by Various
"No," said Louie, speaking low. "I don't believe sugar-sticks are goodfor little girls. 'Sides, I want it myself."
Just as she swallowed the last bit there came a little call from herbedroom: "Mama?"
"Hello!" said Uncle Jack, "Popsey's awake!"
And in a minute, out she came in mama's arms, rosy, and smiling, anddimpled.
Then there was another great rustling in Uncle Jack's pocket, and prettysoon--
"This is for Popsey!" said Uncle Jack.
She took her two sugar-sticks in her dimpled hands and looked at them asecond--dear little Popsey!--and then she held out the larger one toLouie.
_"Dis for 'ou."_]
"Dis for 'ou," she cooed, "and dis for me!"
Poor Louie! She hung her head and blushed. Somehow she didn't want tolook at Uncle Jack or mama. Can you guess why?
"Dis for 'ou!" repeated Popsey, cheerfully, pushing the long sugar-stickinto her hand.
"Take it, Louie," said mama.
And Louie took it. But a little afterward mama overheard her tellPopsey:--
"I won't never be such a greedy thing any more, Popsey, dear. And I'salways going to divide with you, all the time after this, long's Ilive!"
"_Suddenly, with a great effort, she began to sing._"]
A GIRL'S SONG
At the time of the terrible accident a year or two ago at the coal minesnear Scranton, Penn., several men were buried for three days, and allefforts to rescue them proved unsuccessful.
The majority of the miners were Germans. They were in a state of intenseexcitement. Sympathy for the wives and children of the buried men, anddespair at their own fruitless efforts, had rendered them almostfrantic.
A great mob of ignorant men and women assembled at the mouth of the mineon the evening of the third day, in a condition of high nervous tensionwhich fitted them for any mad act. A sullen murmur arose that it wasfolly to dig farther--that the men were dead. And this was followed bycries of rage at the rich mine owners.
A hasty word or gesture might have produced an outbreak of fury.Standing near me was a little German girl, perhaps eleven years old. Herpale face and frightened glances from side to side showed that she fullyunderstood the danger of the moment.
Suddenly, with a great effort, she began to sing in a hoarse whisperwhich could not be heard. Then she gained courage, and her sweet,childish voice rang out in Luther's grand old hymn, familiar to everyGerman from his cradle, "A mighty fortress is out God."
There was silence like death. Then one voice joined the girl's, andpresently another and another, until from the whole great multitude rosethe solemn cry:--
With force of arms we nothing can, Full soon are we o'erridden. But for us fights the godly Man, Whom God Himself hath bidden. Ask ye His name? Christ Jesus is His name.
A great quiet seemed to fall upon their hearts. They resumed their workwith fresh zeal, and before morning, the joyful cry came up from the pitthat the men were found--alive. Never was a word more in season thanthat child's hymn.
"_Here, that's mine._"]
CARRIE'S MARKS
"For I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus,'" repeated MissEvans, slowly. "My dear girls," she said, "have you these marks? It usedto be the custom in India to brand the master's name upon the arms ofhis servants, so that all who met them would know to whom they belonged.Do your lives show the name of the Lord Jesus to all whom you meet?"
"O Belle!" cried Jennie Day, on the way home. "Did you see Sarah Brooksin that new silk dress? Didn't she feel grand?"
"New!" returned Belle White, "I almost know it was made out of one ofher mother's old ones."
"How spiteful they are," thought Carrie Maynard; "I am glad I knowbetter than to talk that way. Girls," she said aloud, "I think you areforgetting very quickly what Miss Evans read about the marks. The Biblesays, 'Charity envieth not.'"
"Yes," answered Belle angrily, "and it says, too, 'Vaunteth not itself,is not puffed up.'"
"I wonder if I am conceited, and quote only the verses that don't meanme," said Carrie to herself. "I am sure humility must be one of themarks;" and she went up stairs and asked God to show her how bad shewas, little dreaming how soon the prayer would be answered.
After dinner she washed and wiped the dishes and put them carefullyaway. "There," thought she, "if 'cleanliness is next to godliness,' I amsure of one mark, for mother says I am an uncommonly neat little girl."
Meantime, Charlie, finding his own library book rather dull, hadcommenced reading Carrie's. "Here! that's mine," she cried, trying tosnatch it.
"Wait till I finish this page," he said, holding it up out of her reach.
"No, I will have it now," she insisted; and by frantic efforts finallyseized it, but not till she had left a scratch on his hand, and receivedseveral pinches on her arm.
She opened the book, and the first thing she saw was the verse, "Ye haveneed of patience."
"Oh, dear," she sighed, "there is another mark. Now, I suppose, I mustcarry this book back to Charlie, and ask his forgiveness."
"I am sorry I behaved so bad, and you may take the book all theafternoon," she whispered.
Charlie stopped whistling. "Upon my word, I believe you are a Christian,Carrie," he said, and then he fell to whistling again. But Carrie wentsoftly up stairs.
_"Never mind her! Her father drinks."_]
SUSIE'S PRAYER
It was a half holiday. The children were gathered on the green, and aright merry time they were having.
"Come, girls and boys," called out Ned Graham, "let's play hunt thesquirrel."
They were all eager for the game, and a large circle was formed with NedGraham for leader because he was the largest.
"Come, Susie," said one of the boys, to a little girl who stood on oneside, and seemed to shrink from joining them.
"Oh, never mind _her!_" said Ned, with a little toss of his head, "she'snobody, anyhow. Her father drinks."
A quick flush crept over the child's pale face as she heard the cruel,thoughtless words.
She was very sensitive, and the arrow had touched her heart in itstenderest place.
Her father _was_ a drunkard, she knew, but to be taunted with it beforeso many was more than she could bear; and with great sobs heaving herbosom, and hot tears filling her eyes, she turned and ran away from theplay-ground.
Her mother was sitting by the window when she reached home, and thetearful face of the little girl told that something had happened todisturb her.
"What is the matter, Susie?" she asked, kindly.
"_He said that father drinks._"]
"Oh, mother," said Susie, with the tears dropping down her cheeks, asshe hid her face in her mother's lap, "Ned Graham said such a cruelthing about me," and here the sobs choked her voice so that she couldhardly speak; "He said that I wasn't anybody, and that father drinks."
"My poor little girl," Mrs. Ellet said, very sadly. There were tears inher eyes, too. Such taunts as this were nothing new in that family.
"Oh, mother," Susie said, as she lifted her face, wet with tears, fromher mother's lap, "I can't bear to have them say so, and act just as if_I_ had done something wicked. I wish father wouldn't drink! Do yousuppose he'll ever leave it off?"
"I hope so," Mrs. Ellet answered, as she kissed Susie's face where thetears clung like drops of dew on a rose. "I pray that he may break offthe habit, and I can do nothing but pray, and leave the rest to God."
That night Mr. Ellet came home to supper, as usual. He was ahard-working man, and a good neighbor. So everybody said, but he had thehabit of intemperance so firmly fixed upon him that everybody thought hewould end his days in the drunkard's grave. Susie kissed him when hecame through the gate, as she always did, but there was something in herface that went to his heart. A look so sad, and full of touching sorrowfor one so young as she!
"What ails my little girl?" he asked as he patted her curly head.
"I can't tell you, father," she answered, slowly.
/> "Why?" he asked.
"Because it would make you feel bad," Susie replied.
"I guess not," he said, as they walked up to the door together. "What isit, Susie?"
"Oh, father," and Susie burst into tears again as the memory of NedGraham's words came up freshly in her mind, "I wish you wouldn't drinkany more for the boys and girls don't like to play with me, 'cause youdo."
Mr. Ellet made no reply. But something stirred in his heart that madehim ashamed of himself; ashamed that he was the cause of so much sorrow.
After supper he took his hat, and Mrs. Ellet knew only too well wherehe was going.
At first he had resolved to stay at home that evening, but the force ofhabit was so strong that he could not resist; so he yielded, promisinghimself that he would not drink more than once or twice.
Susie had left the table before he finished his supper, and as he passedthe great clump of lilacs by the path, on his way to the gate, he hearda voice and stopped to listen to what she was saying.
"Oh, good Jesus, please don't let father drink any more. Make him justas he used to be when I was a baby, and then the boys and girls can'tcall me a drunkard's child, or say such bad things about me. Please,dear Jesus, for mother's sake and mine."
_Susie's Prayer_]
Susie's father listened to her simple prayer, with a great lump swellingin his throat. When her prayer was ended, he went up to her, knelt downby her side, and put his arm around her.
"God in heaven," he said very solemnly, "I promise to-night, never totouch another drop of liquor as long as I live. Give me strength to keepmy pledge, and help me to be a better man."
"Oh, father," Susie cried, her arms about his neck, and her head uponhis breast, "I'm _so_ glad! I shan't care about anything they say to menow, for I know you won't be a drunkard any more."
"God helping me, I will be a _man!_" he answered, as taking Susie by thehand he went back into the house where his wife was sitting with the oldpatient look of sorrow on her face,--the look that so often restedthere.
I cannot tell you of the joy and thanksgiving that went up from thathearthstone that night. I wish I could, but it was too deep a joy whichfilled the hearts of Susie and her mother to be described.
Was not Susie's prayer answered?
THE STOLEN ORANGE
"Mamma will never know," thought Flora Marshall to herself, as she tooka large orange from the piled-up dish on the table, and, putting it inher pocket, went hastily up stairs.
She was expecting two or three little friends to spend the day with her,and had been busily arranging the doll her kind mother had given her;but while lingering about, waiting for them to come, she was tempted totake one of the oranges which had been placed on the table ready fordinner. She hurried from the room, but had not reached the top of thestairs before her brother's voice stopped her, calling, "Flora, Flora,make haste, I see some of your visitors coming in at the gate;" anddirectly after there was a knock at the door, and she could hear thevoices of Kate and Effie Somers.
Flora ran quickly down stairs, but her face was flushed, and she feltmiserable and ashamed as she met her young friends, and took them to theparlor to speak to her mamma.
_"Blindman's Buff"_]
Flora tried to laugh and talk as merrily as any of them, but she couldnot forget how wrong she had been; and the dish of oranges setting rightbefore her on the table kept her fault ever in her mind. Besides this,not having been able to eat the orange she had taken, she was inconstant fear lest she might draw it from her pocket with herhandkerchief, and thus be covered with shame in the sight of her youngfriends.
Poor Flora! she had sinned against God, and against her kind mother, andhad spoiled all her afternoon's pleasure for the sake of an orange. Atdinner time she could not raise her head to meet her mother's glance,who saw that something was wrong with her, and who said very kindly,"Flora, dear, you are scarcely eating anything--are you not well?" Thismade Flora ready to cry with shame and repentance. Her conscience wastoo tender to allow her to be happy while her fault remainedunconfessed.
All the afternoon they had merry games, in which everybody joined. Theyplayed "Lady's Toilet," "Hunt the Slipper," and many more such games,winding up with "Blindman's Buff." After this the little girls wenthome, and Flora was left alone with her papa and mama while the youngerchildren were getting ready for bed.
Several times she had fancied she had dropped the orange in some of therough movements of the games, and had gone more than once quietly into acorner of the room to feel in her pocket if it was still there. Yes, itwas quite safe enough. "How could I be so wicked and so greedy?" thoughtFlora; "mama always gives me as much fruit as is best for me, and yet Ihave made myself a thief, and after all have not eaten the orange, orbeen able to put it back, and it has spoiled all my pleasure." She satstill, miserable and unhappy for a little longer, and then herresolution was made--she would tell her mama before she lay down tosleep that night. With a slow step and a beating heart she went towardthe window where her mother was sitting. "Well, Flora," said Mrs.Marshall kindly, "you seem tired and out of spirits to-night; have youcome to wish me good-night?"
_"Here it is, Mama."_]
"O mama!" sobbed Flora, "I have come to tell you how wicked I have been,and how very sorry and miserable I am;" and hiding her face in the foldsof her mama's dress, she told the story.
"Here it is, mama," she said, drawing the orange from her pocket, "andI think I shall never see an orange again without remembering this badafternoon."
Very gravely, but gently, her mother spoke to her about her sin, and theconsequences it had brought upon her. "I shall not punish you, Flora,"she said; "your own conscience has been a sufficient punishment. I havewatched your pale, troubled face all the afternoon, and should havewondered what was wrong with you had I not seen you take the orange as Ipassed the door, which was slightly open. Knowing what you had done, Iwas not surprised that you seemed unhappy."
"But can you forgive me mama, and believe that I will never do such athing again?"
"I will forgive you, Flora, because you have told me of your fault; butremember there is One above whose forgiveness you must seek as well asmine, whose eye is always upon you, and who is grieved when you dowrong. Go now, and before you sleep to-night ask God to pardon you, andcleanse you from this and every other sin for the sake of his Son, ourSaviour Jesus Christ."
With a sorrowful, repentant heart Flora went to her room, and kneelingthere asked God to forgive all her sins, and to help her for the futureto resist temptation; but it was a long time before she forgot thestolen orange and how miserable she had been that afternoon.
"_He used to chase them and threaten to cut off theirears._"]
WEE JANET'S PROBLEM
Everything small and helpless was once afraid of a certain ragged,barefooted little boy who had recently come to live in the country. Hishome was the old Perkins' house, in which no one had lived for years; atleast no one but wild-wood folks, like birds and squirrels. They didn'tstay long after the arrival of Pete and his family, because Pete threwstones even at the bluebirds.
Wee Janet was afraid of Pete. All the Primer Class children who attendedthe country school were afraid of the boy. He used to chase them andthreaten to cut off their ears; once he whispered across the aisle toBessie Saunders that he would like to eat little girls, and she believedit.
The teacher said that Pete was a bad boy. There was never a school daywhen the child wasn't justly punished for something. It did seem as ifno one ever said a kind word about Pete. Wee Janet thought that even hismother was discouraged, because he cruelly teased his own brothers andsisters until they were in tears half the time.
No one in the country knew where Pete and his family lived before theycame to the Perkins' farm. In reply to that question Pete said "None ofyer business!" to the Sabbath school superintendent.
Wee Janet was much troubled about Pete. "He'll be a dreadfully bad man,"she said to her mother, "unless someone can make him into
a good littleboy. The teacher says she can't do it--she's tried. She says it's aproblem."
"I'll tell you what to do, little daughter," said Wee Janet's mother."Try to think Pete is the lovely boy he might have been if he had beenborn in the Perkins' house, and dear old Grandma Perkins was his owngrandmother."
"But--but my thinker isn't strong enough," objected Wee Janet. "Besides,that wouldn't make Pete into a different kind of a boy."
"No," agreed Wee Janet's mother; "but if you could imagine Pete islovely, you must treat him in a different way, and it might make himbetter."
The following day Wee Janet tried her best to do as her mothersuggested. The day after she begged all the little girls in the PrimerClass to treat Pete as if he were a good boy. At last Wee Janet and thePrimer Class gave it up.
"He just gets worse and worse," Wee Janet told her mother. "He says he'don't care for nuthin' nor nobody,'--that's just what he said."
"Well," replied Janet's mother, "there is one thing you can do, and thatis, always be polite and kind to him. 'Overcome evil with good.'"
Days passed. Every night when she said her prayers Wee Janet rememberedPete. Each day she tried to be kind to him in every way known to alittle girl eight years old and extremely small for her age. He threwthe flowers she gave him into the dusty road and danced on them. Heaccepted her gifts only to destroy them, every one, and then called her"Cry-baby."
At last the Sabbath-school superintendent learned that Pete was born andhad lived all his life in a tenement house in a great city. His fatherdied in State's Prison. After that it seemed to Wee Janet that there wasalmost no hope for Pete.
