, I pray the
DAISY’S PRAYER.
Lord my soul to take, — but I hope he won't,
mamma, don't you? ‘Cause I don’t want to
go and leave you. Amen.â€
“I’m sure I don’t know what to do with
her,’ mamma said, when Daisy’s head was on
her pillow, and Daisy's self was fast asleep ;
“JT have tried very hard to make her feel that
She is speaking to Jesus, and that she must
not talk nor think about anything else; and
yet you see how much good it has done.â€
“Do you think there is any use in having
such little bits of creatures say their prayers?â€
asked Miss Morris, mamma’s friend, who was
visiting; “why wouldn't it be better to wait
until they are old enough to understand what
they are saying; and to keep their thoughts
from wandering everywhere else ?â€
“ As to that,†mamma said, sighing again,
“I don’t know how long one would have to
wait; last Wednesday evening, in prayer-
meeting, while Deacon Miller was praying, I
roused up suddenly to the fact that he was
through, and I hadn’t known for five minutes
what he was saying; and I found I had been
planning about the spring house-cleaning!
No, on the whole I would rather not have
Be
LISTENING.
Daisy wait till she can keep her thoughts from
wandering, for fear she might have to wait
too long.†|
“That is true,†Miss Morris said, and her
cheeks looked very pink.
LISTENING.
“WalIT a minute, papa, I want to speak to
you about —†Mrs. Ellis got so far in her
sentence, and then stopped with a glance
towards Emmeline, who sat curled up in a
corner of the piazza, with her crochet work.
“ Daughter,†she said, “run and see if your —
Aunt Fanny is nearly ready to go down town.â€
Emmeline gathered her worsteds up, very
. Slowly; she didn’t want to go; she just ached --
to hear what her mother was going to say to
her father, and she felt certain it was about
herself, else why should her mother send her
away? She couldn’t be in a hurry to -have
Aunt Fanny ready, for she was not dressed
yet herself; it was just because she was not
LISTENING.
to hear. Though she was so slow and dropped
her red ball once, and her patterns twice,
mamma waited patiently, not saying another
word, till she was fairly out of the room. Then
‘she could hear her voice again, and she felt
certain that.she heard her own name.
“Dear me!†she said, “how I wish I knew
what mamma was telling him! I’vé a great
mind to slip into this ‘little closet and find
out.â€
The little closet was a dark place opening
from the kitchen, where the garden tools were
kept, when they were not in daily use; it had
an outside door, and she could slip in and put
her ear to the key-hole of the kitched door,
and hear all that was said on the piazza; at
least she thought she could. And she was so
anxious to hear what was not intended for her
ears thht she crept in, and pulled the door to,
after her. . But it was all for nothing after
all; there was a great box pushed directly
against the kitchen door, and it was so heavy
that, try as hard as she could, it wouldn't
move.
» “Qh; deat,†she said; “I might as well not
have come, after all.â€
LISTENING.
Then she tried to get out; but she couldn’
even do that; the door she had pulled to, had
managed to fasten itself in some way that she
did not understand, and she was a prisoner!
Then she said, “ oh, dear!†with some reason.
After thinking awhile what was best to be
done, she decided to keep still until she heard
Jonas come in from the barn, then she would
knock at the door, and he would contrive some
way to let her out: and he would think that
she had gone there after something, and been
shut in. But, for some strange reason, Jonas
did not come back from the barn; she waited,
and groaned, and sighed, and twisted around
in her close quarters, and began to wonder
what would become of her, if nobody ever came
that way to hear her, and at last she fell asleep ©
Meantime, how they were hunting tor her—
_up stairs and down; it seemed so very strange
that she should have disappeared all of a
sudden, and no trace of her be left. Mother,
and father, and Aunt Fanny, and her sister
Esther joined in the search; they called
“Emmeline!†from one room to another, but
Emmeline was quietly sleeping in the closet,
and heard nothing of the uproar.
MU
LIS7 ENING.
“T really begin to be frightened,†Mrs.
_ Ellis said. “I never knew of such a singular
disappearance ; if we lived in town, she might
have run toa neighbor's ; but, out Nene mulene
_ is no place to run to.â€
«“Pshaw!†said Mr. Ellis, who was fright
ened, too, but didn’t want to own it; “what
could happen to her out here?â€
“T know it; but then where is she: pe
Then they all went to hunting again.
“Esther, get me my cane,’ Mr. Ellis said
at last; “I shall have to go to the field for
Jonas, and send him for help; she must have
wandered off to the woods and lost her way.â€
«She knows every inch of the woods, and
she never went, in her life, without permis-
sion,’ mamma said, her face growing pale.
“Well, we have looked everywhere else;
I'm going, for I don’t know what else to do.
Get the cane, daughter--it is in the closet off
the kitchen.â€
Esther went in haste and excitement.
“Of course,†she muttered; “stick just as
hard as you can; of course, because I’m in a
hurry.†Then she gave a very hard push, and
the door swung open. A minute afterwards
LISTENING.
there was a scream that called father, mother,
and Aunt Fanny to the spot.
“She’s here! She’s here! And she is
dead!â€
Then what a rushing, crying. and confusion
there was. Mamma tried to push in, past
them-all, but she fell fainting across the door-
way, and had to be moved before they could
~ get to Emmeline; in the midst of which the
said Emmeline slowly sat up, and rubbed her
Sleepy eyes, and said: |
“What’s the matter? Who's crying?â€
When they all got a little over their excite
ment, and had rested themselves, there was a
general inquiring into the whole story; and I
hope you are not able to understand the way
in which Emmeline felt to be obliged to own
that it Had all come about through her deter.
mination to hear what she was not desired to
hear |
“Since you have had such a hard time, it
is no more than fair that you should be told
just what we were talking about,†Mr. Ellis
said, after a moment's thought, when Emme-
line had finished her absurd story. “ Your
mother was telling me that next week would
LEARNING.
be your birthday, and we were about deciding
to get you a gold watch fora present; but of
course we shall have to change now, as it
would be no surprise, and we were very
anxious to. surprise you. It is plain to be seen
that you do not believe in surprises; so I will
tell you now that I will give you a fifty cent
silver piece for your birthday, and you will
not need to listen any more about that.â€
There are some things in this world that,
besides being very mean in themselves, don’t
pay in the end.
LEARNING.
“DEAR me,†said Miss Annie to herself ;
what a stupid little dunce! She will never
learn to read; I’m sorry I promised to teach
her.†.
Then she said aloud:
“Now, Sallie, you vow that isn’t D, it’s B;
I have told you six times, and you mustn't
call it D, any more.â€
“They look just alike,’ murmured Sallie,
LEARNING.
with her finger in her mouth, looking a little
frightened, and a little cross.
“No, they don’t look a bit alike; one turns
one way, and one the other; it is because you
are careless; and I shan’t try to teach you, if
you don’t do better than this. Now say it
Bronte ee
“A,†said Sallie, and then she put her
finger in her mouth again, and looked up at
Annie, and wished she had never offered to
teach her to read, and thought that reading
_was horrid, and she never wanted to know
how; then she said, in a low voice: “D.â€
What do you suppose Annie did? She
threw the book flat on the ground.
“There!†she said; “do go home! you are
the stupidest little girl I ever saw in my life.
J can’t teach you, and I don’t mean to try.â€
So Sallie went home, in tears, which she
wiped away with her dirty dress, and said:
«“ She didn’t care; she didn’t want to know
what the names of them ugly, crooked, little
specks were, and she wasn’t ever going to try
aleeeniini
That very afternoon, Miss Annie went to
take her music lesson.
LEARNING.
“Now, Annie,†said her teacher, “ you an
careless; I have told you twice that that was
a whole rest, and every time you come to it,
you call it a half; you must pay more atten-
tion than that.â€
Annie’s cheeks looked pretty red, and she
went on with her reading; pretty soon her
voice began to tremble; there was another
rest, and she could not remember whether it
was a whole rest, or a half one; which was it
that was above the line? She tried to think,
but she couldn't; she looked up and down
the page to see if she could find any help.
“ Read on, child,†said her teacher; “don’t
be so slow.â€
So she read on, in a very low voice, pre-
cisely like the one in which Sallie had said
her letters, and she called it a half rest. -
“ Dear me,†said her teacher, and she gave
her an impatient twitch; “what a stupid
child! You are the very dullest scholar I
have; how many times have I told you that
this is a whole rest ?â€
Then Annie cried outright. When she
came home, she had a most doleful story to
tell her mother.
AFRAID OF HER SHADOW.
“She needn’t have called me stupid, any-
way, she said, looking injured, “ just because
1 forgot what the nasty little black thing’s
name was; they look most alike, anyway.â€
“T dare say- they do, to you,†said her
mother. “I shouldn’t wonder if they looked
most as much alike to you, as ‘B’ and ‘D’
did to Sallie, this morning.â€
And Miss Annie didn’t say another word.
AFRAID OF HER SHADOW.
Miss ELia was reading’ to Grandmother
Benson; the old lady had her head comfort.
ably fixed among the cushions of her easy.
chair, and was all ready to enjoy. Right in
the most interesting part, as Ella was turning
a leaf, she stopped, and grandmother, if she
had had her eyes open, would have seen that
her reader was very much frightened, and
was staring at the front window, much as if
she expected a robber to spring in at her;
which was really what she ad expect.
AFRAID OF HER SHADOW.
“Who is that?†she asked; and her voice
sounded so queerly, that grandmother opened
her eyes.
- “Who is what, Ella? What is the mat-
tele
“Why, I saw a face at the window—a
man’s face; he was looking right at me.â€
“ Nonsense,†said grandmother.
But she had been very sick, and her nerves
were not as strong as they used to be,‘so in
spite of herself she went to trembling as
though the had a chill. _
“Who would be looking in at us, unless it
was some neighbor passing by, who happened
to look in.â€
~“It was no ‘happen, grandma; it was
somebody leaning over, and peeking in; and
it was no neighbor; he had a very evil face.
I don’t know what to do. Oh, grandma!
there he is knocking at the back door; what
shall we do?†|
“We'll use our common sense, if we've got
any, and go and open the door,†said grandma,
a little roughly; for she was not used to hav-
ing people about her who were afraid.
“Oh, grandma! I can never open the door;
AFRAID OF HER SHADOW.
I don’t think it ought to be opened; we might
both be killed; his face was perfectly awful.â€
“Well,†said grandma, in a resigned tone,
“T can’t move, you know; and if you are
willing to sit here and have a neighbor, who.
has come to see how we are, knock till he is
tired, and not let him in, I can’t help it; that
may be the way they do in the city, but out
here in the country robbers don’t knock at
our back doors.†|
But Miss Ella wrung her hands, and cried,
and declared that she could not go to the door:
meantime, the knocking went on. At last a
voice was heard:
“ Be you all asleep in there? I’ve brought
some eggs, and some butter, and a jug of milk,
if I could get in; I’d like to do it.â€
“There!†said grandmother; “that’s Job
Fuller’s voice, and he has seven miles to ride
yet to-night; it’s a shame!â€
Then Ella managed to open thedoor. She
was going to tell him about the man with the
awful face, who had been looking in at the
window, when he said:
“JT thought I'd make sure that the old lady
wasn't having a nap, seeing she’s been sick,
SAD, OR GLAD.
so I peeked in at the window, and I see you
reading, and I couldn’t make out why you
didn’t hear my knocking!â€
SAD, OR GLAD.
Poor Neddie was sick!
And mamma was sad,
But the doctor came quick,
And mamma was glad!
He gave Ned a pill,
Then Neddie was sad!
But it made the pain still,
Then Neddie was glad!
Then Ned went to sleep,
And mamma was glad!
But wakened to weep,
Then mamma was sad.
Then Neddie was*sour;
And mamma was sad;
But he smiled in an hour,
Then mamma was glad!
SS
SS
XW AA
SSSA
WS SS V_sq_3qqw“q@&’
~ SSA
~
SUSIE'S TOAST.
Then Neddie was stronger,—
And, oh! was so glad !
He fretted no longer,—
Then mamma was glad.
When Neddie got well,
There was nobody sad;
Then the boys would each tell,
How ¢hey were ail giad.
SUSIE'S TOAST.
“Tt’s no use, mamma,†she said, pushing
away the plate; “I can’t eat it to-night.â€
“Oh, Susie! Not eat the nice toast that
mother fixed for you. I toasted it myself,
and there is a spoonful of real cream on it.â€
“T can’t eat it, mother; it sticks in my
throat and hurts; set it up; maybe some one
wants it worse than I do, and that is the rea:
son it won’t swallow.†.
“What a notion,†mother muttered to her.
SUSTE’S TOAST.
self, as she set the plate sadly on the corner
of the stove in the little kitchen.
“She didn’t eat two mouthfuls of it,†she
said to Becky; then she went back to her
sick little girl.
Half an hour after that, Becky, in the
«itchen, heard a strange sort of sound at the
kitchen door; she stood still for a minute,
then she went into the bed-room and softly
beckoned Susie’s mother to come out. .
“There’s some one at the door, I do be-
lieve,†she said; “there’s a sound like some-
thing stumbling, and then something groaned.â€
“Land alive!†said Susie’s mother, “why
don’t you look and see?†|
Then she went forward and opened the
door; there sat a woman on the ground, all
crouched in a heap.
“ Land alive!†said Susie’s mother; “who
on earth are you, and what do you want?â€
Then the woman tried to get up.
“I was so faint and tired that I dropped
right down,†she said. “I’ve lost my way; I
was coming from the village, and I don’t
know the road very well, and I guess I took
the wrong turn; anyhow, I’ve heen wander-
SUSIE'S TOAST.
ing around till I’m about used up; I haven't
had anything to eat since morning, and I’m
very weak.â€
“T should think so,†said Susie’s mother;
“why, land alive! the idea of being hungry!
Come in, quick, and get some supper.â€
Then she thought of the toast. “She shall
have it,’ she said to herself, “ with some hot
milk on it to make it warm, and a spoonful
of cream, and as much bread and butter as
‘she can eat; besides, poor thing! how strange
it was that Susie thought she was leaving her
toast for some one who needed it.
“Ts your little girl very sick?†the woman
asked, as while she was eating her supper she
heard the talk and the planning about Susie.
So then the mother told the story of poor
Susie’s swelled throat, and feverish hands,
and how the doctor was away, and wouldn't
be home till morning, and she was trying to
nurse her as well as she could, and feeling that:
the night was going to be very long.
The woman fumbled in her pocket and —
drew forth a bottle.
“T’ve got something that is good for sore
throat and fever, if you are a mind to use.it,â€
=————
SS SS SS 5S LSS ==
a=
===
SUSIE'S TOAST.
she said. “It is a medicine that was given
to me by a good woman, and it always helps
colds.â€
« Susie’s mother took one glance ; gave one
glance at the bottle, and then clasped her
hands in astonishment and delight.
“Land alive!†she said, “how things do
happen! Now if there’s been one thing more
than another that I’ve wished I had, this
evening, it’s belladonna, and. now, here it is.
I do say, it’s real funny about that toast!
Susie couldn’t have planned it better if she
“had known.â€
Then seeing the woman look at her i in sur-
prise, she said:
“T was that worried about Susie, that I -
don’t believe I’d have stopped to. give you a
thing, if it hadn’t been for her saving her toast
for some poor body that wanted it.â€
A QUARREL.
It was all about the first strawberry. Ruffle
got it, and Brownie wanted it. She pecked
at it with her bill, and tried to get it; she said
she thought Ruffle was just as selfish as she
could be; the strawberry ought to belong to
her, anyhow,—for she saw it first; and be-
sides, she had had no appetite all the spring,
and was just sick and tired of worms, and
things.
All this made Ruffle so provoked that she
felt as though she couldn’t stand it any
longer; she must answer; so she opened her
_ mouth to do so, and out popped the straw-
berry.
They both flew down after it as quick as
they could. Brownie got there -first, but
where do you suppose the strawberry was?
It had dropped right into a barrel of water
that stood under the spout! The birdies both
saw it, but they were afraid to reach after
it; they thought that barrel of water was the
ocean.
ANS, said Ruffle, “I hope you are sat-
isfied |â€
A QUARREL.
“T hope you are,†said Brownie; “it is all
your fault.â€
Then they each hopped on a twig, and
turned their backs to each other, and wou!da’e
sing a note, nor speak.
What a nice time they might have had if
they had known enough to have bitten that
strawberry in two, and each had half. |
THE WORKERS.
ONE was Miss Maude Erskine, and the
other was Miss Effie Lewis. Miss Erskine
was nineteen, and Miss Lewis seven. They
both wanted the same thing, —that is, they
wanted Frank Lewis to sign the temperance
pledge. He came to call on Miss Erskine,
and spent half the afternoon, arguing with
her on the folly of pledges. He brought her
_a bouquet of flowers, and when she said she
would take them if he would sign the pledge,
he drew them back, and said he didn’t like to
sell himself; that he believed in liberty, —
and all that sort of .foolish talk, which
doesn’t mean anything, and which young
men know so well how to talk. Nothing
came of the argument, except that Frank
Lewis went home earlier than usual, and felt
out of sorts. His little sister Effie was out
of sorts, too, —at least, he heard her come in,
while he sat in his room, and throw herself
on the lounge, and cry as if her little heart
was broken. At first, he felt so cross he
thought he didn’t care what was the matter
with her; but at last he called her; “ Little
THE WORKERS.
_ girl, come here! What is the trouble? ee
and tell Frank all about it.â€
Very slowly; with very red eyes and very
quivering lips, little Miss Effie made her
way into her brother's room, and, after some
coaxing, told her sad little story. She and
Charlie Baker had gone out together more
than a week ago, to see how many names
they could get to their pledges. Mr. Burton
had said that the one who got the most
should have the loveliest red pocket-book,
with real gold clasps; and she had worked so
hard, and been to everybody, and to-morrow
morning was the time to give the lists in;
and Charlie had got one name the most, and
it was too bad.
And then little Miss Effie cried again. Her
brother tried coaxing: What did she care
for the pocket-book? Brother would get her
a much better book than that, with double
clasps, and with money inside of it.
Do you suppose she was comforted? Not
she! She wanted to earn her pocket-book.
If she couldn’t do that, the pleasure was
over.
Brother Prank looked at the pitiful baby.
LE eee ee eet
THE WORKERS.
face, and could not help laughing over the
fuss she was making about such a little
thing; but she was his pet, and he knew so
-well how to help her out of it. Why didn’t
he do it? Oh, he was too proud! He didn't
like to be dviven into doing a thing. Well,
then, he had a chance of being cvzed into it.
After what seemed a week to Effie, he slowly
wheeled himself and her around in his eRe
and picked up his pen.
« See here, little girlie,†he said; “ «we'll get
out of this trouble. Have you been to Miss
Maude Erskine?†-
“Oh, no! Do you think she would sign?
But then, if she did, that would only make us ©
even.’ .
“No,—that will make you uneven. Look!
this will make you even;†and he put, with
many pretty flourishes, the name, “ Franklin
L. Lewis.†“Now,†he said, “run to Miss
Erskine, and you'll come out ahead in less
than no time:†|
And, as Miss Maude eagerly signed the
paper, while she listened to the story, she
said: “Oh, you blessed darling!†Whom
do you suppose she could have meant?
NOT EAP rE Ya
Tuis little girl’s name is Lily. You can
see for yourself that she doesn’t look happy ;
but I don’t believe you could ever guess the
reason why. This is her own pretty room,
and that bureau is full of her clothes—all
ruffled and tucked, and made as pretty as
possible. .
The dolly | on her as is a new one with
real hair that will curl, if you wind it over
your finger, and her dress_is of soft white
muslin, embroidered at that, and cost ever so
much a yard, for it is a piece of Aunt
Annie’s elegant window curtain. There’s her
own little scissors on the floor, and they are
sharp enough to cut the stoutest thread you
ever saw; and there is a box under that
bureau that is full of playthings, all belong.
ing to Lily. But she isn’t happy. This morn-
ing she was. She sung like a bird when she
was getting dressed; but she has been to call
on her friend Helen Mary Webster, who lives
in Boston, and who is visiting at her auntie’s
around the corner. Well, did that make Lily
unhappy? Bend your head while I whisper
NOT HAPPY.
to you. It is because Helen Mary’s dolly has
two teeth, and eyes that will open and shut,
and when you wind her up she can walk
twenty steps. Lily doesn’t care for her doll
any more.
Did you ever hear anything so queer? Sup-
A
A POSITIVE GIRL.
pose your mamma didn’t love you a bit be
cause your hair didn’t curl, and your eyes were
not so blue as the eyes of the little girl next
door; wouldn’t she be a queer mamma?
A POSITIVE GIRL.
“THERE'S one kind of flower, Miss Letty,
that your father don’t want to have anything
cut from; you better hold on, till I come
round there, and I will show you which it is.â€
This was what the gardener said to Letty
when she went after flowers for the church
-vases. , _
“Oh, I know all about them; I can tell
father’s choice flowers the minute I look at
them. I shan’t make any mistake,†Letty
said,
The gardener was troubled. “But this is
a new kind, and you’d think from the bud it
was just a common rose; if you'll wait just
three minutes, I will come over there and cut
some for you.â€
A POSITIVE GIRL.
«But 1 don’t Tike to wait three minutes,
Donald, and I know I can cut them as well
as you can; papa always trusts me.†And to
work she went, snipping off the flowers.
4 POSITIVE GIRL.
“Look at this, Donald,†she said, as the old
gardener, having put his choice plant in a safe
place, hurried around to see what the young
miss, who knew so much, was about; “ this is
the prettiest rose, of that kind, that I ever saw,’
“Yes, and it’s the first one you ever saw;
and now it’s like to be the last. It’s the very
flower your father has been at such pains to
get, and that he told me he wouldn’t have cut
for any money ; and you’ve gone and snipped
off the only bud it had. Just in the wrong
place, too, so it can’t be saved. That comes
of folks thinking they know so much more
than they do,†said Donald, feeling so vexed
and worried that he hardly remembered to
whom he was talking.
As for Letty, she felt very much troubled;
there couldn’t anybody have been sorrier than
she was, for the mischief she had done; but
the trouble was, being sorry wouldn't put that
strange blossom back on its stem.
Donald couldn’t get over it. “He told me
twenty times over to take care of that blos-
som, and here it’s gone, and no fault of mine
that I can see; but great use there will be in
saying that.â€
4A POSITIVE GIRL.
While he was grumbling, who should ap-
pear in the garden but Letty’s father.
«What is the meaning of this?†he asked,
and he spoke as if he were very much offended.
“Can’t you be trusted to look after a single
new plant, that I have been at such pains to
get?â€
Poor Donald! Is it any wonder that the
blood rushed hot to his honest, angry face?
‘He opened his lips to speak, but Letty was
too quick for him.
« Father,†she said, eagerly, “it is I who
can’t be trusted, not Donald; he begged me
to wait till he came over here to show me
what to cut, and he warned me about this
very flower; but I was so sure that I knew
everything, that I wouldn’t wait, and so I cut
its head off; and I’m so sorry I don’t know
what to do.â€
“You have done the best thing that there
is to do about it,†her father said, and then he
added: “Donald, I beg your pardon.â€
A CROSS GIRL.
Wuat do you think was the matter with
her? Why, she didn’t like the way her new
blue-and-white summer silk was trimmed!
She coaxed to have it trimmed with white
lace, and cried out, because she couldn’t have
it so; she scolded about it, and-wished she
could ever have anything as she wanted it, -—
in fact, she said so many foolish things that
her mother became ashamed of her, and sent
her to her room, to stay until she could be-
have herself. She staid there a good while;
but she didn’t feel like behaving, — instead,
she grew worse and worse. Finally, she
“made up her mind that she would run away;
she was tired of living in that old house,
where nobody loved her; and she would go
off, and never come back any more. Then,
she guessed, her mother would be sorry that
she didn’t let her have her dress trimmed as
she wanted it. As she went about getting
ready for her fun, she plannea how they
would act, add what they would say, when
they found she was really gone. She didn’t
make any plans as to how she was to get her
A CROSS GIRL.
dinner, nor where she was to sleep; she took
her kid slippers and her new kid gloves, and
her pocket-book, with a gold dollar in it, and
put on her Sunday hat, and st arted. She
took a long walk down by the rocks; it was
so warm that she thought she would take the
shadiest possible road. When she got there,
she felt so tired she concluded to rest; so she
hopped up on one of the rocks, and sat there
a long time, blinking at the water, and trying
to shade her eyes from the sun, and wonder-
ing whether they had found out at home that
she was gone. At last, she went to sleep ;
‘ she was really tired, and so took a long nap,
if she had a pretty hard bed to take it in.
When she awoke, she was so hungry that
it seemed to her it must be days since she
went away; her hat had slipped away from
her, and was sailing on the water, out of reach;
How could she run away without any hat ?>—.
besides, it was her best one. Running away
didn’t look so nice as it dida while ago. She
went to thinking how dreadfully her mother
and father must feel, and how brother Jamie
would cry, and how the baby would call her,
- till she thought she couldn’t stand it any
A CROSS GIRL.
longer. “Ill go home,’ she said, hopping
down from her perch. “I must have been
gone. as much as two days; and I’m awful
hungry, and want to see mother and baby. I
feel real sorry for them ; I don’t care if I can’t
have my dress trimmed with white lace; I
don’t care whether it is trimmed at all or not;
I want to go home. Just think, how glad
they will be to see me!†And she trotted off
home as fast as her lame feet and her faint
stomach would let her. As she went, she
wondered which one of the family would see
her first, and what they would say,and whether
mother would cry and kiss her, or faint away.
But don’t you think, when she opened the
side-door, and slipped softly in, they were just
sitting down to dinner! And all the notice
_ they took of her was to ask if she had hada
nice walk. And she actually hadn’t been
gone but two hours!
WHAT BABY THINKS.
“Tp there isn’t a baby in the glass, looking
tight at me! She looks awful cross; 1 don’t
love her; I’m scared of her, she is so sober;
she’s got great big eyes. Go away, baby!
You don’t belong here,—this is my house,
and this is my mamma; I won't have you
here. See her make wrinkles at me, on her
forehead! What a naughty baby! I dont
love her a bit; I wish mamma would send
her off. She’s got a dress on just like mine,
and ribbons on her sleeves, like me; I don't
want her to have ribbons and dresses. I don’t
love her a bit. There! she’s scowling at me.
If mamma could only understand, I’d ask her
to send that naughty baby away. I think it’s
dreadful that mamma can’t understand a word
I say. Go away, baby! She looks crosser and
crosser. I’llstamp my foot ather. There! she
stamps hers at me. She’s a dreadful bad,
naughty baby. I won't stay by her any more;
I'll kick my feet, and then mamma will take me
away.†So baby went away, and never could
be made to understand that she had been look.
ing at her own naughty shadow in the glass.
CHARLIE AND ROB.
“Don’t you hate splitting wood?†asked
Charlie, as he sat himself down on a log to
hinder his friend Rob for awhile.
“No, I rather like it. When I get hold of
a tough old fellow that doesn’t want to split,
I say: ‘See here, now, you think you're the
strongest, and are going to beat me, and to
pay you for being so foolish, I'll split you up
into kindling wood.’ â€
“Pshaw!†said Charley, emetitiogs “and
it’s only a stick of wood.â€
“Yes; but you see I pretend it’s a lesson,
or a tough job of any kind, and it’s nice to
conquer it.â€
«JT don’t want to conquer such things; I
don’t care what becomes of them. I wish I
was a man and a rich one.â€
“Well, if you live long enough you'll be a
man, without wishing for it, and as for the
rich part, why, I mean to be that myself.â€
“You do. How do you expect to get your
money ? By sawing wood ?â€
“Maybe — some of it; that’s as good a way
as any, so long as it lasts. I don’t care how I
CHARLIE AND ROB.
get rich, you know, so that it’s oe and
useful.â€
“I'd like to sleep over the next ten years
and wake up a young man with a splendid
education and plenty of money, and then I’d
have good times.â€
“Humph! Tain’tsleepy; a night atatime
is long enough for me. What I mean to do—
is to work over the next ten years, and then I
mean to have a pretty good education and
some money, and a fair start towards getting
some more. You see those are things that
you've got to work out —you can’t sleep them
out.â€
“JT hate work,†said Charlie. “I hate saw:
ing and splitting, and all those things. I’d
like to do some big work, like being clerk in
a bank, or something of that sort.â€
“Wood has to be sawed and split before it
can be burned,†said Rob, splitting away and
making the chips fly. “If you want your
chance at burning the wood, you better get a
good pile split up beforehand. I don’t know
but I'll be clerk in a bank, or something
of that kind myself. Tm keeping father’s.
CHARLIE AND ROB.
accounts for him—I square the books every
evening.†OM a laughed |
A WG ERG LS
An if
mel ‘should think an was a mIeay way from
a bank clerk,†he said when he could speak.
CHARLIE AND ROB.
«TI suppose your father sells two tables, and
six chairs, some days, doesn’t he?â€
“Sometimes more than that, and some-
times not so much,†Rob said in perfect good
humor. . .
a ledidnyt say I was a bank clerk xow,
I said I was working fowards it. I wonder
now if I ain’t nearer it, by keeping a little bit
of a book than I would be if I didn’t keep
any >?â€
“Not a whit—such tones happen,†said
Charlie, as he brushed off the cBiPs: and
started to go.
As a matter of curiosity, I ‘want to show
you these two chaps when they got to be
men. |
CHARLIE AND ROB.
Anp this is Rob! The gentleman standing
before the desk delivering his address. He
doesn’t look much like Charlie, does he?
Nobody knows him by that name “ Rob.â€
He is “Judge Warren.†Besides he is the
favorite speaker in the city where he lives, as
well as in a great many other cities. He has
“worked at it,’ as he was fond of saying,
when a boy; and that “it†meant anything
that his hands or his brain found to do.
How he did work! Whether it were wood-
splitting, or weeding, or studying, the same
eager boy went through the hard spots with
a determination that nothing should beat him,
until now, he has reached very near the top
if there zs any top. Ask your fathers, my
boys, if they really think the top is ever
reached? Can’t people keep going on, and
on, as high as they want to? Suppose they
die? Well, what of that, if they have really .
been going wf, they surely have a chance then,
without anything to hinder.
Somebody said-to Rob, once when he was
a younger man than he is now:
SS
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SSS
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4
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ly). |
a
Ma
CHARLIE AND ROB.
“What if you should die, before you reach
the place you are climbing for?â€
A pleasant smile shone over his face and
he said:
“Why then, I shall have reached my Father’s -
house, and He will see to the rest.†|
Standing here before you in this great hall,
he is addressing the young people of the
splendid schools of the city. I shall let you -
'go and hear one sentence:
“Young ladies and gentleman "—(some of
them-are boys and girls no older than you,
but he calls them “ young ladies and gentle-
men,†because he knows it is of boys and girls
that. true ladies and gentlemen are made):
“Tf there is any one verse out of that won-
derful book, the Bible, that I have tried to take
for my motto, ever since I gave my heart to
the Lord Jesus Christ, which was when I was
a very little boy, it is this: ‘a@i/gen¢ in busi-
ness, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.’ I
commend it to you as the very best motto to
work by, and the one that, followed closely,
will be save to lead you up to true success.â€
Mother's little bits of boys, don’t you skip
this story as too old for you.. It isn’t. You
CHARLIE AND ROB.
are going to be men some day, either here, or
in your Father's house. That is if the dear
Lord Jesus Christ is your brother; and you
want to begin very early, to make grea¢ men.
Don't be afraid of trying to be great. You
ought to be just as great as-youcan. Ask
mother what ¢vwe greatness is. Now I'll tell
-you asecret, Judge Warren sends his name-
sake, Rob Barnes, a present, every Christmas,
of twenty-five dollars, for the sake of old
times, and his father borrows it to buy pota-
toes and flour.
CHARLIE AND ROB..
Tus is Charlie. It is more than ten years
since that wood was split, yet here sits Char-
lie, at the trunk of an old tree, and looks about
him. That place his father used toown; the
neighbor, who used to live across the way,
owns it now.
Charlie has outgrown that name; he looks
so sort of old and careworn, that people who
are not very particular as to their language
CHARLIE AND ROB.
begin to call him “old Barnes,†when they
speak of him. He isn’t a drunkard, nor a
gambler, nor anything else that is bad, nor
anything much that is good. He has to work
to earn bread and butter for himself and for
his family; but he doesn’t do any more work
than he can possibly help, and he is no more
fond of it now, than he was years and years
ago. He still thinks that “things happen.â€
CHARLIE AND ROB.
As he sits looking at the old spot which
used to be his home, step near enough to
hear what he says:
“TI declare I wish I had money enough to
buy back the old place! It is real mean that
it should have gone out of our family after
belonging to us for so many years! The ©
house isn't much to be sure; but if I had
plenty of money I could build a mansion
there, that would make folks stare. But,
pshaw! there’s no use in talking; I’m not
likely to have money enough to buy a new
hat, let alone a house and lot. The luck that
some folks have is wonderful !
There’s Rob Warren: We were boys to-
gether, and look where he is now! His
sfather was poor, and mine was rich, and any
one to see us both would have thought that I
had the best chance. But the fact is, I never
had any chance. I never was made to bea
drudge like some. If I had had a chance at
something that I liked, I could have accom-
plished something. I wish I had twenty
thousand dollars, I could show some people
how to use it. Well, well, so it goes—some |
have their good times, and some their bad
CHARLIE AND ROB.
ones. I wish I hadn’t any hay to get in this
afternoon; always work, work for other peo-
ple. If a man only had a chance to work a
little for himself, it might make a difference.
I wish I could begin my life over again. I
~ don’t know as I do either; I don’t want to do
all the things over again that I’ve had to do,
I’m sure. On the whole, I believe I wish my
life were done with—I’ve had enough of it.â€
Did you hear him? Well, did you count
the number of times that he said “I wish.â€
That is really one of the secrets of his life.
He has always wanted to burn his wood be-
fore it was cut and split. If he had spent
one third of his time in actually working for
the things that he has wished for, I’m pretty
sure he might have had a good many of them.«
Poor old Mr. Barnes! I almost said, “ poor
old Barnes!â€
~ NELLIE’S MORNING PRAYER.
Dear Jesus, help Nellie to try to be good,—
To do everything that your little girl should;
There’s so many naughties, to make me be bad,
I forget, all the time, and make mamma so sad.
There’s the door that I bang, when I open it
wide,
And the spcols, and the thimble, I love so to
- hide!
Please help me remember that mamma says
On
Please help me step lightly, shut doors, and
talk low.
Dear Jesus, you know all about Nellie’s day,
Just what things will trouble and get i in the
Way ;
Take hold of my hand, and help me to go,
Wherever you want me, you'll lead me, I know.
When the long day is done, and I’m snug in
my bed,—
Let the angels takecare of me, just as you said;
When you want me in Heaven, just say:
“Nellie dear,â€
And [ll say: “Yes, I’m coming, your Nellie is
here.â€
A GOLDEN THOUGHT.
“ He is always plaguing me,†she muttered,
“and now here’sa goodchance! See if I don’t
make him jump, once in his life.†.
It was Alice Crawford, and she had her sun-
hat full of water from the spring.
Lying under the shade of the trees, among
the mossy grasses, she had found her brother
Harry fast asleep. If there were any two
things that Harry hated, they were being
waked out of a nice nap, and having water
thrown on him. Here was a chance to do
both at once. What fun! He was always
trying to “get ahead†of his sister. Just as
~she was about to pitch the hat-ful of spring-
water fairly into his face, she stopped, and
drew back her hands. What was the matter?
Why, a thought had just struck her, about a
sentence that she read in a book; it was this:
« Whatsoever ye would that men should do to
you, do ye even so to them.†What had that
to do with the water in her hat? “ Harry
isn’t a man,†she said, almost crossly.
Yet she was too sensible a girl to believe,
4 GOLDEN THOUGHT.
that for that reason the verse didn’t apply to
him.. ~
“Tt won't hurt him,†she said; “it is an
awful hot day, and this water is nice and cool;
it would feel real nice to me; besides, he ought
to be waked up; its almost ‘school time. /
should like it first-rate.†,
The trouble about that was, that she knew
Harry wouldn't; and she knew enough to be
sure, that the verse meant, “ Whatsoever ye
would that men should do to you (if you
were in their place), do ye even so to them.â€
What was to be done? There was the verse,
and it certainly said jws¢ that, and she cer-
tainly knew what it meant.
“But that would spoil lots of fun,†she
said, aloud. Nobody answered her, at least I
didn’t hear anybody ; but she suddenly threw
away her water, and put her hat on a twig in
_the sun to dry, and sat down near her brother,
to think.
Something awakened him; he sat up and
rubbed his eyes. .
“What’s all this ?†he asked.
“It’s you and me,†she said, chewing a
Sweet grass.
LOST.
« And what’s that?†|
“That's my hat.â€
“ Got wet?â€
aViccuas
“Humph!†said Harry, after a few minutes
of steady looking into his sister’s eyes; “it’s.
a real good rule to go by; I like it; let’s take
it for ours after this.†|
LOST.
Wuat had she lost?
The search—why make it with such care?
Was it a thing of cost?
Some treasure, rich and rare,
That from her grasp had gone, -
To lie as if its worth were but a stone?
“A piece of silver—friend,â€
And all she had, you say ?
On it did she depend
For bread, that very day?
LOST.
No, for nine yet remain ;
But nine, for loss of one,
Cannot remove the pain:
She wants that very oue/
The place it was to fill,
Is empty now, and lone,
« All other thoughts, be still,
Till ¢Azs, 1 bring back home.
With candle lighted, —
With eager eyes bent low;
As traveler, benighted,
His home doth seek, but slow,—
Until the treasure gleaming,
Hid in a nook away;
Her eyes with rapture seeing —
She bore the prize away.
- fer number now complete,
Her joy, she would make known;
. As it was surely meet,
Since she had all her own;
And so she calls her neighbors,
To shave with her the joy —
Reward of all her labors:
“ The lost is found,†they cry.
LOST.
So sought our Lord, with tears,
With eyes bent low to earth;
So sought for many years,
That more than silver, worth.
The number incomplete:
Your soul, he sought to bring, |
Back to its proper seat,
The palace of the king.
Oh! servant of the king!
Join, eager with your Lord,
And help, the Zos¢ to bring,
With spirit-lighted word:
For, high will then resound,
The notes of joy and love,
When all the lost are found,
And fill their place above.
BABY BESS.
“Dear! dear!†she said, “who dropped
me? Howdid1 be here on the floor? Why,
there’s the moon! Who brought it down?
Did I fly up to it? Where’s mamma, and
“nursie? Has they flewed, too?â€
. The simple truth was, that Baby Bess had
* rolled over in her dreams, and rolled out of
bed. Whether sweet angels, or soft carpet,
or what, kept her from being hurt, I don’t
know, but I know she wasn’t hurt; only
wakened rather rudely, and without much
idea of what had happened to her, except that
- the moon had sailed down to her, or she had
flewed up to it. Of course, it was nothing in
the world but gas, shining with a soft light
through the great glass globe; but Baby Bess
being somewhat dazed with her fall, and
withal being in a strange place, did not recog-
nize it. Pretty soon she picked herself up,
and planted her fat, bare toes firmly on the
soft carpet, and looked about her.
“Oh!†she said at last, drawing a long |
sigh.
She evidently began to understand that
BABY BESS.
it wasn’t the moon, after all; no wonder she
sighed a little, for she had been wanting the |
-moon all her life, and it was quite a disap-
pointment. But Bess was not one to cry for
_what couldn't be helped; at least so long as
- she saw a chance to do a little extra mischief.
It wasn’t often that she found herself wide
awake, in a big room, full of things that
mustn’t be touched, and quite alone. Where
weve mamma and nursie, anyway? Mamma
had gone out with papa to call on a friend,
who was stopping in the same city, and nurse
had gone to call on one of the chamber-maids
belonging to this hotel, so the way was clear.
What should she do first? There was a
book, a great lovely book, such as she had
dived after many a time, and never been al-
lowed to handle; what was to hinder her now
. from tearing out every leaf? To tell you the
truth, that was exactly what she wanted of it;
reading, she hadn’t much taste for, but the
delightful noise that a stiff, fine paper made,
when it tore clear across a page, was some-
thing that her heart craved. She trotted
across the room and seized upon the book;
she meant to take a seat on the cushioned
BABY BESS.
chair in the corner, and tear out every single
leaf; after that, she meant to climb up and
feel of the gas, and see if it felt as bright as
it looked. | |
“Why, my darling child!†exclaimed a voice
at the door, and there stood mamma.
“Oh, good land of liberty!†said another
voice right behind her, and there stood nursie,
' Was there ever such a disagreeable inter-
ruption to one’s plans for a little rational en-
joyment! What a miserable downfall to all
her hopes. To have the lovely book snatched
from, her; the fat feet rubbed till they
smarted, for fear they were cold, and then to
be dumped back among those pillows, with
mamma close beside her. She sobbed a little
about it, and hoped the next time she dropped
into a new world, nobody would come to find
her.
- REUBEN, AND ROVER, AND RUFF. _
“TooK here, now,†said Reuben, “this is
my bread and milk, and you needn’t go to ©
poking your nose into it; mother oie get
it ready for you.â€
“ Bow ! wow!†said Rover.
“Well, it's so; you are nothing but a dog,
and you can’t have a white dish and a silver
spoon to eat with; dogs have to go out to
their kennels and gnaw bones; that’s what
they get by being dogs.
“Oh, now, kitty, you needn’t ‘meow’ ; keep
your whiskers out of my dish; your saucer
lies out there, and it is just about dirty enough
for you; I don’t eat out of such dishes as
that!
“I’m not going to.give either of you a aren
and you needn’t ask for it; keep your cold
nose off my cheek, Rover.â€
“Bow! wow!†said Rover; “ meow!†said
Ruff, the old yellow cat, and they both wanted
some of it, as bad as they could, and said so
in as plain language as Reuben talked; but
not a drop did they get. |
“T tell you,†said Reuben, “ you are nothing
~
REUBEN, AND ROVER, AND RUFF.
but a cat and a dog, and J ain’t going to have
you eating with me. Mother got this ali
ready for me, and father said I might eat it,
before 1 went to the field, and I’m going to,
every drop of it; if you were boys, you know,
you could each have a dish, but being nothing
but a cat, and a dog, you must just go with-
out, till your turn comes, and then eat out of
your old dirty dishes; keep. your nese out of
my face, I say; and you, Ruff, don’t you put
your whiskers in my dish again!â€
“* Rover!†called a loud voice from the 6arn,
“come here, sir.†And Rover bounded away
in an instant. Ruff-still stayed, coaxing fora
- crumb; but just then a girl put her head out
- of the kitchen window, and called:
“Here, Ruff! Ruff! come, Ruff!†And
Ruff ran as fast as her short, yellow legs would °
take her.
“ Now I'll have a little peace,†said Reuben.
A few minutes more, and his mother opened
the side door. “Reuben,†she said, “I want
you. , .
“T'll be there as soon as I eat my bread and
milk,†said Reuben.
“But I want you now, my boy, to do an
â€
AN OWL-EV TIME.
errand for me as quick as you can; never
“mind the bread and milk; leave it till you
~ come back.â€
«Oh, pshaw !†said Reuken to himself; a
don’t want to; I’m so faint that I can’t do any
. errands till 1 get my bread and milk swal-
lowed; it won’t take but a few minutes.â€
So he waited till he ate every drop of it.
Queer, wasn’t it, that Rover, and Ruff, being
only a dog and a cat, should know enough to
go as soon as they were called, and Reuben.
being a boy, shouldn't ?
AN OWL-EY TIME.
“ Tu-wHIt!: tu-whit! tu-whoo !â€
Owlies! how do you do?
“Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whee!â€
Don't you stare at me.
-Two little Owlie birds,-—
One big mother;
All talking Owlie words:
Which of you is brother ?
AN OWL-EY TIME.
Tu-whit !_tu-whit! tu-whoo!
What a.queer home have you!
~ Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whee!
Up in a hollow tree, —
What big eyes you've got!
Staring now—at what?
White are you, as white can be;
Still as stalks are you, all three.
Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!
Why, this will never do.
Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whee!
Did I ever see, —
Queer, little funny things,
Staring in the light,
When do bounces to try your wings?
When it’s dark as night ?
~
THE MISSIONARY BOX.
In parts untried—on prairies wide,
Where homes were few and small;
No tone did swell, of Sabbath bell —
No gospel message fall. |
But on God's day did children play,
And others had their sports;
With few to pray, and none to say,
“Come, enter now His courts.â€
God’s servant true, this story knew,
And prayed, “ Oh, Lord, send me!â€
And I will preach, and pray, and teach,
To win their souls to thee. -
So, soon, he went, for he was bent,
To labor with the few;
And soon they heard, God’ s holy ere
The story, old— and new.
In humble cot, he shared their lot,
With wife and children near;
And strove to lead, and each one feed,
With word of life so dear.
THE MISSIONARY BOX.
In poverty, his friends and he,
' Toiled on, from year to year;
And bore the cross, with pain and loss:
But all without a fear.
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But winter comes, in distant homes,
And wails its bitter blasts;
And frosts will bite, by day or night,
As long as winter lasts.
THE MISSIONARY BOX.
So there, where ¢Zey have gone to stay,
As well as here, at home,
Do men need coats, and boys need boots:
But whence shall these all come?
One winter day, there came a sleigh —
The driver stops, and knocks:
Then through the door, he firmly bore
A large and Reavy box.
“Nothing to pay; kind friends: good coe
The driver said, and started ;
While each in wonder, feared some Rede
And wished some light imparted?
The cords untied, it opened wide,
This box of large proportions ;
Stuffed brimming full, with clothes of wool,
For each and all their portions.
With coats, and hats, and shoes, and caps,
With dresses, large and small,
And money, too—I tell you true,
It something had for all!
, LHE MISSIONARY BOX.
Oh, happy they, who far away,
With love did these remember;
And gifts divide, that should provide
- Against the bleak December.
The Lord of love looked from above,
And owned each offering free,—
“Inasmuch as you, this work did do,
Ye did it therefore unto me.â€
“And in that day, not far away,
When judgment shall be given;
Shall stand receiver and the giver,
At my right hand in Heaven.†|
£
DREAMING. |
He lay flat on his back among the tall —
grasses and the sweet-smelling flowers, and
_while he chewed the sweet end of a clover-stem
he dreamed a dream. To be sure his eyes
were wide open, but it was a dream, for all
that. This was the way it went: —
_ «Now I’m a man; a great rich man; I own
_all the houses in this town; and all the fields,
and all the horses are mine. I have hundreds ©
of servants working for me; whatever I tell
them to do, they go straight and do. My |
house is all built of marble, and has gold
floors, and the doors are of solid silver, and
my Carriage is magnificent, and it is drawn by
four horses, and a coachman, and footman,
and everything. People, when they meet me
on the street all take off. their hats, and bow |
away down, till their heads touch the ground,
_and stand still till I pass by. I am bigger
than the President. I could be President, if
I choose, but I don’t want to, he has so much
work. They want me to be their king, but I
won't be bothered with that. I just ride
around, and see splendid sights, and chew
ae DREAMING.
gum, and do what I please. I don’t have any
schools. in the town, because I don’t believe
in them. Once a monthI take all the children
to ride in my grand carriages, and treat them
to ice cream, and strawberries, and lemonade,
and turkey, and such things. Oh, I have the
grandest kind of a time, ands
“Charlie!†called a shrill voice, sounding
through the tree; “father says, come and
catch old Whitie, and harness him to the farm-
wagon, and drive him down to the meadow,
and bring 1 the rope along to tie him with; and
mother-says hurry, so your can go to Mrs.
Burke’s with a pail of buttermilk; and then
“WHAT TINY THINKS.
slip on your other trousers, so she can patch
those; and if you aren’t spry, you'll be late to
school and have to stay in at recess.
Charlie, the dreamer, slowly gathered him-
self up from the sweet-smelling bed, and shook
himself with a lazy yawn; it was such a nice -
- summer morning, and he felt so little like °
harnessing Whitie, and carrying buttermilk,
and studying his spelling lesson.
“Oh, dear,†he said, “I wish it was all
true.†.
But it wasn’t.
WHAT TINY THINKS.
‘ «J prpn’T do anything so very awful much;
I just put the spoon in the flour. and dipped
out enough to make snow; I wanted to play
it snowed all over my posy-bed, and covered ©
up the flowers, and they died; and I hadn’t
- anything but flour to make the snow out of;
‘snow has to be white; Aunt Lulie said I
might have used sand. She is a very foolish
Aunt Lulie; just as if I didn’t know that
snow wasn’t the color of sand!
WHAT TINY THINKS.
“Kate needn't have set me down so hard,
anyway ; folks don’t like to be put down hard,
if they are naughty. She said I was to think
about what I had done; just as if I couldn't
think about it, while I went out doors, and
washed my dishes, and set my table, and
dressed my dolly. Oh, dear me! such a many
eas e
WHAT TINY THINKS.
things to do; being set down hard, too. I
‘shouldn’t think my mamma would ‘low Kate
to treat me so. It wasn’t her flour; why
couldn’t she let mamma do the setting down?
What is the use in -thinking about it, any:
way? It is all spilled now, and I can’t make
it go back into the. flour barrel again. If
they would let me take my spade, I could
spade it back in a litlle while; but sitting still
thinking about it, won’t do a bit of good; I
should think Kate might. have more sense
than that!
- «*There’s no use crying | for spilled milk,’
papa said, when he went throug’: the kitchen ;
I don’t know what he meant; I wasn’t crying
- a bit; and it wasn’t milk, anyway; it was
flour. z . :
“Then mamma said: ‘I don’t know about
that; sometimes it keeps the milk from being
spilt next time. But I don’t know what she
meant; nobody has spilled any milk, and how -
could crying about it keep it from. ee
next time? I don't see.
“T wasn’t to think about milk, anyway: I
was to think about flour; oh! dear me! I
don’t want to think about flour — it isn’t nice.
,
<
aoe
a
WHAT TINY THINKS.
"There are ever so many nice things to think
of. ‘I don’t see why things have to spill. If
that pan hadn’t gone and turned itself upside
down, I should have been out doors instead
of sitting here, I didn’t turn it, it turned it-
self: it is the pan that ought to be punished.
Aunt Lulie said I was meddling: but she let
me meddle, and didn’t say a word till that old
pan tipped over: it was all beeduse it spilled,
and that wasn’t my fault at alk
“When J have a little girl, I won't let her
go and be set down hard in a-chair, on a nice.
day, just because a pan of flour tips over;.
~Aunt Lulie had a pitcher of milk, this morn-
ing, and it tipped over, and nobody made her
_ go and think about it; it must have been be-
cause it was milk; and that’s what papa said
about not crying for spilled-milk. Oh, dear!
- I wish mine had been milk instead of flour!
I wonder if I haven’t thinked about this long
enough?†|
Osi NE eee:
‘Poor little Nellie! *
Sweet little Nellie! _
Why are you here now, my dear?
What does it mean? .
Pray where have you been? |
And where is mamma? Can’t she hear?
Under the oak tree!
Giant old oak tree!
Far from your home, never fear, —
The dear Father sees,
Little Nell on her knees,
And Joves her; yes, loves her so dear!
Strayed from dear mamma,
Strayed from dear papa, —
She prays to “Our Father†above;
In Heaven he hears,
And quiets her fears ;
For you know, He’s a father of love /
. The moon rises high,
As she rides in the sky,
But the prayer rises faster, on high!
#
pa - AW OLD STORY.
- The moon sheds her light,
To gladden the night :
But a brighter nent shines. in the a.
~ An angel was sent,
And speedily went, .
And whispered to papa the way; -
_ And here on the ground, .-
His Nellie was found! —
_ Though she’d wandered so. far, far away]!
eS
oO
, + ?
AN OLD STORY:
OncE there was a storm; it rained, and |
rained, and rained, for forty days and nights,
without stopping. Think of that! There
__ -Was a great boat built for all the people who
were afraid of the rain, and would go in it
and be shut up, before the rain began to
come; fora good man told them it was com-
ines ac begged them to get. ready; but they
wouldn’t, so the good man took his family
and went in alone. . ;
_ After it had rained so long, and the water
AN OLD STORY.
covered over everything, and all the people
were drowned, then the rain stopped; but the
good man could not come out of his boat,
because there was no place for him to step
—all the ground was covered with water.
~ Months went by, and still this good man
and his family were shut into the boat. At
last, he saw the water was drying off so fast
that he opened a window of -his boat, and
sent a raven out to see about it.
Did I tell you that he had every kind of
bird and animal in his boat with him? They -
had sense enough to want to be saved, though
the people didn’t. ‘But the raven didn’t come
‘back to tell him anything about it. And he
sent a little gentle dove to see what she would
find; but the poor dove flew up and down.
the world, and couldn’t find any place to rest
her tired feet, for everything was covered with
water, so she said to herself: “I will go back
to that nice safe boat; there is no place here
for me.†So she came and tapped at the
window of the boat, and the good man opened
the window, and put out his hand, and took
her in. Then he waited seven days, and he
thought: “Perhaps the water is dried off
- AN OLD STORY.
now; I will send my dovie out to see.†So
he let her go, and she stayed away-all day.
I guess he almost thought she wasn’t coming |
back; but when it began to grow dusk, she .
came tapping at the window, and in her
mouth she brought a leaf from an olive tree.
“Ah!†said the good man, “dovie found
an olive tree, to rest on; the water is drying
off; but it isn’t very dry yet, for my dovie
_couldn’t find any place to make a home; she
-had to come back to me.â€
So he waited seven days more, then he
opened the window, and sent out the dove to
take another journey; at night he watched
for her, but she did not come; in the morning
-he looked for her, but she did not come; days
passed by, and dovie came back no more.
“Ah!†said the good man, “my dovie has
found a place to make her ahome; the earth
is getting dry.â€
Did he goon? No,not yet; he waited for
the One who told him about this rain, and told
him how to build his boat, and shut the door
after him when he went in, to come and tell
him when to go out. Whom do you think it
was? ~Let me tell you: It was the great
~
OUR JESSIE.
God! Would you like to hear the rest of :
this story? how the good man, and his family a
went out, and what they did, and what hap-
pened to them after that? Let me tell you
where to find it; open the big Bible to the
first book in it,and-you will find the wonder-
ful story.
OUR JESSIE.
PEEKING through the tall grain, —
Don’t you see my posies?
Guess they’re sweet as pansies;
Beautiful as roses.
Found them all myself, so;
Picked them ad/ for you!
Won't you please to have some?
Don’t you think they'll do?
Thought that was my mamma!
Sakes! it’s just a stump!
Looked like it was someone,
Standing like a pump!
OUR JESSIE.
Where'd you s'pose the house is ?
Wonder if mamma is lost?
My! I’ve tored my dress so!
Wonder what it cost ?
Guess I ain’t afraid, though;
Jesus — He can see, —
Jesus knows about me,
Knows just where I be;
Jesus made these flowers,
All so sweet and bright ;
He'll take care of Jessie, —
An’ bring me home all right.
I'll ask Him— ’cause he hears me;
I ask Him every day, —
“Dear Jesus, please to lead me,
Show Jessie the right way;â€.
And tell me where mamma is, —
Before my flowers are dead ?
Hark! there she comes! He heard me!
It’s just as mamma said.
TRYING TO AMUSE WILLIE.
PERuaps you think it was an easy thing to
do. I can tell you his sister Fanny did not
think so; every bone in her body ached before
the afternoon was over. You see the way of it
was: Willie had been sick, now he was well
enough to be down in the sitting room, and
TRYING TO AMUSE WILLIE.
not well enough to be out doors; and he
wanted to be out doors, and had made up his
mind that nothing else could possibly please
him; that is what made it such hard work.
Mamma, the one who knew how to please
everybody, had gone down town on errands
that must be done, and. Fanny had stayed
from school on purpose to amuse Willie.
She tried everything; playing ball, play-
ing marbels, reading stories; nothing suited.
Willie said it was no fun to play ball ona
carpet, and that she played marbles just like
a girl, though how else he could have ex-
pected his sister to play them, I am sure I
don’t know. He said the stories were silly,
and that Fanny was a little goose, and, for
the matter of that, all girls were geese.
- After that, Fanny concluded to try music,
and see if that would soothe his savage breast.
You see the result: Master Willie seated ©
himself on the foot-rest, turned his back to
the nice little musician, and pressed both
hands over his ears, determined not to hear
anote if he could help it. As for Fanny, not
knowing what else to do, she played away,
as loud as she possibly could, in the hope
TRYING TO AMUSE WILLIE.
that a touch of sweetness would coax. its
way behind those naughty hands, and steal
into the naughty heart. He did get tired of
his silliness after a while, and settled down
with a sigh, on the sofa, and let Fanny read ©
to him; but he didn’t enjoy it very weil,
because, you see, he had made up his mind
that he wouldn’t enjoy anything, and when
a boy makes up his mind to that, it is very
hard indeed to amuse him.
“Have you had a pleasant time?†was
the very first question that mamma asked,
when she came home; and before either of
them could answer, she said:
“T was a little worried about you, and
walked quite fast. How came you not to
let Albert Miller in?†;
_ “Let him in?†said Willie, sitting up -
straight; “why, he hasn’t been here.â€
“Ves, he has, dear; I stopped into Mrs.
~ Miller’s and asked her to let Albert come down
and stay till I got back; then she asked me to
get a spool of silk for her, and when I stopped
to give it to her, she said Albert had been
around here, and knocked and couldn't get in;
I should have felt real frightened, only he
TRYING TO AMUSE WILLIE.
said the piano was going; so I suppose
you didn’t hear. But, Willie, I should have
thought you would have heard the knock ;
you were not playing, were you?â€
“Pshaw!†said Willie; “now isn’t that
mean? I wanted to see Albert, dreadfully ;
if you hadn’t been playing that old piano
you would have heard him.â€
“ And if you hadn’t been poking both hands
into your ears, you would have heard him,â€
said Fanny, and she could not help laughing.
Now let me tell you something nice about
Willie; he had the good sense to laugh too.
“It’s all my own fault,†he said; “I needn’t
have been so hateful. Mamma, she tried real
hard to please me, but I was awful.â€
TROUBLE.
DREADFUL trouble, too! Poor Harry Stu-
art all alone at the north end of the big city,
and accused of stealing the largest and hand.
somest book in the great book store. No
wonder he buried his face in his hands and
let the big tears trickle through them! How
was he going to prove that he did no such
thing? He had no father to help him, and
his mother was only a poor sewing woman
whom nobody knew..
What made them think that he took the
book? Why, he came there yesterday, on an
errand for his mother’s mistress, and the
beautiful book in its elegant brown and gold
binding, lay on the counter, and there wasn’t
‘another customer insight, and when Harry
left, the book was gone! They hadn’t found
it, to be sure. but of course he had hidden it
somewhere, and meant to sell it at a second-
hand book store.
“Which would be a very silly thing to do,â€
said the junior partner, sternly; he might
much better confess to us where the book is,
and bring it back; you can never sell it, my
TROUBLE.
boy; it is too elegant and expensive a book
to be taken without questions. Your safest
-way will be to confess to us all about it.â€
But Harry had no answer to make to this:
he could only sit still, and let the big tears
fall; how was fe to tell where a book was,
that he had never seen in his life? He did
not even remember seeing it on the counter.
He had said so, as earnestly as he could, but
of course they didn’t believe him.
Just then came Mr. Henderson, the great
man in the great book store. ‘“What’s the
matter here?†he asked, and then they told
him the whole story, and Harry had to sit still
and hear it told, how 4e had stolen a book.
“Look here,†said Mr.. Henderson, interrupt-
ing, “there is some mistake; did you say his
name was Harry Stuart? My boy, where do
you go to Sunday-school ?†.
“To the Seventh Street Church,†murmured
Harry, in a choked voice.
“T thought so; I thought I knew the boy;
Mr. Wilson, whoever has the book, it is not
this lad, and if he says he knows nothing
about it, you can take my word for it, that he
doesn’t. Last Sabbath I was Visiting at his
Ma
Eo FDS SC
TROUBLE.
Sunday-school, and he was pointed out to me
as the boy who was always there, always had
his lesson, and always attentive and respect-
ful, always went from the Sunday-school to
the church, and always went to the Thursday
evening prayer meeting. Such a boy neither
steals nor lies; the same things don’t go to-
gether. Look up here, my son; do you know
anything about that book?â€
“No, sir,†said Harry, lifting his head, and
his voice was firm now, and as clearas a bell.
“All right. We beg your pardon for being
unjust to you; go home and tell your mother
to be glad that she has a son whose character
can speak for him, when things look against
inion
BEING GOOD.
It is little Gracie Marks; she was curled,
and slippered, and ribboned, and’set up in a
chair in Aunt Laurd’s room, away from all
mischief, to “be good†while mamma and
Aunt Laura dressed. Then they were going
out. ;
“ Now, Gracie, I am going down stairs a
minute,’ Aunt Laura said; “you will bea
very good girl till. come back, won’t you?â€
“ Oh, yes. indeed,†said Gracie; she always
said that, and meant it, too, I do believe.
“You won't get out of your chair?â€
“Oh, no indeed, Aunt Laura; not at all.â€
So Aunt Laura went. She was gone
longer than she meant to be; Gracie grew
_ lonesome; she looked about for something to
do. A bottle of cologne stood on the table ;
she leaned forward to see if she could reach
it; on no account.would she get down from
her chair; yes she could reach it; what fun
it would be to pour it into the tumbler; that
wouldn't be naughty. She had the misfor-.
tune to spilla good deal of it; that wasn’t
part of her plan; she was afraid it might be
BEING GOOD.
called “naughty.†Perhaps it would take
the color all out of the marble. She heard
mamma say that morning, that the drops of
SS
y \
Vp
i
SS
\
tea had taken the color out of her dress; the
cologne must be wiped up. She looked
about for something to do it with. There
BEING GOOD.
was a towel, and a handkerchief; in fact the
rack was full of towels, but all out of reach,
unless she got down from her chair; and that
was not to be thought of.
_ “My sakes!†she said, “this must be
wiped up, before the color goes out of that
marble. I might take a piece of the curtain,
if I could get it; that is t6o awful long; see
how it drags on the floor; I know it wouldn't
do any hurt to cut that off, if I only had the
scissors !|†|
What a lucky thing Gracie thought it was
that just then she spied the scissors, on the
floor, under the edge of her footstool! By
means of very careful reaching, and a narrow
escape from a pitch over, head first, she got
hold of the scissors without getting down
from the chair; then she dived after the cur-
tain, and gouged a nice large piece out of _
the heavy damask; it was so awful long,
you know!
Then with a satisfied face she mopped up
the cologne, and had everything in order
before Aunt Laura came back.
“Were you a good girl?†she asked, as
she came in.
BEING GOOD.
“Um,†said Gracie; “I didn’t get down at
all; I didn’t put a single foot down; I poured
the cologne into the tumbler, to amuse me,
and it spilled over a big puddle, and I was
afraid it would take the color out of the
marble, so I wiped it up.â€
-« With what?†asked Auntie, looking
around her quickly, and feeling a good deal
startled. .
« Why, with that too long part, to the cur-
tain, where it drags on the floor, and doesn’t
look nice. I cut it off, and now it’s just right.â€
“Oh, my patience!†said Auntie.
EO Seo ssie kes:
HERE she sits, all curled up in a heap in
the arm-chair; her dollie, dressed in‘its best,
sits on the floor at her feet. Lulie doesn’t
. care anything about her dollie; she is in
_ trouble. Her pretty face is all snarled up.
Brother Will has advised her this very morn-
- ing to let him take the large flat iron and iron
it out.
What do you suppose is the matter? You
could never guess. Yesterday she went to
Grandpa Knowelson’s to spend the day.
Grandpa Knowelson is an old man, over
eighty; his hair is as white as snow, but it is
long, and soft, and beautiful. Lulie thinks it
is the prettiest hair she ever’saw in her life.
She has wished, a great many times, that her
hair was white, like grandpa’s, and she has
tried flour and salt, and sugar, and every other
white thing she can get hold of, to make her
hair look like grandpa’s, but they all slip off,
and leave it as brown as ever. |
Yesterday she discovered something new ~
about grandpa, which is the cause of all her
grief. She found that he could take his hair
off; he just slipped a string, and off it came,
LULIE’S TROUBLES.
as smooth and nice, without any bleed, or any-
thing, and he hung it on the bedpost, and
brushed it till it looked like white silk. Now —
Lulie’s hair is curly, and long, and it snarls
dreadfully, and. mamma, when she combs it,
be as careful as she can, sometimes pulls most
horribly. Lulie dreads the time for the hair
combing and curling. But yesterday she was
glad and happy.
“Why, grandpa,†she said, “I didn’t know
-people’s hairs comed off! How funny. It
doesn't pull a bit now, does it? I wonder
mamma doesn’t take mine off; does it hurt
tond omit, grandpa?†|
“ Not a bit,†said grandpa, but then he went
off into a great laugh, and didn’t explain any
more.
Lulie thought about ita great many times.
This morning she had been trying it; she has
been up on a chair, hunting before the glass
for the string under the hair, that grandpa
takes hold of, but she couldn’t find it. Then
she pulled at her brown curls, till it almost
seemed as if they would come out by the
roots, they hurt her so horribly; but the hair
stuck fast.
LULIE’S TROUBLES.
Pretty soon she went to her mamma, and
learned to her great grief and dismay, that
her hair wasn’t made like grandpa’s at all, but
was fastened on, so it would be impossible
ever to get it off, as he did his. |
Poor Lulie! After all her pulling and snarl-
ing. She is dreadfully disappointed. It seems
to her that she cannot get overit.. She thinks
she is an illused person; why couldn't her
hair have been made like grandpa’s when she
would have liked it so much?
Mamma can’t help laughing about it, but
she says:
“Poor child, I am sorry for her; her trouble
looks as big to her, as some of mine do to
me, I dare say.â€
WHO'LL SETTLE IT.
“Tuis makes the sixth time I’ve caught it, ©
without missing,†Jessie Knowlton said, as
she spread her pretty sticks to catch the
bright colored hoop.
“The fifth, you mean,†Laura foes
_ said, preparing to throw. _ .
“Why, nol don't. I mean the sixth; I’ve
caught it five times before.â€
“Oh, no; you are mistaken, I’ve been
counting; you have caught it four times.â€
The red on Jessie’s cheeks began to grow
brighter; “I'll leave it to Nettie,†she said,
turning to the girl who was looking on;
“haven't I caught the hoop five times ?â€
“T guess so; I haven't been counting.â€
“ Ned,†said Laura, turning to her brother,
who sat on the grass, “isn’t it just four times
that she has caught this hoop?â€
Ned laughed and glanced towards Nettie,
with a mischievous wink in his handsome
eyes. “I guess so,†he said. “I’ve been
looking the other way most of the time; but
then, I’ve no doubt you are both right; I am -
WHO'LL SETTLE IT,
willing to agree, first with one, and then
with the other.†_
“ Oh, well,†said Jessie, “there is no use in
leaving it to anybody! of course 7 know for
myself ‘how many times I have caught a
hoop, without being watched by anybody.
I wouldn’t cheat, about such a silly thing as.
that, at least.â€
“Who supposed you pale cheat? What
is the use in being so foolish? I say you
are mistaken, and that you haven’t caught
this hoop but four times.â€
“And J say I am zof mistaken; I know I
have caught it five times.â€
How fast they were getting on! The
cheeks of both were like glowing roses. How
was it going toend? They had stopped play-
-ing, and were looking crossly at each other;
and the boy on the grass, and the girl behind
them were both beginning to feel uncom- |
fortable.
“Pshaw!†Ned said, “ what difference does
it make, Laura, how many times she has
caught it?â€
“It makes no difference to me, of course;
Laura said, stiffly —“I just happened to
a
WHO'LL SETTLE IT.
speak of it, and she took me up so suddenly.
I know it is but four times, but I don’t see
why she cares.†= |
“Bow! wow! wow!†said Towzer, getting
up, and shaking his coat, and looking fiercely
at Laura; he was Jessie’s dog, and he began
to think it was time tointerfere. He looked
so funny that Laura, as she turned to see
what was the matter with him, could not help
laughing. No sooner did she begin to laugh,
than Jessie joined in with all her might; the
others helped, and before they knew it, they
were all down on the grass, in a perfect tumult
of fun, |
“Perhaps I am mistaken,†Jessie said, at
last, as soon as. she could speak; “I’m sure
I thought I had caught it five times.†.
~ «Well, Z thought it wasn’t but four; but,
‘then, of course it may be I that is mistaken;
what difference does it make anyhow? Oh,
Jessie, how funny Towzer did look!†And-
then they all laughed again. So Towzer was
the one, at last, who settled the dispute; and
I think he did it in a very ingenious way.
ONE LITTLE FIGURE.
“IT won’t come right!†called out Robbie,
and he scratched his head and looked dread-
fully discouraged. He had done that exam-
ple three times!
“What is the matter mn it?†mamma
asked, from the next room.
“Why, there’s twenty cents too little, every
single time; it keeps coming just so; fifty- —
two cents, when it ought to be seventy-two.
I don’t know what to do with the mean old
thing.â€
Then mamma came, and looked over his
slate. “Why, Robbie!†she said, “how many
are nine times four?â€
“Thirty-six,†said Robbie, after a minute,
hanging his head and looking foolish. “That’s
queer, and I said it was ‘thirty-four’ every
time! What.adunce! But then, mother, that
is only two cents difference, I don’t see how
it got to be twenty, down here.â€
“It grew,†said mother; “ mistakes almost
always do; remember that, my boy.†—
“One little figure making all that fuss!â€
said Robbie, as he rubbed out the four, and
put a big six in its place.
A COLLOOUY,
FOR TWO LITTLE BITS OF GIRLS, AND THEIR.
DOLLIES
Two Mamas.
(Mamma Kate— with her dollie lying on the floor:)
“ Now stop that yelling this minute, I say}
What do you mean by lying there ?
I won't let you go our doors to-day, —
You naughty baby, to pull my hair!â€
(amma Nellie —to her baby in her arms :)
“Hush, my darling! don’t you cry,—
Shut your eyes and go to sleep;
You shall ride out, by-and-by:
There! there! baby, don’t you peep!†—
(Mamma Kate— in a loud, sross voice :)
“ Now stop that kicking this minute, I say? -
There never was such a naughty child {
_ Just because you can’t run, and play,
~ You make a fuss, and drive me wild.â€
A COLLOQUY.
(Mamma Nellie, in a sweet, low tone :)
“Hush, my darling! mamma’s here;
Snug your head down on my arm!
I won’t leave you, never fear,—-
Mamma’s baby, safe from harm.â€
(Mamma Kate, in a VERY cross voite:)
“ Now stop that pulling! I'll slap your handt
You need a whipping, I know right well;
Such work-as this, I cannot stand:
I'll shut you up and let you yell!â€
(Alemma Nellie, to Mamma Kate :)
“There! my darling’s fast asleep,
Now I'll lay him softly down;
May will stay by him, and keep
- Watch, while we € go into town.â€
(Mamma Ki ate, to Mamma Nellie :)
“TI look like going! he'll yell all seen
Such times as I have, make me sick!
Babies are all alike, they say,—
That’s stuff and nonsense; yours don't
kick 1â€
TWO BOYS.
CHAPTER I.
Boy Purr is fast asleep; mamma beside
him, book in hand, does not read much: she
would rather watch her darling. He did not
seem very well when she put him to bed. She
gave him a lump of sugar with just one drop
of pure brandy on it, for fear he had a pain
TWO BOYS.
_ in his dear little stomach. He ate ice cream
at dinner, and brandy is excellent after one
has eaten too much ice cream; so Philip’s
mamma thinks. Poor Philip, to have a
mamma who thinks that brandy is excellent
for anything but to throw in the gutter.
Yes, boys and girls, I would like her better if
she wanted every bit of it thrown there.
Rather, ten thousand times throw it there,
than feed baby Philip with a drop of it on a
lump of sugar, for an imaginary pain. No
wonder the poor darling looks cross; it isn’t
natural. for babies to love brandy, even on
sugar.
Mamma, as she sits there looking at him,
goes off into wonderings as to what her dear
boy will be when he gets to be’a man. .
What wonderful things he will do and say —
he shall have a splendid education, and he
shall travel in Europe, and in every other
part of the world that he fancies. There
will be no lack of money, for his father is
a distiller.
You don’t know what that is? Why, it is
one who makes the drops of brandy for others
TWO BOYS. ..
to buy. Makes it by the barrel, the —
head, the ocean full I had almost said, so
many people buy it, and are willing to pay.
such a great deal of money for it. Oh,
no danger but that ay Philip will have
plenty.
People are sure to be able to sell brandy.
There may come a time when silks, and mus-
lins, and calicoes, don’t sell very well; when ~
butter, and eggs, and chickens; are not
wanted very much,—but those who have
- brandy to sell are pretty sure to find those
who want to buy.
There’s no doubt but that people can make
money by selling brandy. And so they can
by stealing; or by taking a man’s pocket —
book away from him, and then killing him so
he can’t tell. There are a good many ways
in which to make money. But these are
wrong,—do you say? Oh yes, I know it.
You look through the Bible this afternoon
and see if .you can find any verse in it that.
reads like this:
“Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor
drink.â€
TWO BOYS.
If you find it, just ask mother what it
means. Philip’s mother would have said:
“Children shouldn’t talk about what they
don’t understand!†As if children would
ever understand anything, at that rate! But
then, my dear boys and girls, Philip’s mother
is not-yours, aren't you glad? Poor little
Philip!
CHAPTER II.
Boy Boppy is not asleep. He is very
much awake. Here he sits on a box keeping
guard over Joe Stebbins’ blacking brushes
and foot rest, while Joe goes to suck a little
cider through a straw. There’s a boy at the
corner who has a pail full of it; his mother
treats her evening callers with a glass full;
why should not Willie treat his friends with
a straw full?
While they are taking nice long pulls at
the straw, they think of boy Bobby sitting
there alone on the box.
“Poor little chap!†says Joe. “I say,Wil-
lie, can’t he have a taste? He’s a little fel:
low?†.
“Course he can,†says generous Willie;
CT a
i nt at i cil i rN
TWO BOYS.
“tell him to come right over; we can watch
the things; they won’t run away.â€
“ Halloo, Bobby! Come and get a taste of
cider?â€
But Bobby,not much larger thana minute,
shakes his curly head, and opens wide his
great brown eyes, and calls back:
“No sir; I don’t. I’m a temperance!â€
“You're a what?â€
“A temperance.â€
_ “Why, you little ninny! This is nothing
but cidera:
But Bobby’s brown head erates
“My mother don’t believe in cider; she
says it’s young alcohol; and she don’t want
me to have anything to do with Mr. Alcohol,
whether he is young or old.â€
How the boys laughed.
“A baby temperance lecture!†said Willie;
“that’s funny, I declare! My mother is tem-
perance too, but she says it is putting it too
strong to think that a little cider can hurt
anybody !â€
“Oh well,†said Joe, “ Bobby’s father is a
real temperance fanatic; and his mother's »
TWO BOYS.
worse. They’re just wild about such things.
Bobby ain't to blame; he’s nothing but a
baby.â€
Blessed Bobby! Not only a good father,
but a good mother! No wonder he is “a
temperance.†How do I know they are
good? Well now, it is a queer thing; at
least maybe you will think it queer; but it
is a fact that almost every man and woman
who is hard at work for temperance, is a
good man and woman. Mind you, I don’t say
that all the people who are zo¢t-at work for
temperance, are bad men and women; you
needn't run and tell mother that I said any
- such thing; but I just want you to learn to
notice people. You pick out a real wicked
man in your village or city ; one whom every-
body knows is bad, and ask mother if he is
trying to get the people to sign the temper-
ance pledge; or if he belonged to the Crusade
people, or if he works hard to keep the rum-
sellers from getting permission to sell rum.
You will find out how it works.
CHAPTER III.
You don’t know these two boys? Why,
yes, you do. They are Bobby, and Philip.
You didn’t think boy Bobby would grow up ~
into such a rough ugly-looking fellow as that!
I beg your pardon, he is a sA/endid-looking fel-
low; that rough one with his fists doubled
up, ready to fight, is Philip.
“What! Sady Philip who lay in his little
crib asleep!â€
Just so. Here he is. From sixteen
months to sixteen years is a good while; a
good many things can happen. All that
money, which was going to last a life time,
and do so many wonderful things for
Philip, is gone. I tell you brandy is the —
most slippery stuff! Even the money made
by it, often slips away in an hour.
‘The great distiller failed, and then shot
himself because he was too much of a
-coward to live; Philip’s mother died be-
TWo BOYS.
cause her heart was so broken, she couldn’t
live; and Philip sells whiskey at a penny
a glass, to loafers who lean on the coun-
ter and drink it, and swear/
That is baby Philip! You remember that
drop of brandy on a lump of sugar: well,
you would be surprised to know how many
pains he had, and how many lumps of
sugar it took to quiet him, and how soon
he learned to cry until he got it.
Just imagine his mother thinking that
she had fed him into such a boy as he
is! She did live till she began to fear
it. Poor mother, poor boy.
Boy Bobby is still “a temperance.†In
fact, the boys of the town have almost forgot-
ten his real name, they are so used to calling
him “Pledgy.†He doesn’t dislike the name;
and it is really wonderful how many boys he
has coaxed into signing his pledge! He
keeps a copy of their names, and he likes to
boast that the papers are pasted together and
will reach down the main aisle of the brick
church! A church aisle paved with. tem-
perance names is a.grand thing.
TWO BOYS.
But of course you don’t need to be told
that some people think Bobby meddles
with what doesn’t belong to him. The boys
hear their fathers say this is a free country
and that every man has a right to eat
pie, and cake, and drink wine, and murder
his wife, and choke his baby, if he wants
to be such a brute as to do so! and why
shouldn’t they believe it? Boys can’t be
expected to be wiser than men.
Well, boy Philip is one who believes it
too; “Meddler,’ he calls Bobby; “a mean
temperance meddler.†He threatens to
knock him, to kick him, to half 4/7 him,
if he ever comes there sticking his dirty
pledge in his face again. |
None of these things does he venture to
do, because he knows that Bobby’s hands
and arms are strong, and so are his nerves;
but he bids him “ quit that corner,†and calls.
after him that he “hopes he shall never have
the pleasure of a sight of him again; miser-
able meddler with other people’s business!â€
All of which doesn’t hurt Bobby.
CHAPTER IV.
NiGHT and storm. The moon trying to
struggle through the heavy clouds, and the
sharp rain wetting to the skin the poor
miserable, stumbling man, who tries to make
- his way over the rough road; a homeless,
friendless man. Nowhere to go, no place
to sleep. Kicked out from the rum holes °
of the town because he has nothing in
his pocket to pay for that which he
craves—a drop of brandy.
Oh, baby Philip in your lace-curtained
crib, with your beautiful young mother sit-
_ing beside you, watching the quieting effect
of a lump of sugar with a drop of brandy on
it, who would have thought it could ever
come to this! Yet this is Philip!
TWO BOYS.
What wf become of him? It is cold, oh!
so cold; he feels as if he were freezing; he is
almost starved, yet it isn’t food, after all,
that he wants so much; he would sell his
own heart for one swallow of brandy! that
is all he wants in the world. He cannot
get away from the awful imp who owns —
him. body and soul.
If only he could go where there was
neither sight nor sound nor smell, where
no one talked of it, or thought of it,
where it wouldn’t be possible to get it,
his poor soul might be saved,—though
there zs very little body left to save; but
he cannot find such a place; for it is a
“free country and every man has a right
to drink brandy if he wants to,†so the
men say, who were boys a few years ago,
and who heard their fathers say it; and
the city is full of places where even such
a poor wretch as this has a right to buy
poison and pour it scalding hot, down his
throat if he only has something to pay for it.
If he hasn’t, it is still’a free. country, and
he has a right to—s¢ea/ the money! Has —
TWO BOYS.
he? Boys, ask your fathers how this is;
how many rights have people in this free
country of ours? Where do the rights
stop, and the wrongs begin?
Mother's boys, every one of you, when to-
morrow or next day, you get to be men, on
which side of this awful question are you
going to vote? Do you want to help save
the souls of even such poor wretches as
Philip? Don’t you think he is worth sav-
ing? Don’t you think a man who is so
far gone that he cares more for a glass
of rum than for his body, and soul, and
heaven, and everything else, is worth
thinking about at all?
Is that what you say? Bend your heads,
aad let me whisper a word in your hearts;
the Lord Fesus Christ died to save him!
Shall you and I daré to do less than the
very most we can, after that, to save this
_ poor man’s soul for Jesus ?
CHAPTER V.
« Wuat is the matter, father? Is it any-
thing unpleasant?’ Dr. Pierson’s daughter
said, as she came down the stairs, and stopped
at her father’s shoulder while he read again
his note, and then folded it with a grave face.
“It is something very sad, Cora,†he said ;
and he turned the note over and over. “I
wonder what I can best do for him?â€
The note was addressed to “ Robert Pier-
son, M. D.â€
“Who is it, father?â€
“It is dn acquaintance of my boyhood,
Philip Brooks; the poor fellow that was
brought up on rum, and learned to sell it
when he was fourteen. This note tells me
that he is in the ward of the prison; taken
TWO BOYs.
up for stealing, or attempting to. Now he
has delirium tremens, and in his raving, talks
about me, and tells me not to meddle with
him. -I used to try to get him to sign my
pledge when I was a boy. I suppose that is
what he means. Poor fellow. I believe I'll
try it again; I don’t know anything that
looks more hopeless, but yet so long as he
has a soul there may be hope of saving it.
“How can we work best for him, daugh-
ter?â€
Then father and daughter sat down in the
library together and prepared fomamecddlem
with this man’s affairsagain. He had hoped,
you will remember, that he should never see
boy Bobby’s face again, but that same boy
Bobby, in the shape of Dr. Robert Pierson,
was planning to do what he could.
What could he do? Ever so many things.
He had time, and money, and skill. He could
bring the poor wretch to his beautiful home,
-and watch day and night over his wild rav-
ings; he could see that he had the most nour-
ishing food in the world, at least the daugh-
ter Cora could, and that it hadn’t a drop of
brandy in any form, coming near to it;
TWO BOYS.
there was one other thing that he could
do; ore thing that was better than all the
rest —he could pray for the poor drunkard.
When a man has learned to do that, he has
learned the best thing that there is to know.
Did you ever notice that people who pray
-a great deal, are always at work trying to
show how much they wanted what they
asked for, by doing their part towards getting
it? Real true prayer, and real true work, al-
ways go together.
How Dr. Pierson. did work for Philip
Brooks! You want to know more about it?
Why, there came a day when he. looked very
sad. Philip was getting well, able to go out
on the streets again.
“ Now for trouble,†said Dr. Pierson, talk-
ing again with Cora; “as long as the Lord
kept him sick, he was safe. But all along
the streets there are human beings waiting
to tempt him back to death; and we can't
help it, because this is a‘ free country, and
he has a right to drink, if he wants to.â€
You want to hear the end of it? Well,
those prayers —you know? The Lord heard
them, He is stronger than rum: He reached
_ TWO BOYS.
down to Philip the drunkard and put His
arm around him, and drew him into a sweet
‘ place, where he met the Lord Jesus, and loved
him, and gave himself up to Him!
Then the dear Lord had pity on his poor
- weak one and took him home, because this
earth, full of people whom he had made, and
set over one another as keepers and helpers,
had gotten to be such a “free country†that
they did not believe that they had a right to
save the boys from becoming drunkards.
They had a right to drink, you know, if they
wanted to.
The pity of it is, that they come toa ‘Jlew:
where they still have that same right,- but
they don't want to! There are not many safe
places on earth for such, but the Father has
a place,—for, nothing that “defileth†is al-
lowed to come there. Happy Philip! saved
at last! Miserable world! Too afraid of
meddling with people’s “ liberties †to make a
safe place for tempted souls.
Mother’s boys! See to it that you cone
for true liberty — that with which “ Christ
makes people free.â€
WISE ALICE.
THEY were moving.
strange town, strange people. Everything
out of place, and all up in heaps, and Alice
thought it was splendid; she was not to begin
school until everything was in order. Mother
was in the kitchen unpacking a barrel of
dishes; she had her short dress on, that made
her look like a little girl, and her hair was
tied up in a big dark calico cloth, to keep it
from dust.
She had torn her apron two or three times
on the nails in the barrel, and, in short, neither
she nor her house looked exactly as she would
have: liked them, for callers. The door bell
rang; she heard Alice’s quick feet rushing
down the stairs. Alice liked to go to the
door.
“ Alice, Alice!†called mother, but Alice
flew along; she heard, but she didn’t heed.
“Mamma doesn’t hear the bell,†she said
to herself. “Of course she will want me to
go to the door; she wouldn’t have called if
she had heard the bell.†_
So the door was flung open; there stood a
WISE ALICE.
lady in a morning dress of brocaded silk,
bracelets on her arms, a gold chain around
her neck, her hair in lovely curls, and a sun
parasol in her hand. Alice thought her mag-
nificent. She smiled sweetly on her.
“Can I see your mound ps a moment ? â€
she asked.
Alice thought swiftly; there was a pile of
carpets in the parlor, and dozens of boxes; in
the study it was worse yet.
“It all looks alike,†she said to herself. “I
might as well take her to the kitchen as any-.
where else.†So she smiled back and said:
“Walk this way please.â€
And the next thing her mother knew the
royally dressed lady was picking her way
through the kitchen, trying to save her silk
wrapper from being torn by the nails that
stuck out from all the boxes.
“T beg pardon,†she said, in a silvery voice,
“T didn’t know you were engaged; your little
daughter said I might see you a moment. I
am Mrs. Wallace, your next neighbor, and I
called to invite you to the social that is held
at my house this evening.†,
She was very sweet and nice, but there was |
WISE ALICE.
a curious look on her face, as if she would
like to laugh.
_ Alice’s mother didn’t know what to say to
her, and knew she looked like a fright. She
got her visitor safely out from among the
boxes and barrels, told her she was too busy
to think of-a social, and.shut and locked the
front door after her. Then she turned to
Alice.
“ See here,†she said, “shall I put this key |
in my pocket, or do you think you have sense
enough not to show any more people to the
kitchen ?â€
“Why, mamma,†Alice said, with wide open
eyes, “it looks as well as the rest of the
house; I didn’t know what else to do.â€
“T know it; the trouble is, instead of com-
ing to me for direction when the bell rang,
and when I called you, you flew along, think-
ing you were so wise that you didn’t need
any. The worst help anybody can have is
one who knows too much to ask what she
shall do.†|
“NOT FOR SALE.’
“HERE, my lad, if you want to earn five
cents, now's your chance!†This was what
Mr. Harvey Phelps said to Ned Turner, as.
he swung himself from his horse. “You hold.
my horse for five minutes, and I'll give you
five cents; that’s fair, isn’t it?â€
Now if there was anybody in the world who
really needed five cents, it was Ned Turner,
so he said:
“Yes, sir,†very briskly, and rushed across:
the street and took hold of the bridle.
Mr. Phelps was gone considerably more
than five minutes; you may have noticed that.
men always ave gone longer than they say
they will be; but when ne came down the |
steps and saw Ned standing . qUciely beside
his horse, he said: .
“ All right, my boy,†and tossed him a ten
cent piece. .
“See here, sir,’ Ned said, just as he was
mounting his horse, “you’ve given me five
cents too much.â€
“ How is that?â€
“NOT FOR SALE.â€
“Why, you said you’d give me five cents,
and here is ten.†.
Mr. Phelps laughed. .
“Upon my word,†he said, “ you’re an hon-
est fellow; why didn’t you keep it, and say
nothing? That is the way fellows of your
stamp generally do.â€
You should have seen the ted blood rush
up into Ned's honest cheeks.
“Thank you, sir,†he said, quietly, “I ain’t
for sale; when I do decide to sell myself, T
won't do it for five cents, anyhow.â€
How Mr. Phelps laughed! He seemed to
think it was a good joke.
“You're a plucky youngster,†he said, “I
like your spunk; you may keep the other five
for a present, since you won't take more than
five for your pay; I-didn’t know I gave it to
you. I suppose it would have. been all the
same if I had thrown out a ten dollar gold
piece, or would you have concluded that you
could sell yourself for so much money as
that?â€
“Tl have something better than money
~ when I sell myself,†Ned said: “but I thank
you for the five cents all the same.†.
a
+
“NOT FOR SALE.â€
Mr. Phelps rode away still laughing; but
as he cantered along, his face began to grow
sober. The truth was, he went to thinking
over some things that he had done that very
morning, and he began to think that Ze was
for sale, and that he had sold himself for such
a mean thing as money, and pretty cheap at
that. I can’t tell you about it, but I know
that he wished, for a few minutes, that he was ©
a boy again, and as honest as that ragged one
who held his horse for him, and who wouldn’t
cheat, even about five cents. .
TINY’S WORD.
Tue cars were hot and dusty, and everyone
jooked tired, and rather cross. Tiny was
tired, and wished they were at Buffalo, and
wished papa would wake up and play with
her, or mamma would let her braid the fringe
on her wrap into little tails. The boy came
through the car with books. He had been
through with pop-corn, and lemonade, and
oranges, and apples, and prize-candy, and rail-
way guides, and peanuts, and Tiny could not
think what else. This time he had his arms
full of handsome-looking books. Tiny wished
papa were awake to buy her one, and won-
dered if there were any pictures in them.
The pretty lady in front of them looked at
all the books in a sleepy, listless way. “There
isn’t one here that looks interesting,†she
said to the lady behind her. I do wish I had
a good book to read; it is so stupid traveling.â€
But she let the boy go away with his books,
and leaned back in the seat, and looked so
tired and discouraged that Tiny felt sorry for
her. It seemed strange that, among all those
TINY’S WORD.
bright books, there shouldn't have been one
to please her.
“Perhaps she might like my book,†Tiny
‘said to herself; “It is real sweet and good. iI
mean to lend it to her.†So, in another min-
ute, she put a small, soft hand on the lady's
-arm, and said, in a low, sweet voice: “ Pretty
lady, would you like my book? It is just as
sweet.†:
The pretty lady gave a sudden start, and
looked around quickly. She was surprised,
but she couldn’t hely smiling at-the dear little
face that looked out at her from under Tiny’s
brown traveling-hat.
“Thank you, darling,’ she said, and held
out her hand for the book. .
Now, the book was just two inches long,
and a little more than an inch wide, and the
name of it was “Early Dew.†The lady
laughed as she looked at it,— it was so funny
in the little bit of a girl to think her little bit
of a book would be interesting. She opened
it, however, and the very first words that she
saw were wonderful words. They were these:
“T have loved thee with an everlasting love.†-
Now, it happened that the lady was very sad .
MSR Sc
TINY’S WORD.
in her heart; Si had had a pend whom she
thought loved her with a love that would last
forever; and it had not. But she knew about
this Friend, whose word is sure,— who always
keeps a// his promises. For a little while
she had almost forgotten that there was such
a Friend; but the sweet words from Tiny’s
book reminded her of it, and made her feel so
glad and grateful! She kept the book a good
while; she did not turn over many leaves,
but she looked so pleasant that Tiny thought
it must be interesting to her. Sure enough,
as she passed it back, she said:
“Thank you, darling. Your little book has
helped me. I think it will Belp me all the rest
of my life.â€
WHAT BLANCHE THOUGHT.
*IT is really the silliest thing that ever
_ was, not to let me ride on his horse’ she
said, as she stood by his side and patted his
silky coat; “just see how he likes me! And
' there mamma thinks he is not gentle! I wish
they would let me take one ride, just to show
them how well I can manage him. He would
be a lovely horseback rider, I know. If I
could only go once, they would see how nice
and gentle he was, and then the trouble would
be over. I’ve a great mind to spring on his
back and ride around the square while Clara
is getting dressed ; I can get back before she
is ready, and then the first ride will be over,
without mamma having any worry about it,
she is So nervous.
That is the way she talked, while she
patted the pony, and she managed to make
_ herself believe that the only reason why she
did not go and ask her mother if she might
ride around the square was because she was
nervous and must be spared the trouble of
worrying.
At. last she gave a careful spring, and
WRAT BLANCHE THOUGHT.“ .
Janded in the saddle, first looking around to.
see that there was nobody i sight, because
“mamma was so nervous.†Nobody was
looking, and away she went, very carefully, zg
_keeping-her seat like a lady, holding up her
head and moving slowly and gracefully along.
Nero stepped as cautiously as though he
had been walking over a road made of eggs,
and was afraid of cracking one. Down Elm
Street, up Thorn Street, down Allen Street,
back again to Harley Street, almost home, no
harm happening in any way. Blanche was
happy; she could ride Nero as well as Clara
could, She could begin to-morrow; in fact,
she Aad begun. Mamma would find that it
was an easy enough thing to do.
Just at that moment Mr. Colman’s little
white dog ran down to the gate and barked,
a mean little snarly bark that didn’t mean
anything but ill humor, but it offended Nero. —
He tossed his head and snorted a little, and -
gave a. sudden dash forward, for which
Blanche was not at all prepared, and the end
of it was that she lay a lifeless looking little
heap just a few steps away from her father’s
gate, and Nero went on without her!
LP
4
MV
Ci
WHAT BLANCHE THOUGHT.
Dear! dear! What a sad home their’s was
that night, and for a good many nights and
days after that. Blanche was very badly
hurt; she didn’t ride the next day, nor the
next. In fact, it was for a long time very
doubtful whether she would ever ride again.
Everybody was very kind, and gentle, and
patient; nobody treated her in the least as
though she had been a naughty girl and
brought all this trouble on herself; but I can't
tell you how many times during those long,
long weeks, as she turned herself slowly and
painfully on her bed, she said to herself with
a weary sigh: |
“Tf I had ov/y minded mother! I kmew it
was wrong all the time.â€
TWO KINDS OF PEGPLE,
THEY were all in Harry’s room; Nurse
Wheeler and her little girl, Jennie Wheeler,
and the grave-faced Dr. Burnett. Harry was
curled up in bed; he had neither father nor
mother to be with him; in fact, he was an or-
phan boy, and his home was in the hospital; .
when he was well he earned a home, doing
chores; but he would never earn another.
The truth is, Harry was going to die.
“He ought to be told,†said the grave doc-
tor. “I don't believe in letting people die like
sheep, without letting them know what is
coming; there is no telling what they may -
want to do, or have done; he hasn’t the least
idea of it; he thinks he is getting well; will
you tell him, Mrs. Wheeler ?â€
“Oh, now, Dr. Burnett, what is the use?
He hasn’t anything to give away, nor any
folks to send for, and it seems to me it will
just worry up the poor little fellow for noth-
ing. I'll do everything for him that I can,
but I don’t see no kind of use in that; he'll
just be scared to death, and take on awfully,
and it will hurry him off the faster.â€
TWO KINDS OF PEOPLE.
“Tt has got-to be done,†said the. grave
doctor; “I said, years ago, that I’d never
cheat anybody about that, not even a child.
You can’t tell what he may want to do. I'll
tell him myself, if you don’t want to.†So they
had come to tell him.
Nurse Wheeler came along for fear he
_ would faint and she should be wanted, and
little Jennie, frightened at the thought of
death, and yet having a great desire to see
one who was so soon to die, coaxed to go up
and see poor Harry again, so she went.
The doctor was very gentle about it, or
tried to be; he explained that he had some-
thing to tell that Harry ought to know, some-
thing that would startle him very much, but
he must try to bear it likea man. Harry was
startled ; the blood came rushing into his poor
pale cheeks, and he tried to raise himself a
little on his elbow, while he said:
“What is it, doctor? Tell me quick, please.â€
“My boy,†said the doctor, hurrying lest he -
should faint, “I am sorry to tell you; I have
done all I can for you, and I can’t do any.
more.â€
“Is that all?†Harry said, and he looked
TWO KINDS OF PEOPLE.
up in the doctor's face with a quiet smile. “I
thought it was something dreadful.â€
“He doesn’t understand,†said the doctor,
turning half away. not knowing what to do.
“Oh, yes, I understand,†Harry said, still
with that pleasant smile. “ You mean I am
going to Heaven; I have thought so, this
long time; it is nice; I haven’t any home,
you know, and I think it is real good of Jesus
to get one ready for me. I like it so much
better than getttng well.â€
So this was the dreadful scare! Nurse
Wheeler stood and stared at the sick boy,
and didn’t say a word; she did not under-
stand it at all; and the doctor muttered as he
turned away:
“There are different ‘ways of. looking at
dying, that’s sure.â€
LOUISE BROWNING’S LESSON.
SHE was in the study; and her grown-up
sister Alice was in the back parlor with her
friend, Miss Kitty Maynard. Louise was
studying her spelling lesson,—that is, she:
was doing that when she wasn’t sitting with
her head in her hands, psteniag to the talk in
the back parlor.
“Weren’t you at home when Miss Wheeler
called?†she heard Miss Kitty ask. _
“Yes, but I wouldn’t see her. I sent down
word, ‘Not at home.’ I wasn’t dressed for
callers; and, besides, she is a horrid poke.
One never wants to see her, if one can help
it. Kitty, have you seen the hat she wears ?
Isn’t it horrid? Don’t you think, she asked
me last week if I thought it was becoming f
Of course, I had to say it was, but I blushed,.
—I know I did; it’s such a dreadful-looking
thing !â€
“My!†said Louise, over ner spelling-book,
“what stories Alice tells! I shouldn’t think
she would.†.
Then she listened again. Alice was stilt
talking :— :
“Oh, Kitty! Did you tell Mr. Phillips
LOUISE BROWNING’S LESSON.
that I went to the concert with Harvey Por-
fete & .
“Of course not! He asked me, but I asked
him how he thought I knew what you did
when you were twenty miles away; and I
kept talking about it, and made him think
you went with your brother Fred. I didn’t
exactly tell him so, you. know, but he thinks
it is so.’
“That's just the same as a story,†said
Louise to her spelling-book. “What girls
they are! I don’t believe mamma knows how
they talk.â€
Now they were talking about a ring, and_-
Louise wanted to hear that. .
_ “Thad awful trouble answering questions
‘about that,†Kitty said, as she touched the
ring on Alice’s finger. “ Mamma thinks it is
lost; she. wanted to know where I remem-
- bered having it last, and whether it was loose
for my finger, and all that. She wouldn't like
to have me take it off, you know; but to
lose it isn’t my fault, of course.â€
“But what will you do when I ee it back
to you?â€
“Oh, she will think I have found it again,
me:
eZ
tes
LOUISE BROWNING’S LESSON.
and I shan’t have to do anything,— only let
her think so.â€
Just then mamma put her head in at the
study-door. “Louise,†she said, “if you have
been at work ever since school, you needn't
study any more.†.
Louise got up, and put aside her spelling-
book. oo,
“T haven’t been studying ever since I left
school,†she said to herself. “I have been in
the garden, and to the post-office, and to lots
of places; but mamma didn’t ask me. I just
have to keep still; there’s no harm in that.â€
So, though louise hadn’t learned her spell-
ing lesson, she had had a /essaw, and was
practicing on it.
EXAMPLE.
Roto was curled up in a heap on the
library sofa. Why wasn’t he out playing
ball, or rolling hoop, or having a nice time in
some way? Was he sick? Well, yes, sick in
his heart; he felt dreadfully. -I don’t know
whether you ever felt as Rollo did, or not; I
am sure I hope not; the fact is, he has dis-
obeyed his mother.
“She didn’t know anything about it, no-
body knew, and nobody was likely to know.â€
Rollo said this over and over, and tried to get
what comfort he could out of it, but it didn’t
make his face a shade less gloomy.
There was no getting around the fact that
he had been in swimming that very after-
noon, after his mother had told him not to go.
He didn’t sink, nor come anywhere near sink-
ing. He had no trouble of any sort, but as
for enjoying it, he couldn’t say that he did.
He didn’t feel as though he ever wanted to.
go again.
“What's the use in fretting?†he said, kick- _
ing his heels against the sofa. “It can't be
helped now. I’ve been, and that is the whole
EXAMPLE.
of it; I know one thing, I'll never go again
unless mother says I may, and.thatis all I .
can do about it.â€
But he knew better than that; he knew
‘there was something he could do; only, the
trouble was, he didn’t want to do it. So he
sat still, looking gloomy, and wondered how
he should get through with the evening, and
whether mother would ask him if he had a
_ nice play after school, and how he should feel
when she kissed him good-night. I can tell
you he was not a person to be envied. There
was.a little noise in the sitting-room. Rollo
peeped out; he hoped it wasn’t his mother.
_ He didn’t want to see her: it was the only
time he could remember that he didn’t want
to see mother. It was she, but she wasn’t
alone; Rollo’s big brother Walter was there.
Rollo called him big because he was so much
older; he was sixteen years old. He was
acting queerly, Rollo thought; his cheeks
were very red, and his head was drooped low, ~
as though he didn’t want anybody to see his
eyes. ! .
“Poor boy,†his mother said, and she put
her arm around Walter; it made the tears
EXAMPLE.
come into Rollo’s eyes; he wished his mother
was speaking to him, and putting her arm
around him in that way. ,
“You have had a sad time,†she said. “I
have known it for two or three days; I have
been waiting for you, Walter.â€
_ “Qh, mother,’ Walter said, and his voice
was choked and trembling, “I want to tell
you all about it.†Then he leaned his head on
her shoulder and spoke low, and drew, every
once in a while, a heavy sob; Rollo was sure ©
he had done something wrong; but how ten-
der and loving his mother was! He couldn't
hear what was said; he didn’t try to; in fact,
he got down and rattled the newspapers so he
would be sure not to hear; but while he rat-
tled them he made up his mind what he
would do; as soon as ever Walter went away
and left his mothef alone, he would go to her
and tell her all about the afternoon, and ask’
_her to forgive him, and tell her how sure he
was that he would never do so again; he had
found it wasn’t a happy thing to do.
_ BRAVE TOM MY.
He was bare-footed and bare-armed, and
hadn’t much of a cap. He walked towards
the house very slowly, talking to himself.
Tommy talked to himself a great deal: he
hadn’t many people to talk to. This was
what he said: “It’s real horrid of it to go
- and happen now; I’d rather it had been any
other time. She won't let me go,—I know |
she won't. She said the very next thing I
broke, she would punish me; and I know she
will keep me at home. I might wait till after
I get home; Bob don’t take me riding very
often. I could tell before I went to bed; and
that would do.â€
He was such a little bit of a fellow, —only
_ six years old,—and he didn’t have a ride
twice in the summer, and he did so want to
take that ride with Bob; no wonder he went
‘slowly, and wished that he had been more
careful, and. that things wouldn’t break, and
that he could do as he liked. _
Then he tramped into the kitchen, where
mother was washing. He marched up to her
bold as a lion, and spoke fast, as if he was in
BRAVE TOMMY.
a hurry to get the words out: “It’s broked
all to smash, mother, —ten hundred thousand
pieces! It can’t never be mended, ’cause it
broke criss-cross, and every way (and I’m
awful sorry), and the milk spilled, and every-
thing!â€
Mother stopped her washing card looked at
the solemn little face for a moment, without
speaking. Then she said: “Tommy Brown!
have you gone and broke another pitcher ?â€
“Yes’m,†said Tommy. “You see, I set it
on a stone, and went after Bose; he. was
_a-fighting with another dog; and he ran right
straight against that pitcher, and broke it all
to smash, and spilled the milk, and every-
thing!â€
. For as much as two minutes mother washed
away at the clothes. Then shesaid: “Tommy, ,
do you remember that I told you the next
time you broke anything I should keep you
at home all the afternoon, to help you remem-
ber to be careful?â€
“Yes'm,†said Tommy, “I remember; and
Bob is going to the wood-lot this afternoon,
and I was to go along,—I remember it all;
and I’m awful sorry, and I didn’t want to
BRAVE TOMMY.
tell; but I did, and I’m glad I did,—’cause
now it’s told and done with.†_
“Well,†said Mother Brown, looking very
sober, “I’m very sorry for you, Tommy, but
I must keep my word; and you are dreadful
careless. Now go and pick up some chips.â€
Tommy put his hands in his pockets, and
tramped out. He looked very sober, and he
choked down the tears: he wanted to go to
the wood-lot.
“T don’t care,†he said, “mother’s glad I
told about it,--I know she is; and so am I,
When I get big I am going to buy her ten
hundred thousand pitchers; and I won't set
another one down on a stone while I run after
Bose, —see if do!â€
WANDERING MEG.
Sue had one spare minute, and she ran to
take a look at old Pete, and see if he had had
his dinner that day—she had been too far |
away to attend to him. She pushed open the
door as softly as she could; old Pete might
be asleep. Sure enough, he was. A kind of
sleep that Meg, little as she knew, was sure
he would never waken froin. There was no
mistaking the look on that sunken face. Old
Pete was dead. Meg stood and looked at
him steadily; she was not.afraid of death,
~ nor of anything else.
“Oh, my!†she said at last; “he’s gone.
I knew he would, one of these days, but I
didn’t think it would be today; how I wish I
had been here! I wonder if them angels he
was always talking about really did come for
him? I wonder if he saw that man that he
says has taken care of him, and loved him,
and all that, and went to get a place ready for
him to live in? He said he should see him
when the time came; I just wish I knew
whether he was disappointed. Somebody, or
something took him, now that’s certain; for
WANDERING MEG.
this morning he could speak, and hear, and
see, and now he cawz’¢, ‘cause the part that
X,
Sy TSS
SO, N
: <
Sy
does it has gone away; I don’t know whether
. it’s soul; or not. . He said it was, and he’s as
| WANDERING MEG.
likely to know as anyone; but if I’d béen
here, I might have'seen that man, and asked
_ him if it was:true that he had got a home up —
“there for me. If it was so, my! wouldn’t I
work for it? There ain’t anything I wouldn’t
be ready to do, to get it.- Poor old Pete!
though, if one-quarter of what he expected
would happen, aid happen, why, he ain’t poor
any longer; it’s Meg that’s poor. -He said he
was going to be well, and strong, and hand-
some, and never be cold, nor hungry, nor
tired again! My land! to think.of that! A
place where folks ain’t tired, nor cold, nor
hungry, and don’t get mad, and swear, and
don't drink rum! I don’t believesit. Jt’s too
good to be true; but, then, old Pete said .so,
and he never told a lie about anything ; and
he used to'lie and whisper to that man, and
he said he was just as sure he heard him as
if he could see him. He whispered to him a_
“good deal about nie; he told him to-look out
Riot ic, and come after me, one of these days,
“If it should all be true, and he should come,
and I should see old Pete, and find him —
happy, and find I had a place there, why, I’d
—I don’t know what I would do! I would -
WANDERING MEG.
go down on my knees to him, and love him
forever. | -
“Well, I must go and tell the folks, and _
they'll’ bring a box and put Pete in, and put |
him in the ground. That don’t look much
like having a happy place. But, then, Pete
knew all about ¢af, and he said he didn’t
care a bit about it; that he would just as soonâ€
his body would lie in the ground till it was
wanted, as anywhere else. Says he: ‘Mark
my words, Meg, you may see them put poor
old Pete’s dody there, but, mind you, old Pete
himself won't be in it. And sure enough, he
ain't. Oh, I Zope it’s all true. I wonder if
anybody knows for certain? I wish they
would tell me.â€
. FANNY GLEASON.
SHE was a real pretty little girl. She had
blue eyes and yellow hair; and it was long
and wavy. When she felt good natured, and
was nicely dressed, and went down town with
Aunt Helen, people were almost sure to look
after her and say:
“What a pretty face that child has.â€
But you can see for yourself that she looks
anything but pleasant just now. The fact is,
she is whining. She has been let in to see
mamma for a little while, but she is not
pleasant company. “Oh, dear me!†she said,
“how dark it is in this room! I most can’t see
at all; the dark hurts my eyes so.â€
Then she blinked her eyes and almostshut
- them. Of course mamma and Aunt Helen
laughed at the idea of the darkness hurting
her eyes. But she was not in the mood to be
laughed at. | a.
“You needn't laugh,†she said, looking
cross; “it is true; and: it looks real hateful
and gloomy here.â€
“Mamma can’t bear the light, dear,†her
mother said, in a weak, tired voice.
FANNY GLEASON.’
“Well, I don’t like to stay here.. Can't I
go over to Mrs. Holland’s a little while?â€
Aunt Helen shook her head. “Papa said
‘you were not to go there for fear they were
going to have the measles.â€
Then Fanny shook herself.
“‘Oh, dear!†she said; “horrid measles! I
can’t ever go anywhere, because papa is afraid
of them. I don’t believe Carrie Holland is
going to have measles a bit.†Nobody made
any answer to that, so pretty soon Fanny ~
said: “Aunt Helen, can’t we have flannel
cakes, with honey on, for supper to-night ?â€
“Not. to-night, dear,†Aunt Helen said;
“Jane has planned to have toast for tea, and
she is too tired to bake flannel cakes.†__
“Oh, dear! We never have them any more.
‘When mamma was well, we used to have
them ever so often ; we don’t have things a
‘bit nice any more.’
“My little girl ought not to. talk so,’
mamma, said, in that weak voice. “ Aunt
Helen has everything to see to, and a great
deal of work. My Fanny ought to help nese
all she can.’
“T can’t help,’ Fanny said, fretfully; “I
e
FANNY GLEASON.
hate doing work. Oh, dear me! ‘Iwish I .
could go somewhere, or do something !- It is
so horrid staying here, in this ugly room.â€
Just a few minutes afterwards the doctor
came, Se ee
“What's all this,†he said, as he took Mrs.
Gleason’s hand. “ Pulse away up-and racing
away; what have you been about? Talking
or hearing talk that has worried or tired you?
Now, you see, this won't do. If you can’t
have everything quiet and ‘cheerful about
you, why you'll never get well in the world.â€
How do you suppose Fanny felt when she
heard that? 5 :
OLD TIMES.
WHEN it rained, and the young people were
tired of puzzles, and maps, and all in-door
games, they huddled around sister Stella, and
coaxed for a story about some of the boys and
- girls in the album. _ It was full of pictures of
Stella’s old scholars— most of them young
ladies and gentlemen now.
“ Who did you say this was?†Mollie asked,
stopping at a sweet-faced girl.
“That is Clara Baker; my pet. She was
just as sweet as. she looks, and she was the
best map-drawer in the school. What fun she
had over a map, one day!â€
“Tell us about it,†John said; and then they
settled down for a storys.
“Why, it was before etook Clara was at
the board drawing; and half a dozen girls
‘were watching her, when there came in several
boys from the room next to ours.
«« What state is that?’ Clara asked, stand-
ing back and looking at. her drawing. The
boys all looked; so did.the girls.
“It looks like the state of crookedness,â€
one of them said; “or the state of, misery,†|
OLD TIMES =r
said another. “My, what a shape!†‘Clara’s- ¥
cheeks grew red. ae .
tae
: Don’t you really know it?†she asked. |
“T’m so sorry! I thought it was real good!â€
One of the older boys tried to comfort her.
OLD TIMES.
“You little chicken! you mustn’t expect to
.draw a-map fromm memory that people will
know, yet a while; I can hardly do it myself.â€
“T’ve drawn a good many that Miss Stella
- has known, the minute she looked at,’ Clara
said, her cheeks: growing redder yet; she
didn’t like to be patronized, even by the old-
est boy in the department. The girls took up
* the subject. They were rather jealous for their
~— couldn’t draw a map that could be recognized, -
favorite; besides, they knew that if she
it was useless for them to try.
“Let's ask Miss Stella!†they said; and a
chorus of voices took it. up. |
“Oh, yes; let’s see if Miss Stella will know
this one!â€
I sat at the other ‘end of the room, bene
though L “had been. keeping watch of the con-
versation for several minutes, _their voices.
sounded so earnest; ‘but I couldn’t see the
map. They called loudly for me, and I went
forward.
“ Please Miss Stella # said Clara, “can you
, tell what this is made fore.
“T should think I knew very ‘little about
my native State, if I couldn’t,†I said quickly,
OLD TIMES.
“It is the map of Massachusetts, to be sure,
and avery good one—isn’t it, Harvey! It
is your state, too, I believe.†:
Oh, how they shouted!’ Harvey was the
boy who had so kindly said she mustn't ex-
pect to draw maps that could be recognized,
yet; also, he was the one who said he guessed
that it was the “State of misery.†You never
heard such laughing and shouting, as they °
_ kept up, till the bell rang. It was a long time
before Harvey heard the last of it.
“T’m glad she beat,†said John; “but Mass-
achusetts is aw/u/ hard to draw!†.
~~
_ THE ESSELSTYNES: |
Or, ALPHONSO AND MARGUERITE,
A Story written on purpose for “Mother’s Boys and- Girls,â€
~- by one of the Girls, who is just 12 years old, and
. whose name is Grace L
CHAPTER I.
* AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE.
“ FRANK,†said Mrs: Esselstyne, “ I do wish
there were some children in this house.â€
“So do I, Laura; suppose we adopt one or
two, eh? how will thatdo?â€
“Oh; do you really mean it! That will be
perfectly splendid.†.
“Yes, Laura, I really mean it; would not
you like to begin this morning? I mean to
hunt up some child, and -
But no knowing what-was going to be said,
for the servant, who had just stepped out, re-
turned, and having overheard the previous
talk, and being very fond of children, thought
this would be a good chance for getting some.
-She told her mistress that there were two of
the prettiest little darlings out in the kitchen
that she ever in all her life saw.
THE ESSELSTYNES.
Mrs. Esselstyne gave a look at her husband
that said as plainly as: words could say: ~
~€T think God has «sent ——o here, don't
you: ? » 5
Her husband nodded assent, and they both
got up to go and look at the children. .
“Jane,†said-Mrs. Esselstyne, “take these
children to the bath-room, and give them good
baths, and dress them, and bring them to my
room.’
“Yes ’m; but what shall I put on ‘them 2â€
“Why, sure enough! Well, wrap them in
' blankets and bring them down to me.â€
“Yes ’m,†said Jane, and. she went off_de-
lighted.
Here is a picture of Mrs. Esselstyne, wait-
ing in her sitting-room, for the children to be
Dea to her—
CHAPTER IL
THE QUESTION DECIDED.
“Wuere do you live, children?†eked
Mrs. Esselstyne, when Jane had pee
them.to her room. ©
_“ Nowhere.â€
“Where are your father and mother ?â€
“We haven't got any.â€
“What are your names?â€
“We haven't got any names, either, unless
‘Ragbags’ is a name ; that is what the boys
on the street call us.’ .
“But what do you call each other? "
“We are brother and sister.â€
“Ts that all the name you have for each
other?â€
“Yes ’m.’ -
“That is strange. Well, would you like
~EN ee
“exot:
SN YS
OY
THE ESSELSTYNES.
e
to come and live with us, and be our children?
(Mr. Esselstyne had come in the room*while
they were talking.) - a
“Oh, yes, ma’am, so, somuch! Can we?
“Why, I think so,if you are good children.â€
“Oh, goody! goody!†and the poor things
clapped their hands, and jumped up and
down.
“Jane,†said Mrs. Esselstyne, “take the poor
darlings out, and give them some breakfast;
‘they look very hungry, and I will see at once
to getting them:some clothes.â€
Here is a picture of the little girl, as she
looked when Jane saw her out of the window.
She was begging a penny of Miss Helena St.
_ Marks, who.was passing by. You will see the
ragged little girl again, one of these days.
CHAPTER IIL.
GETTING DRESSED.
“Ou, here are miy darlings!†said Mrs. -
Esselstyne, as she came into the nursery.
“Now, my little girl, 1 am going to give you
2 name; you shall be my Marguerite. And
my boy, your name is Alphonso; you may
call me mamma, and the gentleman whom
-you saw down Stairs, you will call papa.
“Now, I. am ready to have you dressed.
Alphonso, we will dress -you first.â€
Now I will tell you how he was dressed ;.
first his hair was combed and curled, then
- his dainty under-clothes were put on; the way
his hair was combed was this, it was parted
at the side, and rolled over in a lovely roll on
top of his head, and the ends behind were
arranged in wavy curls (I forgot to tell you
THE ESSELSTYNES.
that his hair was quite long); then his pretty
little brown pants and coat were put on, of
course he had on a pretty little shirt, and last
of all, a white rolling collar, and a lovely. blue
necktie. He had bright buttons on his coat
and pants. — oo
“You shall have a tiny gold ring for your
finger, when we go down town,†said his
mamma.
And Marguerite said to him:
“Oh, brother, how lovely you do look!â€
Then she danced up and down, as she
always did when she was pleased.
Here is a picture of Alphonso as he looked
after he was dressed; he is waiting for Mar-
guerite to be dressed, and he is at the window
with Mrs. Esselstyne’s sister, watching the_
birds.
CHAPTER IV.
A TALK.
“Ou, how lovely we will look, won’t we,
mamma?†Marguerite said. _
» You will look very nice, my darlings ; but.
you mustn't be vain and proud. Did you
know that God would not love you if eu
were proud ?â€
“Yes, mamma, Mrs. Brown told us that; she
&
told-us a good many things about God, and ~
she was talking about Him the last thing be-
fore she died.â€
“Who was Mrs. Brown, my dear?â€
“She was a nice woman, who took care of.
us, and when she died, we didn’t have any-
_ body to care a bit about us any more.â€
“T used to have a washer-woman by. theâ€
name of Mrs. Brown, that I thought a good:
_ deal of.â€
THE ESSELSTYNES.
“Oh, mamma, I do believe, maybe you are
the very one she told us about, that she used
to work for; she said she wished we could
find her; but that it would be no use to try,
for she went to Europe to stay two or three
years. She gave us a card, with her name
on, so that if we should ever come across her,
we should know it was she; but I can’t read
the card.â€
“ Run and get it, darling, nn let mamma
see lees ;
So Marguerite went to her room, and re-
turned in a moment with a card, which read
as follows: ~ oe
Mrs. Edward Frank Esselstyne.
«That is the very card I gave her,’ said
Mrs. Esselstyne; “and that is my name. So
you see, my darling, God has heard Mrs.
Brown’s wish, and brought you to me. Now
get dressed, dear, as soon a’s you can, we are
going to ride, you know.â€
This is a picture of Marguerite as she
looked after she was dressed. She doesn’t
— look much like the girl that’ Jane saw from
- the window, does she? :
CHAPTER Va
A MORNING RIDE.
THE carriage rolled to the door, and Mrs.
Esselstyne, and her son, and daughter, came
out, and were handed in; Alphonso had on a
seal:skin overcoat and cap, and brown kid
gloves; Marguerite’s furs were of ermine;
and her kid gloves were a lovely shade of
~-lavendar.
“Oh! oh!†she said, as they rolled down
‘the broad, handsome street; “ what a lovely,
lovely place; I didn’t know there was any —
such street as this in all this large city. Oh,
mamma! are we going to. stop. at this store ?
Won't that be splendid!â€
“This is a bookstore, dear,†said Mrs.
Esselstyne. “Iam going in to see about a
book ; you may both come with me, if you
like; itis a ey interesting place to go; you
r ee ESSELSTYNES. —
will see more books there, on nettape you
thought there were in all the world.†:
So they were helped out, and all went into
the great handsome building, and the brother
and sister wandered up and down the wide
aisles, looking around in wonder and delight,
while their mamma- made her purchases.
On the other page is a picture of the great
_ store where they were. ~
The next place they stopped at, was a very |
large dry-goods store. :
“Would you like to get out, and pick: out
some dresses, or would you like to sit in the
carriage and watch the people pass by?â€
“T think we would like to get out; wouldn't
you, Marguerite,†said Alphonso. :
_ “Well, perhaps you had better,†said Mrs.
Esselstyne. “There comes papa now, and he
will take you with him to see about your new
clothes, then Marguerite can come aD me;
help them out, James.â€
“Yes, ma'am,†said the coachman, ‘ache
his hat.
“ Margie,†said hee mamma, “how soit
you like this suit of ga) blue, trimmed with
silk?†~ ee
THE ESSELSTYNES.
“Oh, mamma, it is perfectly lovely.â€
“Well, then we will take it; I have bought
a bottle green, and a dark brown; now you
want a cardinal red, and then I think you will
have plenty of cashmeres. , Now we must lpok
at these white. embroidered suits, and at
sashes. and hair ribbons to match your dresses,
then from here we must go to the milliners
to see about your new hats; you will need
-one to. match every suit; I saw a white felt,
trimmed with blue silk, and plumes, that will
match the blue suit nicely.â€
«Oh, mamma!’’ ‘said Marguerite, how
erty splendid you are!â€
CHAPTER VL
THE BIRTHDAY PARTY.
A won year rolled by; it was the chil-
dren's birthday ; they were to have a party.
They were dressed and waiting in the parlor
for their company.
“ Ting-aling-aling-aling †went.the door-bell.
“Oh, there are Fanny and Cornie Monroe!â€
_ said Marguerite; and almost in the same
breath, Alphonso said:
| “There.comes Fred Burton.â€
And after that, the bell rang every minute |
until the company were gathered.’ At seven |
. o'clock they went out tu the elegant dining- .
room to tea. What a table it was! Oh, I
couldn’t begin to tell you of all the elegant
things there were on it; it looked just Zovely/
Then ey had more Bames; and pretty soon,
i il
| hi
I
| i
tea
rth
e
THE ESSELSTYNES.
when all were gone home except two or three’
particular friends, whose mammas were com-
ing for them, they went into mamma's room ©
and sat around the fire in the grate, and
mamma came and leaned over Alfie’s chair
and told them.a splendid story; it was about
a little boy and girl who were out in the cold,
and the snow; it made Margie think of the
- many days that she had wandéred up and
‘down in the cold, with hardly anything on
her feet to keep them from freezing ; and she
‘pushed ap her hand softly, and took hold of
her-mamma’s, and put loving little bits of
kisses on it; but Alphonso couldn’t realize
that he had ever been: a poor little boy; it
seemed to him that.he had always lived in
this elegant home, and worn just such fine.
clothes. You can see by the picture that he
is a very handsome boy. - It is he in the large
chair, on which his mamma is leaning,
CHAPTER VI.
TROUBLE. |
_ Now you have heard all about the young
lives of this brother and sister; I have only
told you this, so that you would know about
them. ‘They are several years older now.
Alphonso has not improved in every respect.
He had a friend, Fred Burton, who did him
no good. One day he met him down by the
wharf, where he was talking with the mate of
one of the boats. His going to the wharf
worried Mrs. Esselstyne.
“He is getting reckless, I fear,’ she said,
with a sigh; “Oh, dear me, I ad try to bring
him up right!†|
Well, to go back to Alphonso. He was
talking with Fred. “I don’t know, Fred,†he
said, “whether I can go, or not.â€
THE ESSELSTYNES.
“Oh, pshaw! of course you can. go; we
~ don’t start till nine o’clock ; will you go: 2
“Well, y-e-s, I guess maybe I will.â€
«JT want you to promise.â€
“Oh, I can’t do that.â€
“Yes, you can; promise now, and then it
will be done with.â€
«Pshaw! well, Pl go if something doesn’t
happen to hinder me, and | that's all I wit
say.’ |
«All right — that’ S enough: ‘I can trust you.
Good-bye.â€
“Oh, dear! †said Alphonso, the minute he
turned away; “I wish I hadn’t promised him,
I don’t want to go; at least, mamma would -
rather I wouldn’t; but, after all, I don’t see
what harm there is in it; they neédn't be so
dreadfully afraid of a fellow.â€
Here is a picture of Alphonso, and Fred,
and the Captain. Alphonso is the one who
is sitting down.
_ The boys had been wading, and Alphoiso
has his pants all tucked into his boots; he is
very fond of making himself look rue y and
dusty.
CHAPTER VIII.
ELANS.
MARGUERITE had improved very much;
for one thing, she was a Christian; nobody
knew it yet but mamma and: papa, and Jesus.
That same afternoon that Alphonso was at
- the wharf, she was out walking; she saw her
brother with Fred Burton, ao it troubled
her.
“Mamma,†she said: when she came in,
“don’t you think Alphonso goes†too ,much
with Fred Burton ?†:
“Yes, my dear,†said Mrs. feselstyne with
a sigh; “I know he does.â€
“Mamma, some of the boys are going rid-
ing to-night, down to the willows, and are
going to have supper; and I think cheys are
going to have wines, and—a-n- d—â€
THE ESSELSTYNES.
. “Yes, daughter, I know what you mean; _—
and you are afraid our Alfie will drink wine;
soamI. My daughter, you must pray for
aia .
“T do, mamma+ but I can’t bear to have
-him go to-night. There he is; I would rather
not see him just now.â€
So she left the room and ran up stairs.
“Mamma, where is Sis?†said Alphonso,
looking in.
“ She just went to her room, my son.’
Her brother wanted to see her about some-
thing, so pretty soon he followed her. As he
was about to knock at the door, he heard her
voice, and stopping to ascertain if any one was
with her, this is. what he heard:
“Dear Lord Jesus! please make my dear
brother a Christian; do help me to keep him
away from that supper to-night; I don’t want
him to go; I want him to go to the prayer-
meeting with me; please make him want to.
Please keep him away from places where they
‘drink wine, and don’t let him want to smoke
any more. Hear me for thine own sake.
Amen.â€
Her brother was Hera He did
THE ESSELSTYNES.
not know what to do. Just then, the bell
rang, and. off he went to his room to dress
for dinner. After dinner he went back up
stairs and stayed in his room until his sister
_ came to ask him if he would not go to the
young peoples’ meeting with her; he said
“Yes,†very pleasantly. After meeting, sev-
eral of their young friends came home with
them, as Margie had invited them to do.
She knew that Fred Burton was coming at
_ nine o'clock to call for her brother; she hada
plan for that ; she told the coachman to be on
the watch for Fred Burton, and let her know
when he drove up; at nine o'clock, James,
the coachman, knocked at the parlor door, and
said in a low voice: .
“Miss Margie, he is driving down the
avenue.â€
Then Margie went to the door. I have a
picture for you, of Marguerite as she looked
when she went for her walk that afternoon;
look at it and then at the little beggar girl,
in the second chapter, for they are the same.
CHAPTER IX.
z AN IMPORTANT DECISION.
“Won't you come in, Fred?†said Margie,
as she stood in the hall with Fred Burton;
Alfie and I have a little company; I should
have invited you, but you were not at meet-
ing ; we brought the boys and girls home with
us from the meeting. Please come in.â€
“ Well, I don't know,†said Fred, very much
embarrassed. “Alf promised to go out with
me this evening, and I called for him; I didn’t
know that you were to have company.â€
“ FTe didn’t, either; it is mamma’s and my
surprise; please come in, Fred, your sister
Annie is here.â€
“Oh, I don’t think I can, thank you; I have
my horse with me, and must attend to him.â€
“Why, James will attend to him; there he
is now. James, take Master Fred’s horse and
THE ESSELSTYNES.
take care of him, please; now, Fred, come in.
You see, I took your affairs into my own
hands,†she added, laughing, as she waited in
the hall for him to lay aside his wrappings.
So, very much to his surprise, Fred Burton
found himself attending a delightful little
party in the Esselstyne mansion, with a sup-
per very much nicer than any that could have
been had in the Hotel at the Willows. —
Alphonso did a good deal of thinking dur-
ing the next few days; he could not forget that
prayer that he had heard from Margie’s lips.
He was half vexed at himself for thinking so.
much about it; he said to himself, that he
hadn't been good for anything since “that
night,†as he phrased it. Finally, one after-
noon he shut himself into his room, and said:
“Iwill decéde this thing, one way or the
other, and I will decide ow.â€
On his table lay the handsome big Bible
that his papa had given him for his last birth-
day present; he hardly ever opened it, but this
afternoon he did; and the first words he saw —
were: “My son, give me thine heart.â€
“I will,†said Alfie; I wzd/ do it.â€
And he did. After that you do not need to
Y
HY
,
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y
THE ESSELSTVNES.
have me tell you that he became a splendid
boy. . Here is a picture of him, as he looked
when he read that verse in his Bible.
THE END.
Dear Boys anp Girts:—I have given you the
true name of the author of this story. If any of you
want to know more about the Esselstynes, where
they live now, and what they are doing &e:, send let-
‘ters addressed to “ Miss Grace L .’ P.O. box
211, Greensburg, Ind., and they will be answered
through the paper called “ The Pansy.â€
Yours, lovingly,
Tue Eprrtor.
“I’M HARD OF HEARING, YOU
KNOW.â€.
SADIE Lewis was cross. Things didn’t go.
right. She couldn’t find a certain plaything,
and it was raining, and she wanted to have
on her new dress and go out to walk. And,
' oh, ever so many things were awry.
She tried to talk to grandma.
“TI think it is real mean, anyway, to have it
rain to-day,’ she said.
“What did you say, dearie?†grandma
-. asked, putting her hand to her ear; “grandma
is hard of hearing, you know.â€
“T said I thought it was horrid to rain to-
day,†shouted Sadie, coming closer. At
“A happy rain, did you say? Oh, yes;
lovely. It makes the grass almost laugh, and
I shouldn’t wonder if the rose bud blossomed
right out.â€
“Grandma, I said it was mean to rain,â€
yelled Sadie.
“Clean rain? Oh, yes, it is; and it makes
everything else clean, too; just see how it has
washed the dust off the trees!â€
“ Oh, dear!†said Sadie, “I do wish grandma
could hear.†Then she tried again; going
“2PM HARD OF HEARING, YOU KNOW.â€
close up to grandma, “I said I didn't like the
rain a b¢¢.†=
“Vou fe the rain and the wet, do moa
Well, so do I. It isso pleasant to sit here
~ and watch it, and see how nice it is making
everything look. By and by there will. be a‘
rainbow, and that will. be nicer yet. Yes, I>
~ like the rain as well as you do.†~
_“ Oh,-dear me, suz/†said Sadie ; “grandma,
you: haven't heard a word I have said.â€
“ What do you say, dearie?†asked grandma, .
with < queer little pucker around the corners ie
of her. mouth; “I’m hard of hearing, you
know.â€
Sadie saw the puckered mouth, and began |
to think it was queer that grandma couldn't
hear anything ; she made up her mind te try
once more, She went close to her, but
didn’t speak quite so loud, and said:
“Grandma, I love you.â€
“Do you, my darling,†said grandma, “ how
glad Iam; so do I love you, my little sun-
beam; I’m hard of hearing, you know, but I
can’t help hearing, when people say sweet and
pleasant things.†}
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POOR ETHAN WELLS.
Tuis is he, kneeling among the flowers and
grasses in the pretty cemetery, his head on
the marble stone. He never minds how many
flowers he crushes; he has forgotten that there
are such things as flowers in the world! I
can’t tell you how badly the poor young man
feels, nor how bitter are the tears that are fall-
ing on that cold stone. It has his mother’s
name cut in it, and it tells that she has been
here under the grass for two years.
Ethan has known all about it during eee
two years; he got the letter that told about
her sickness, and how much she wanted to
see her boy, and how she died with his name
on her lips, asking God to take care of him,
- and bring him safely to her in heaven. He
has the letter between the leaves of his Bible.
He couldn’t come home to'see her, for he was
too far away, and had not the money to come.
And now that he has come home, there is
nothing to visit but her grave.
All this is sad enough; but afterall, Ethan ©
knows that his mother was a sick and sorrow-
ing woman, that she had a hard life, with very
little in it that was pleasant; and he knows
POOR ETHAN WELLS.
that she is now living where everything is
pleasant. and bright, and glad, and where
there can no more sorrow touch her. Should.
you think his tears would be so bitter? Let
_ POOR ETHAN WELLS,
ule tell you something he cannot forget. He
did not go away from home as some boys do, .
_ with his mother’s good-bye kiss on his cheek ;
he ran away one dark night—ran away be-
cause he was angry with his mother for not
giving him something that he wanted; and
the last works he ever said to her were, “I
won't do it!â€
Oh, oh, oh! You cannot think, and. I can-
not tell you how loud those words seem to
sound to him now! It seems as if the wind,
and the birds, and the grasses even, as they
wave back and forth, were saying that- sen-
tence: “I won't do it.†He would give all
the money he has earned, or ever hopes to
earn, if he could put his arms around her neck
and say, “ Mother, I am sorry.â€
‘If he only hadn’t said them; if he only
hadn't stolen away that dark night and left
her alone, he would give all the world; but,
then, Ze did. Poor Ethan Wells! If he only
had been careful of mother, when he had her!
If boys would only know just how they will
feel when they come to kneel by mother’s
grave, they would be careful of their words,
and their looks, and their ways.
PANSIES.
=O
Here's a pair of pansies,
In a pretty frame.
-That’s what we will call them, -
Though it’s not their name. ©
The frame is very pretty,—
Don’t you think so too?
When you meet it some day,
Just say: How d’you do?
Up above the pansies,
Broad, and high, and fair,
Is the pretty forehead,
Circled round with hair.
PANSIES.
Down below the pansies,
Beautiful as roses,
There you see the dimpled cheeks,
And there’s where the nose is.
Close above these pansies
Are little bits of shading ;
So there'll be no need :
Of these flowers fading.
Down below these pansies
Is a pearly row,
Set in glowing rubies,
Themselves white as snow.
Just below the rubies,
And the pearls within,
You can see the prettiest
Little dimpled chin.
Now you see the pansies.
Now you see the frame.
Put it all together,——
What shall be its name?
WS
FRED, AND LULIE, AND PUSSY CAT.
Sue's the dreadfulest kitty,—she ought to be
hung!
Nothing one- half so bad ever aopecnee be
fore, - —
Oh, dear! - Don’t you caw what a song
Dickie sung,
Just this morning? And now he won't sing
any more!
Think of eating a birdie,— you horrid old cat!
Oh, my @ear little Dickie,—so tame and so
sweet ! a
There’s no use in talking to me about that!
I won't ever get her some more milk to eat.
No, indeed, I don’t love her: I’m sorry I cricd
The day that Joe Robinson stepped on her tail;
I hate her, I do, and wish she had died —
I wish she had drowned when she fell in
the pail.
I don’t care if she dd go without any dinner:
She ought to have nothing to eat for a year;
I’m glad she was whipped —I guess it won't
kill her; “aes
I'm zot sorry for her—I hope she cam hear, |
- FRED, AND LULIE, AND PUSSY CAT,
If she'd eaten your birdie, you 'd feel just like
IMCS 2
She ought to know better! It’s awful, you
know ; a
S’pose she hasn't a Soul Shes got eyes,
. and cansee, . .
She Anew I loved Dickie —scat! ae, don't
- she go?
Oh, dear! She isame! Why, Fred, did you
know it?
I am sorry she’s hurt, if She zs a bad cat ;
The poor little footie; oh, Fred, see her on
it !
Poor pussy, who Hue you. so dreadful as
that?
- Oh, Freddie! Run get her some milk in her
saucer ; -2 :
Poor birdie! I’m sorry she killed him, but
then,
What right had that old Jimmie Dawson to
toss her?
He's hatefuller than twenty- -eleven bad men.
FRED, AND LULIE, AND PUSSY CAT.
She has been very naughty, but then, she is —
lame:
Pussy cats don’t know much—F don’t s’pose
she knew
How dreadful Id feel. “Bhope she isng to
blame;
I don’t s’pose she knows what as Gave, do
_~you: ?
Poor foot! I’m so sorry! There, Pussy,
come here, _—*
‘ Nice milk in your saucer, and here is some
meat ;
Come right here, to Lulie; I love you, my -
dear: .
Say, Fred, don’t you s’pose camphor’s good
for sore feet?
MOTHER BLAKE’S HOME.
SHE was having adismal time! The more
Judge Lawrence explained, and read to her
out,of his big books, and his great papers
with red tape seals on them, the less she un-
derstood. The papers said: .
“ Whereas this, and whereas that,†and she
didn’t know what they were talking about.
The most she understood was that there was
some mistake in the title deed, and she might
lose her snug little house, that Father Blake
bought the-year before he died...
She knew just how dreadful that would be!
The more she thought about it, the less at-
tention could she give to those big words that
Judge Lawrence was reading to her, and that
~ she didn’t understand.
She seized upon one of the papers and pre-
tended to look at it carefully; but it was to
steady her eyes, so the tears wouldn’t come.
There was only one thing of which she felt
sure, and that was, that it was a world of
trouble, and that, try as she might, she
couldn’t escape her share. She thought about
little boy Tommy; he was her, grandchild;
,
2\
_MOTHER BLAKE’ S -HOME,
‘and she had meant to leave the-tiny house to ~
him when she was through with it; I can't
tell you what a pleasure it had been to plan —
this out, but the planning had all come to
nothing, the home would go, and Tommy
2 would never have a share in it, and as for her- _
self, she didn’t like to think wHat would be-
come of her; she didn’t see how her hard
working daughter, Tommy’ s mother, could do
~any more than she was doing now. How
could she possibly support her too, without
the rent’ of the little -housé. to†help. her? ~
Everything looked dark to Mother Blake.
She went home at last, feeling as if her feet
were made of léad, and that each one weighed
twenty pounds, and that she was growing too
‘old to lift them. All day the weight stayed ;
at night, when they gathered around the little’
stand, daughter Jane with her mending,
mother with her knitting, Tommy with his
spelling book, and everything in the ‘kitchen
looked bright and cheery, Mother Blake.
couldn’t see where to take the seam stitch; <27
for the tears that would fill her eyes; she
couldn’t get over the trouble. Earlier than
usual, they laid aside their work, and each re-
MOTHER BLAKE’S HOME.
; peated ar --verse, which was the way they had
family worship in the evening. How could
Mother-Blake help saying :
“Man is born unto Se as ; the sparks :
fly upwarckâ€
But when it was young Tommy’s turn, what .
>
- + did he say but those wonderful words:
lic, my Father’s house are many mansions,
if it were not so, I would have told you; I go
- to prepare a place for you.â€
All’ at once it came over Mother Blake,
what a home she had; how safe it was,— how _
sure the deed was! “What a simpleton I
have been!†she said to herself, and she wiped
~ her eyes, and put. on her cheery smile again,
for did she not know the next verse:
-"’T will come again, and receive you unto
myself.†No danger of Mother Blake pee
homeless.
se A AK
~
Oh, such a frolic out there in the sun,
Baby, and doggie, and grandpa; stich fun;
Now they are talking, both doggie and Nell:
Grandpa is listening and trying to tell
What they can mean by-such queer sounding
words —
Might as well listen to songs of the birds.
“Bow! wow!†says doggie—now what does
that say?
yi Agoo!†says baby; what’s that anyway?
Both wanting ‘something —that' s plain to pe
Sec,
Question is, Wiha 7 in the world do they mean?
Grandpa leans over, and studiés each face;
Plainly he thinks he can’t make out the case.
Bose paws his sleeve, and Nell pulls his coat.
~“ Bow! wow! bow! wow! wow!†says one
eager throat; . | ~
“ Agoo!†says Nellie. “ Dal dal-dal Baa!
Ee boo ls : ,
“Don’t know,†says ome “what thatis;. |
do you?†oe
. sale,
dh, how they scolded, and bow! wowed! and
cried |
As for poor grandpa, he looked on—and
- “I can’t make it out, my darling,†he said,
Tenderly patting sweet baby Nell’s head.
Be TA,
“You both speak alike, as far as I see—
‘Agoo!†and ‘bow! wow | !’ are both Dutch
to me;
Don’t cry, my: darling, your dear little word |
Is sweet.as the song of any wild bird. |
Some a my darling, ‘youll stand at my
knee, —
Mouth full of sweet words, aad then you will
St;
Grandpa will listen, if you talk all day,
Grandpa will do every thing that you say.
_ While Bose,. poor old dog ! will still say
- Bowl wow! =~
Know no more ¢/en, than the fellow does now.
Your soul, ‘my* darling, will grow on, andâ€
grow; >
But Bose knows as much as he ever wil/
~ know.
eh
TOMMY TINKER HAVING FUN.
Miss MapeL SEYMOUR went out to ride on
her white pony. About the same time Tommy
_ Tinker went out to-fly his new kite. It was a
great pity that Miss Mabel took the same road
that Tommy Tinker did; if she had known
‘what a thoughtless, mischievous boy he was,
and that he was ‘there, I don’ t believe she
would have done so.
Just as Miss Mabel’s pony came trotting
along, tossing’ her pretty neck, and lifting her ee
feet very daintily, Tommy said to himself:
“ Ho! there’s Miss Mabel and her pony ; how
proud that pony does feel! She thinks she is ~
p tite prettiest thing in the world. I wonder if
- she is afraid of kites? Most all ponies are. -
~ What fun it would be to make her toss her
head, and stand up en her hind feet! Then
Miss Mabel would squeal, I s’pose. All ladies
do. Oh, what fun! I mean to do it; it can't
hurt her. Pony won't throw her,.-I don’t be-
lieve; and if she does, it is in a nice soft
place.†2507 without any more thinking,
Tommy let go his kite; and up it sailed in
the ail like a bird with great Heprins wings,
TOMMY TINKER HAVING FUN. ~
_ right before the pony’s eyes. She didn’t t
know what a kite was. If she had known as
much as Tommy, that it was only made of
bright-colored paper, she would never have
- jumped as she did,— away out into the ditch,
at the side of the road, and snorted and
plunged, and made it impossible for Miss
. Mabel to hold her. In fact, Miss Mabel was.
too much frightened to hold her; she didn’t
scream at all; but she looked very pale; and
_ when, Si enornes toss of her naughty head,
: Pony landed her in the ditch, with her head
against the corner of the fence, Tommy
Tinker began to think it wasn’t funny at ail.
The people gathered around Miss Mabel.
Two girls ran out from a house near by, and
said: “ Pring her right in here!†and a young
man lifted her in his arms and carried her in.
As for-Tommy Tinker, he ran away as fast as
he could. He didn’t even wait to wind up his
_ kite, but let go of the string, and the kite went.
away up out of sight.
How do'you think Tommy Tinker felt when
he heard, the next day, that the doctor was
afraid Miss Mabel had hurt her back so that
she would never walk more? ;
HIGH LIFE.
One day, there was an ugly-looking worm
crawling slowly along the garden path; it
met a lovely great butterfly, with brown and
gold wings, embroidered with satin folds.
« Dear mel†said: the butterfly, “what an ugly-
looking thing a worm is, anyway! I wish
they were not allowed in the garden. What
would I do, if I had to crawl along at that
rate through the world? I believe I should
be glad to have somebody step on me, and |
put a> end to my trouble.â€. _Then she shook
her bright wings, and flew away to the very
top of the rose-bush, and fluttered from one
bud to another.
“What a cruel way to talk!†the ‘worm
said; “she knew I could hear her. I sup-
pose she did it on purpose,—just to hurt my
feelings. 1 don’t see how anybody can be so
‘mean. What hurt does it do to her to have
me crawl about in the ‘garden? It isn’t my
fault that I can’t dress in velvet and gold, and ~
fly through the world. I know, if I could, I
should be so sorry forall the poor creatures
that had to creep, that I would always be very
kind indeed to them.â€
HIGH LIFE.
Now, I have something strange to tell you.
_ That worm went to sleep one day, and slept. °
a long nap; and, when she awoke, don’t you
believe, she was a butterfly!—dressed in
gold, and velvet, and satin, and all the colors
of the rainbow.. How lovely she did look!
and how she did fly around the flowers in that
garden! She was very intimate with her old
enemy, the butterfly, who had scorned her;
and one day, as they were calling on a lemon-
tree in the south window, Mrs. Butterfly
shook her wings and said: “ Ugh! as true as
you live, there is a great ugly caterpillar right
here on this lemon-tree. How horrid! Let'sâ€
go right away. Do you see why they let such
dreadful-looking Ehine: come into this garden? e
Isn’t it disgusting ?†—
Now, listen to what the butterfly said, who
. was'going to be so very, very kind to all poor
ecreatures who had to creep. She folded her
- beautiful wings in a languid way, and took a
sip from a lemon-blossom, and said: “No; I
can’t see why they permit such vile creatures
to live at all; they are perfectly horrid!†_
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either nobles or commons.
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