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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/77151-0.txt b/77151-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6bac2d6 --- /dev/null +++ b/77151-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2153 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77151 *** +Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed. + + + +[Illustration: THE OLIVE BRANCH.] + + + + THE OLIVE-BRANCH + + + And Other Stories. + + + BY + + _A.L.O.E._ + + AUTHOR OF "EXILES IN BABYLON," "TRIUMPH OVER MIDIAN," + "THE YOUNG PILGRIM," ETC. + + + + [Illustration] + + + + London: + T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW. + EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. + —————————— + 1885. + + + + Contents. + + [Illustration] + + I. THE OLIVE-BRANCH + + II. THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN + + III. NEVER MIND SCOFFS + + IV. A PEEP INTO A BACK-KITCHEN + + V. THE TWO PATIENTS + + VI. IT'S VERY HARD + + VII. THE PIC-NIC + + VIII. CATCHING AT A SHADOW + + IX. GO AND DO LIKEWISE + + X. THE BEST FRIEND + + XI. THE THICKET OF FURZE + + XII. THE BOY AND THE BIRD'S NEST + + XIII. SENDING HORSES TO TRAVELLERS + + XIV. THORNS AND FLOWERS + + XV. HEIR TO SOMETHING BETTER + + XVI. THE TWO PETS + + XVII. THE TWO STANDARD MEASURES + + + + THE OLIVE-BRANCH + + —————————— + +I. + +THE OLIVE-BRANCH. + +[Illustration] + +"IF you are going for the fodder for our cow, Carlo, what say you to +taking our little Rosina with you? It is long since she has been beyond +our village, and a ride upon our trusty old Duchessa will do her good." + +It was Bice, the wife of an Italian peasant, who spoke these words to +her husband, as she stood at her cottage door, with her bright little +girl at her side. + +"What say you, Rosina?" asked the smiling father. "Have you a mind for +a ride?" + +The little girl clapped her hands for joy. "Oh, if we are going to +the farmer's for the fodder," she cried, "then we will pass by Aunt +Barbara's cottage. May I go in and see her, father, and carry her one +of mother's little goat-milk cheeses that she always likes so much?" + +Rosina saw with surprise a shade of sadness gathering upon her father's +sunburnt face. And when she turned to look at her mother, Bice was +brushing a tear from her eye. + +"You cannot go to your aunt, Rosina," said Carlo; and his voice sounded +almost stern to his child. + +"Is poor aunt ill?" asked the little girl; for she saw that her mother +was greatly distressed. + +"Ask no questions, my child," said Carlo. Then, turning to his wife, he +went on: "She cannot understand, poor lamb, why a woman should quarrel +with an only sister, who never meant to give her cause of offence." + +Rosina heard her father's words with increasing wonder. She knew that +her Aunt Barbara had a peevish and angry temper, but she could not +think how she, or any one else, could possibly quarrel with that gentle +mother who had always taught Rosina to love and forgive. The child did +not, however, venture to ask any more questions, though her heart was +sad at the idea that any one could by unkindness bring a tear to her +mother's eye. + +"Perhaps, after all, Carlo," said Bice, looking up earnestly into the +face of her husband, "it might be as well for you to let our little +one run in and see her aunt, as you are passing her very door. Barbara +has always been kind to Rosina; it might—" Bice's voice dropped to a +whisper as she added, "it might do good—it could scarcely do harm." + +"It would look like an attempt to make up with her," said Carlo, rather +proudly; "and after her insolent conduct to you, I would not choose to +take the first step." + +"I would take not the first step only, but go the whole way, if I could +but win back my sister to love me," said Bice, clasping her hands. +"O Carlo, 'Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the +children of God.'" + +"I never knew any one more ready to forget and forgive than you are, +Bice," said her husband; "it is all the greater shame to Barbara that +she quarrels with such a sister. But she is a woman who would snap at +any one who chanced to stand in her light. However, as you wish it, our +little Rosina shall run in and wish her aunt good-day; a child should +never be mixed up with the disputes of older people." + +"And may I carry aunt one of your nice cheeses?" whispered Rosina, +standing on tip-toe, and drawing down her mother towards her that she +might breathe the words in her ear. + +"Alas! Rosina, my darling, she would now accept nothing from me!" + +"Not even a 'kiss?'" whispered Rosina. + +The mother's heart was too full for reply; for, notwithstanding +Barbara's unkindness, she was dear to her only sister. Bice could only +lift her darling up in her arms, and half cover her rosy face with +kisses. + +"Half of these are for your own little girl, half are for auntie," said +simple Rosina; and she resolved to be a trusty messenger, and deliver +faithfully what she considered to be tokens of love and forgiveness. + +Carlo started on his way to the farm, leading the patient and trusty +Duchessa, while Fidele, the dog, ran by his side. The day was warm and +bright, sunshine lay on the valley and gilded the distant hills, but +Rosina sat on her ass more quiet and silent than usual—she had scarcely +a word even for her old friend Fidele. Carlo might have missed her +merry prattle had not his own thoughts been painfully occupied with the +family quarrel. He little guessed what was passing through the mind of +the child scarcely four years of age. + +Barbara, it is true, had hitherto been always kind to Rosina; the child +had seen her angry with others, but had never had a harsh word herself. +Yet Barbara's temper was such that Rosina's love for her had always +been mixed with some fear. What the child had just heard and seen +had increased that feeling of fear to a painful degree. Rosina quite +dreaded having to go alone into the presence of her aunt, the stern +black-eyed woman, whose unkindness had made even her mother cry. Rosina +would far rather have quietly passed the door on her ass; and she knew +that a word to her father would be enough to make him spare her what +she now felt to be a very great trial of courage. But then her mother's +tears and her mother's kisses! Rosina could not forget these, and she +ought to deliver them. Besides, her mother had said such beautiful +words from Scripture; oh, if Aunt Barbara could but have heard them, +surely she would become a peacemaker too, and never be angry or cross +any more! + +So, while the ass went on at her slow, steady pace, little Rosina +was repeating to herself over and over again, "'Blessed are the +peacemakers.'" + +Her young heart beat faster as Duchessa stopped, as she often had done +before, at the vine-covered porch of Barbara's door, over which hung +clusters of ripe dark grapes. Rosina felt almost inclined to cling to +her father's arm, and beg him to drive on Duchessa, for she dared not +go in by herself. But even one as young as Rosina may be guided by +conscience, and conscience was whispering to the child that her mother +wished her to go, that it was right to go, and that the great God of +peace could put kind thoughts into the heart of her aunt. + +Barbara was sitting alone in a darkened room: it was dark because she +had made it so; she had so choked up her window with thick-growing +plants that the light which shone so brightly outside could hardly +creep in through the leaves. And so poor Barbara was shutting out the +sunshine of love from her home and her heart, and making them both +dull and cheerless when they might have been so bright. Do you think +that the proud, quarrelsome woman was happy? Ah, no, dear reader; for +there never is true happiness with sin. It has been truly said that a +little sin disturbs our peace more than a great deal of sorrow. Barbara +was in her secret soul vexed at having quarrelled with her sister; she +was vexed, but she would not own it, for her heart was full of pride. +Barbara had resolved never to confess herself wrong, and rather to live +all her life unloving and unloved than to bend her haughty spirit to +make friends with her younger sister. + +There sat unhappy Barbara, with no companion but bitter thoughts. +She felt terribly alone in the world, but it was her own pride and +temper that had made a desert around her. She could not help thinking +of the happy days of childhood, when she and her sister had been +merry playmates together. Barbara's eyes chanced to rest on a little +olive-plant in her window; and the sight of that plant had brought +back to her memory days of old. She recollected how Bice, then a +rosy-cheeked child, had once asked her what shrub or tree she would +choose for her own especial favourite. + +"I would choose the laurel," had been Barbara's proud reply; "for that +is the plant of which wreaths are made for those who conquer in war." + +"I would choose the olive," little Bice had said; "for it was the leaf +of the olive that was brought by the dove to Noah; and it always seems +as if the plant, with its juicy fruit and silvery hue, made one think +of gentle peace." + +So from that day the olive had always been connected in the mind of +Barbara with the thought of her gentle sister. + +"I'll throw that plant away; I'll pull it up," muttered Barbara; "I +don't care to keep anything now to remind me of her." + +The proud woman had hardly uttered the words when a soft—a very +soft—knock was heard at the door. + +At Barbara's rough "Come in," the door slowly opened, and a little +child appeared, so like to what Bice had been at her age that Barbara +could almost fancy that she was looking again at her earliest playmate. + +Rosina crept in timidly at first, for she thought that her aunt looked +terribly stern. + +"Why do you come here?" asked Barbara, with a little softening, +however, in her tone. + +"I have something to give you from mother," said the child. + +"I will take nothing from her," replied Barbara; "I'll return it, +whatever it be." + +"Will you?" cried Rosina, suddenly running up to her aunt, and opening +wide her little arms. The next moment the arms were clasped tightly +round Barbara's neck, and the soft little lips were printing kisses on +her cheek. + +Barbara was a proud, ill-tempered woman, but she still had a heart, and +a heart that might be conquered by love. She would have spurned a gift, +but she could not refuse a kiss. Barbara could not help pressing her +sister's child to her bosom, and a strange choking sensation appeared +to rise in her throat. + +"Those are mother's kisses—dear mother's kisses—and you promised to +return whatever she sent," cried Rosina. "Give me the kisses back for +my mother!" + +And if Barbara did give the kisses, and if her proud eyes were moist as +she did so, who can wonder? She would have mocked at words of reproach; +she would have retorted insult or scorn; but the kiss, the fond kiss, +sent through the little child, subdued both her anger and pride. + +Barbara rose from her seat, and slowly walked to the window; perhaps +it was partly to hide her eyes that she did so. She broke off a large +branch from the olive, and suddenly turning round, held it out to her +little niece. + +"Take this to your mother from me, Rosina," she said, "and tell her +to remember our early choice. The laurel, I have found, bears but a +poisonous berry; the fruit of the olive is good—I will cultivate it +from this day." + +If Rosina did not fully understand the message, she understood the +smile which followed it, which looked so pleasant on a face so lately +furrowed with gloomy frowns. + +And when Rosina, bearing the olive-branch in her little hand, ran out +to her father, and told him all that had passed, his look of amusement +and pleasure more than rewarded the child for the effort she had made. + +"Brava, my brave little messenger!" exclaimed Carlo, giving Rosina a +hearty kiss as he lifted her up to Duchessa's back. "Brava, little +peacemaker! So you made her give back the kisses again! That bit of +olive will bring as much joy to your mother's heart as if it were made +of silver, with blossoms of pearl and leaves of gold." + +Very joyful was the return of Rosina to her home. The fodder which +Carlo procured from the farm, and heaped high on the patient Duchessa, +looked like a little throne for the child, who, as she saw her mother +standing at her door to welcome her, merrily waved her branch of olive, +the token of joy and success. + +Carlo planted the olive-twig in his garden, where it took root, and in +time grew up to be a goodly tree with blossoms and fruit. Barbara, who +was often a guest at her sister's cottage, watched the growth of the +olive with peculiar interest; and Rosina always on her aunt's birth-day +bore to her a little spray from the tree. + +And when Rosina herself had grown up to be a woman, and married, and +had little children of her own, their favourite spot for play was under +the shadow of what was called "the peacemaker's tree." + +Dear children, plant in the gardens of your own little hearts the +olive-branch of peace. + + + +II. + +THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN. + +[Illustration] + +AN ass finding the skin of a lion, put it on, and in the disguise of +the king of beasts soon sent the more timid animals scampering in +terror before her. The fox alone showed no fear. + +"What!" brayed the ass. "Are you not frightened? Do you not dread the +lion's terrible jaws?" + +"Ah, my good friend," said the fox, "creatures at a distance may be +alarmed at sight of the tawny hide of the lion, but I have come near +enough to hear the bray and spy the long ears of the ass!" + +[Illustration: THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN.] + +Those who try to inspire respect by false pretences are sure to betray +themselves in the end. + + ———————— + +FALSE PRETENCES. + +"You say that your father keeps a butler and footman, why that's +nothing!" exclaimed Master Tom Talkaway in a pompous tone to one of the +group of schoolfellows amongst whom he had come for the first time. +"'My' father keeps six men and two boys," added the young boaster, +looking round him with an air of triumph. + +"I say!" exclaimed Jack, one of the boys whose mother could only afford +to have one general servant. + +"Oh, you should see how we go on in London!" cried Tom. "You've not a +notion of real high life in a poor little village like this. Why," he +continued in his swaggering way, sticking his thumbs into the pockets +of his waistcoat, "I've seen five, six, seven carriages waiting before +father's door, and the most of them had coronets on them." + +"I say!" repeated poor Jack; while the other boys exchanged looks of +surprise, scarcely knowing whether to believe their companion or not. + +Mr. Gilbert, the usher, who had been sitting by the window reading, +raised his eyes from his book. + +"Tom Talkaway," he quietly said, "I happen to know about your father: +he is a respectable haberdasher in London, and, for aught that I know, +may keep six men in his shop and two boys to carry his parcels; nor +should I be surprised if some of his customers came in carriages even +with coronets on them." + +Tom was thunderstruck at these words; his thumbs were pulled out of his +pockets, he flushed up to the roots of his hair. There was a general +roar of laughter from his schoolfellows, and cries of "Look at the +great son and heir of the haberdasher!" which increased the boy's +confusion. + +"Hush!" cried the usher, raising his hand to command silence. "There is +'nothing' to be ashamed of in 'honest' trade, but 'a great deal' to be +ashamed of in 'dishonest pretence.' And," he added, looking sternly at +Tom, "it is only the 'ass' that puts on the skin of the lion, and he is +sure soon to be found out, and to meet the scorn which he merits." + + + +III. + +NEVER MIND SCOFFS. + +[Illustration] + +"I'LL splash that duck all over! I'll make it as wet as a sponge in the +water! I'll soon take out all the shine from its green and glittering +neck!" + +So cried little Guy, as with both hands he flung water at the beautiful +bird. But calmly the duck swam on; its rich plumage was dry, not a drop +would rest upon it, and bright as ever in the sunlight shone its green +and glittering neck. + +"I shall pelt it with water from my squirt!" cried Guy. "I shall +certainly wet it at last, and make its feathers like those of the dead +pigeon which I found yesterday in the brook!" + +[Illustration: THE BOY AND THE DUCK.] + +Yet calmly the duck swam on; its rich plumage was dry, not a drop would +rest upon it, and bright as ever in the sunlight shone its green and +glittering neck. + +Why was the duck never wet, though the boy in his malice threw so +much water upon it? Because Nature has given it oil on its feathers +that throws off the moisture at once. Even when the bird dives in the +stream, it rises unwetted and unstained. + +When we are pelted with scoffs and words of unkindness, let the "oil +of patience" keep our temper unruffled, and then they have no more +real power to harm us than water to injure a duck. There are those who +laugh and mock at others for refusing to join them in evil: they pelt +them with bitter jests, and try to throw shame upon them. Are not such +acting the part of Guy? Let all who are laughed at for doing right +go steadily on their way; shame cannot rest upon them, nor dim the +brightness of a character that will shine but the more clearly for such +vain attempts to blot it. + + + +IV. + +A PEEP INTO A BACK-KITCHEN. + +[Illustration] + +"WHAT can a little boy of seven years of age do?" I would ask of my +young readers. Perhaps they will answer, "He can read, perhaps write in +a very big round hand; he can bowl a hoop, toss a ball, spin a top, and +fly a kite." + +"But can such a child be of any 'real use' in the world?" + +Let me answer this question by giving a truthful account of a visit +which I paid a few days ago to a family in one of the poorer streets of +London. + +My ring at the door of a lodging-house for the poor was answered by +little Ben, a boy of about seven years of age. The sound of a baby's +cry was heard from the back-kitchen, from which he had just come, and +which was the dwelling-place of the family. + +No wonder was it that the poor baby cried, for I found, on descending +the pitch-dark staircase, that Ben was the sole nurse for the time +of the sickly infant. That scene in the dark dull kitchen was a +strange picture of life amongst the poor. There was Ben, after he had +followed me down-stairs, hushing the baby in his little arms, and soon +succeeding in quieting it, for he was evidently an experienced and +skilful nurse. There were two other children under his care—Polly, +about four years old, and Annie, not two. One might almost have said +that Ben had "three" babies to look after, but I soon found that Polly +was already to be reckoned as his little assistant. + +Annie began to cry; Polly went up to her sister, put her hands on +either side of her face, and tried, as well as she could, to soothe +her. Annie, however, cried still. Ben said a word or two to Polly, +and the little nursemaid, "four years of age," hastened to get a cup, +into which she poured water from a jar which stood on the ground, and +she then brought the drink to her thirsty little sister. The boy had +guessed the cause of the crying, and Polly having thus removed it, we +had again quietness in the back-kitchen. + +Ben, a very intelligent little fellow, entered freely into conversation +with me, while he nursed the baby in his arms. That boy had been +in sole charge of the three children for two hours, while his poor +half-blind mother was out, procuring necessaries for the family. + +"Are you happy?" I inquired. The question seemed a strange one to be +asked in so gloomy an abode. + +"Yes, I'm happy," replied the boy, with an honest smile on his face. + +What a lesson for many a pampered, peevish child, grumbling and +discontented in a comfortable home! + +"Does Polly ever go out?" I inquired, for the low dark room looked +something like a prison. + +"Yes; I sometimes take her out." + +"And does Annie go out?" + +[Illustration: BEN NURSING THE BABY.] + +"Yes, when Polly goes, she goes; I take them in the 'chay.'" + +This "chay" was twice mentioned by Ben, which rather surprised me, +for I certainly did not suspect that the family kept a carriage. My +attention was, however, directed at last to a substantial-looking +perambulator, which in the dim light I had not noticed before. + +"Father made that," said Ben. + +This was almost too much for me to believe. I questioned the boy +closely, but he was sure of the fact. I found afterwards, from the +mother's account, that the father had bought the wheels and other iron +parts, the wreck of a former perambulator, for "ninepence," as they +were to be sold as old iron. He had actually made all the rest of the +carriage for his little ones, stuffing the cushion with hay. It was a +striking proof of the father's ingenuity, that labour of love! + +B— must be a very industrious man. He goes to the docks in hope of +getting a day's job there, and then, after his return, "cleans his +potatoes," as little Ben told me; for when the labours of the day are +over, B— is glad to go out at night to sell baked potatoes, that he may +thus help by double work to support his almost blind wife, and four +little children. + +"What do you get for breakfast, Ben?" I asked. + +"Bread and butter—no," said the child, correcting himself; "father gets +bread and butter, I get bread and drippings. But 'I like the drippings +best,'" he added, with a nice feeling which pleased me. + +The poor mother soon came in, half exhausted from wandering about for +two hours, for in her blindness she could hardly find her way. She was, +however, calm and contented. + +When I asked her what message she had for a lady who had sent her a +present by me, "Tell her that I am in better circumstances," was the +pale, thin woman's reply. + +As her husband had succeeded in getting four and a half days' work that +week, Mrs. B— seemed to feel that she had nothing to complain of. Her +greatest trouble was the illness of her babe, as she feared that the +little one might die. Very thin and wasted the poor infant looked, but +the other three children appeared plump and well-fed. Mrs. B— must be +an excellent manager, notwithstanding her blindness, and it is clear +that her husband's earnings do not go to the ale-house. + +I have reason to hope that she is a God-fearing woman, and that she +and her husband pray as well as labour. Ben is to attend the Sunday +school. He would go to the weekday school also, which he used to enjoy +attending, but so useful a child cannot be spared from his home. + +I left that dark back-kitchen with a feeling rather of respect than of +pity. Little Ben, brought up in the midst of poverty, with three young +children to care for, and an almost blind mother to help, may lead a +life of happiness, as he certainly does of usefulness, with hope before +him, and love around, and the blessing of God upon him! + + + +V. + +THE TWO PATIENTS. + +[Illustration] + +NAY, little Tommy, do not shrink away, as if I meant to do you harm. If +a thorn has been left in your finger for days, and if the poor finger +is swelled and sore, and cannot get well till the thorn is out, is it +wise to cry, and pull back your hand, and not let your mother look at +the place? There, hold it out now, like a brave little man; and while I +am doing all that I can to relieve you, I'll tell you a tale of a poor +dog that was much more hurt than you are. + +A doctor found in the street a poor spaniel that had broken one of its +legs. The man had a kindly heart, so he took the dog to his home, set +its bone, put splinters round it, and wrapped it up in bandages, in +hopes that the leg might be healed. I do not think that the spaniel +struggled and howled as you did two minutes ago, though the doctor, +kind as he was, must have given a good deal of pain. + +There, Tommy, the thorn is out; you can see it on the point of my +needle, and like a good brave boy you never uttered a cry when you felt +the prick. Now, while I bathe and bandage the finger, I will tell you +more of the dog. + +The spaniel's leg grew quite strong and well. The doctor sent the dog +home, as he knew to whom he belonged. But he had not seen the last of +his patient. + +Some time afterwards the doctor heard a whining and scraping at his +door, and when he opened it, who should be there but his old friend the +spaniel, and with him a poor lame dog that could hardly limp along. The +spaniel jumped and wagged his tail, rubbed his nose against the doctor, +and looked up in his face, asking him, as plainly as dog could ask, to +do the same kind office for his friend as he had done for himself. + +[Illustration: THE SECOND PATIENT.] + +The doctor could not resist the sensible creature's appeal. He bound up +the leg of the second dog both with kindness and skill, and the poor +creature, much relieved, limped slowly away with the friend who had so +wisely brought him to the place where he himself had found a cure. + +Now your finger is bandaged up, Tommy. I have played the doctor's part, +and hope in a few days to see that all is as well as ever. And if Mary +or Lucy, when gathering blackberries in the wood, manage to run a thorn +into a poor little finger, do not let her wait till it fester and swell +like your own, but play the part of the wise little dog, and bring her +here to the doctor at once. + + + +VI. + +IT'S VERY HARD. + +[Illustration] + +"IT'S very hard to have nothing to eat but porridge, when others have +every sort of dainty," muttered Charlie, as he sat with his wooden bowl +before him. "It's very hard to have to get up so early on these bitter +cold mornings, and work hard all day, when others can enjoy themselves +without an hour of labour. It's very hard to have to trudge along +through the snow while others roll about in their coaches." + +"It's a great blessing," said his grandmother, as she sat at her +knitting—"it's a great blessing to have food, when so many are hungry; +to have a roof over one's head, when so many are homeless. It's a great +blessing to have sight, and hearing, and strength for daily labour, +when so many are blind, deaf, or suffering." + +[Illustration: CHARLES AND HIS GRANDMOTHER.] + +"Why, grandmother, you seem to think that nothing is hard," said the +boy, still in a grumbling tone. + +"No, Charlie. There is one thing that I think very hard." + +"What's that?" cried Charlie, who thought that at last his grandmother +had found some cause for complaint. + +"Why, boy, I think 'that heart is very hard' that is not thankful for +so many blessings." + + + +VII. + +THE PIC-NIC. + +[Illustration] + +"WHAT a delightful morning for a ride!" exclaimed Mina, as she patted +the pretty black pony which her brother Felix was about to saddle for +her. "I almost wish that the place fixed on for the pic-nic were three +times as far away, that I might have a longer gallop over the common, +gay with golden furze, and along the green shady lanes." + +"You forget," said Felix with a smile, "that if you have to ride, we +have to walk; and that two miles each way is enough to give us an +appetite for the chicken-pie and cold tongue which are stowed away in +the basket." + +[Illustration: BEFORE THE PIC-NIC.] + +"This is just the day for a pic-nic!" cried Mina. "I am sure that we +shall enjoy ourselves much in the wood. There is only one thing that +may damp our pleasure," she added; "I almost wish that mamma had not +invited Priscilla Grey, and yet it is unkind to say so. It would have +been hard on the poor girl to have left her behind." + +"She's as ill-tempered a wasp as ever I met with!" cried Felix. "And it +seems as if she had an especial spite against you, for no reason that I +can think of, except that our parents being richer than hers, you ride +on Frisky, while she has to go upon foot." + +"I have never willingly done anything to vex her," said Mina. + +"You would never vex any creature living!" exclaimed Felix, who was +very fond of his sister. "But Priscilla is always on the lookout for +some cause of offence, and those who do so can always manage to find +one. If you only heard how she was speaking of you the other day! It +made me so angry, that if she had not been a girl, I think that I +really should have struck her. She said—" + +"I don't want to hear what she said, dear Felix," observed Mina, who +was a peace-loving girl. + +"But I've a bit of good news to give you. Priscilla, after all, will +not be at the pic-nic to-day. She slipped her foot yesterday going +down-stairs, and has sprained her ankle—not badly enough to lay her up, +but enough to make it quite out of the question for her to walk four +miles." + +It must be owned that Mina's first feeling was one of relief at being +rid of the company of so disagreeable a girl. But at that moment the +sun, which had been hiding behind a cloud, darted out his glorious +beams, lighting up the landscape around, smiling on the weedy waste as +well as the beautiful garden. Those rays brought to the mind of Mina +part of a verse from the Bible, "'He maketh his sun to rise on the evil +and on the good.'" + +Mina remembered what she should do as one of the children of Him who +bade us love our enemies, and do good to them that hate us. + +"Felix," said the gentle girl, "if Priscilla cannot walk, she can ride." + +"Of course, if she has anything to ride upon better than a dog or a +cat!" laughed Felix. + +"I could lend her my pretty Frisky, and walk with you to the wood." + +Felix gave a loud whistle of surprise. "Lend her your pony, and lose +your ride! How can you dream of doing such a thing!" + +"Indeed, Felix, I feel that I must do it. As you have kindly saddled +Frisky, we will go together—it is but a step—and lead him to the door +of Priscilla." + +"Well, you are wondrously kind," cried Felix. "I could understand your +giving up your ride for a sister, or a friend, but to think of your +doing so for the sake of such a girl as Priscilla!" + +"It is not just for her sake," said Mina; and she thought to herself, +it is for the sake of Him who is kind to the unthankful and to the evil. + +With a little difficulty, Mina persuaded her brother to yield to her +wishes, and they led the black pony to the door of the small house in +which Priscilla lived with her mother. Priscilla, who was in worse +temper than usual, from being disappointed of her expected treat, +caught sight of them through the window. + +"Ah, there's that girl Mina!" she exclaimed, with a burst of spiteful +passion. "She's bringing that ugly beast that she is so proud of, just +to let me see how much better off she is than I am. I wish that it +would rain. I wish that a thunderstorm would come and spoil the fun of +the pic-nic." + +But very different were Priscilla's feelings when Mina ran into the +room, inquired kindly after her ankle, and then offered to lend her +Frisky that she might ride to the wood. Shame and something like +gratitude mingled with pleasure and surprise, and Priscilla owned to +herself, what she never had owned before, that it was not only in +worldly wealth that Mina was richer than she. + +No rain fell, no thunderstorm came to spoil the pleasure of the +pic-nic. There were few clouds in the sky, and none over the spirit of +Mina. She enjoyed her walk, she enjoyed her feast, she enjoyed seeing +and adding to the pleasure of all; but her richest enjoyment came from +the whisper of an approving conscience, that she had not been overcome +of evil, but had overcome evil with good. + + + +VIII. + +CATCHING AT A SHADOW. + +[Illustration] + +"OH, Alice dear, won't it be fine fun to drive into London and spend +the day with grandmamma to-morrow!" cried little Minnie Davis to her +sister. + +"I hope that you may find it so," was Alice's reply. "As for me, I will +not be with you." + +"Not go to London!" exclaimed her brother Charlie, looking up in +surprise from his book. + +"No; I hope to go somewhere further than to London, and have better fun +still. What say you to the Crystal Palace?" asked Alice, with a beaming +smile. + +"You don't mean to say that the Brownes have asked you to drive down +there in their carriage to-morrow?" said Charlie eagerly. + +"Well, no, not exactly 'asked' me, but I think that they will call for +me on the way. Indeed I'm almost sure of it, for when Lizzie told me +that they were all going, she smiled and squeezed my hand, just as much +as to say, 'I hope you'll be one of the party.'" + +"Oh, if you've nothing better to go upon than a smile and a squeeze +of the hand," laughed Charlie, "I should advise you to come with us +to grandmamma, and not give up a certain pleasure for one so very +uncertain!" + +"But I 'have' something more to go upon," said Alice, who was not +pleased at her brother's laugh. "Mrs. Browne knows that I have never +been to the Crystal Palace, and that I long above all things to see it; +and a month ago she said to me, 'We must take you there with us some +day.'" + +Charlie smiled and shook his head. "Alice," said he, "don't you be like +the dog in the fable, that when crossing a brook with a bone in his +mouth, saw his own reflection in the stream, and was so eager to snatch +at what he thought another bone in the jaws of another dog that in the +attempt to get it, he dropped his own bone into the water." + +[Illustration: THE DOG AND ITS SHADOW.] + +Alice was a little out of humour at being compared to so foolish a dog, +and coldly replied, "If I choose to take my chance of a treat, I don't +see that it matters to you." + +"Oh, but, Alice dear," said gentle little Minnie, "won't grandmamma +be disappointed not to see you, and wouldn't papa like to have you +with him, and wouldn't it be such a pleasure for us all to drive up +together?" + +Minnie was a loving, coaxing little girl, and Alice was very fond of +her. Besides, there was reason in what she said, so that it was in a +hesitating tone that her sister replied,— + +"I don't think—at least I hope that dear grandmamma won't much mind +my staying away just this once; I daresay that I'll have another +opportunity of seeing her before the winter sets in. You will take her +my love, and tell her that nothing but a visit to the Crystal Palace—" +("The 'shadow' of a visit," interrupted Charlie)—"would prevent my +enjoying the pleasure of going to her," continued Alice, without +appearing to notice the interruption. "As for papa, I have his leave +to remain behind if I wish it, and he has allowed me to go with the +Brownes." + +"That is to say, if they wish to have you," laughed Charlie; "remember +the dog and the bone, Alice, remember the dog!" + + +The morning came, sunshiny and bright: all breakfast-time the children +were talking of the coming pleasures of the day. The chaise drove up to +the door. Charlie and Minnie were eager to start for London, the only +damp on their enjoyment being that their sister was not going with them. + +"Oh, Alice darling, do come!" pleaded Minnie. "We shall miss you so +sadly, and so will grandmamma: we should all be so happy together!" + +"We'll be happy together this evening, dear, when I tell you about all +the wonderful things that I shall have seen—the stuffed beasts and the +living birds, the huge tree, and the splendid Alhambra court." + +"Alice, my girl, I hope that we are to have you with us," said Mr. +Davis, coming out of his room with his driving-whip in his hand. + +"Dear papa—if you don't mind—I think I'd rather stop behind just this +once." + +"Well, do as you please," said the father. + +But Alice thought that she saw a little shade of displeasure on his +face, and she felt much inclined to run after him, and beg to be taken +with him in the chaise. + +"Alice is changing her mind!" cried Charlie. + +It was an unfortunate observation; Alice was foolish enough to pride +herself upon never changing her mind, even when she had made a mistake, +and she did not choose that Charlie should be able to laugh at her for +so doing. She therefore stayed within the gate of her father's pretty +little garden at Hampstead, bade good-bye to the party, and saw them +drive off towards London. + +Alice could not help a feeling of misgiving as the chaise rattled away +down the road, but she turned from the gate with the remark, "They will +have a pleasant visit, I hope, but nothing to be compared to my treat. +I will run and put on my best hat and my new kid gloves, and be all +ready to start; for the Brownes are likely to set off at ten, and I +wouldn't keep them waiting—no, not for one minute." + +But if Alice would not keep the Brownes waiting, it was out of her +power to prevent being kept waiting herself. Very impatient she grew as +she watched by the gate, counting up to a hundred again and again, to +make time appear to pass less slowly. + +"Dear me! What can be delaying them so long? What if they should not be +going to the Crystal Palace after all—if I should have to stay here the +whole day all alone, after disappointing Minnie, and running the risk +of vexing dear kind grandmamma, who always gives such an affectionate +welcome? There's the sound of wheels—they're coming at last! Oh no, it +is only the butcher's cart! What a dust it stirs up! And here comes the +great lumbering omnibus." + +Alice drew back a little from the gate, to be out of the way of the +dust. The omnibus was crowded with passengers within and without—it +seemed to Alice as if all the world were going pleasuring except +herself, and it was her own fault that she was not at that moment +driving through London. Had she been less selfish and self-willed, +she would have given up for the sake of others her chance of the +much-desired treat. + +Scarcely had Alice returned to her post close behind the gate, when +she uttered an exclamation of joy, clapped her hands, and could hardly +refrain from jumping. + +"Oh! Here they are coming at last—I know the blue liveries and the +spanking gray horses. There is Mrs. Browne's green bonnet, and there is +Lizzie leaning out from the carriage; she sees me—she is smiling—she is +kissing her hand—and—" + +Poor Alice stopped short in the middle of her joyful sentence, for, +alas! the carriage did not stop, the spanking grays did not slacken +their pace as they dashed along the road in front of the gate! The +smile of eager delight on the face of the poor child changed to a look +of blank dismay when the carriage had actually passed, and no one +had called to the coachman to pull up, and Lizzie and her party had +actually disappeared from view, hastening on their way to the Crystal +Palace! + +When carriage, blue liveries, and all, could be no more seen, and +even the rumble of the wheels could be heard no longer, Alice burst +out crying. She could not help it, so bitter was her disappointment, +so great her regret at her own folly. She ran into the house, threw +herself down on a sofa, and sobbed. She had dropped the pleasure which +she might have enjoyed, trying, like the dog, to snatch at another; she +had disregarded advice, she had acted a selfish as well as a foolish +part, and now all her delightful hopes had ended in disappointment! + +Alice cried violently, but she did not cry long. Presently she lifted +her head, dried her wet eyes, and began to try to bear her misfortune +more bravely. + +"This has been a sad lesson for me," said Alice to herself with a sigh. +"I should not have minded the disappointment so much if it had been +through no fault of my own. What a miserably dull day I shall spend! +Papa and the children will not be back till the evening,—I have nothing +to amuse me, or take up my thoughts. Oh, that I had gone up to London!" + +But Alice was, after all, too sensible a child to give herself up for +hours to vain regrets. "What can't be cured must be endured." She had +made one mistake which could not be repaired, but to have remained all +the day long in dull idleness, fretting over her disappointment, would +have been to make another. + +"I had better occupy myself about something," thought Alice, rising up +from the sofa. "Charlie's garden wants weeding, it is half covered with +groundsel and chickweed; shall I give him a surprise by clearing it +all nicely before he comes back? Dear little Minnie has her stockings +to mend, and I know that she finds darning so difficult; shall I save +her the trouble by doing the work myself? Papa asked me yesterday to +put his papers in order; here is leisure time in which I can arrange +everything as he likes. If I cannot be happy to-day, I may at least be +useful: I'll weed, I'll work, I'll sort the papers, and so pass the +wearisome hours!" + +Alice had this time made a wise resolution, and she found that while +her little fingers were so busy, her mind had less time to dwell upon +the sad disappointment of the morning. She had almost regained her +cheerfulness at last, before she heard the sound of the returning +chaise, and ran out to meet the party from London at the gate of the +garden. + +"Well, Alice, where have you been?" cried Charlie, as he jumped down +from the chaise. + +"What have you seen?" asked Minnie eagerly, as she followed her brother. + +Alice tried to give a good-humoured smile as she made reply—"When +you go to your garden, Charlie, and you to your workbasket, Minnie, +you will easily find out where I have 'been.' And as for what I have +'seen,' I have seen that it is best to be contented with pleasures +within our reach, and that he was a foolish dog indeed that dropped his +bone to catch at a shadow!" + + + +IX. + +GO AND DO LIKEWISE. + +[Illustration] + +"MAKE haste, make haste, or I do believe that the train will be off!" +exclaimed Arthur, hurrying with his two brothers along the highroad, +towards a small station at which the train was to call at ten. + +"I really can hardly keep up with you, Arthur," said Peter. "You rush +on like a steam-engine yourself." + +"If any of us had only a watch to tell us the exact time. But the train +comes so fast, and gives so little notice; and only think, if we were +to miss it!" + +"What a splendid day we have for our trip!" cried Mark. "Not a cloud to +be seen in the sky! I do long to see the Crystal Palace. They say that +it is the most beautiful thing in the world!" + +"How kind it is in uncle to give us such a treat!" said Arthur, his +rosy face beaming with pleasure. "We have never had such a holiday +before. Oh, let's make haste—come on, come on!" + +"What's that sound?" exclaimed Mark, stopping short. + +"Not the railway whistle, I hope," cried Arthur. + +"It's a loud cry of distress from the end of that field," said Peter, +looking alarmed. + +"There it is again," cried Arthur. "Some one is in terror or in pain." + +"I daresay," said Mark impatiently; "but you know we've no time for +delay." + +"I suspect that it is some one hurt by the bull that is kept in that +field," cried Peter. "I can see the creature through the hedge." + +"Can you see any human being?" said Arthur. + +"No, no one; but the voice shows where the person must be." + +"We cannot wait any longer," said Mark. "Remember that if we are late +for this train we must give up the treat altogether." + +"I cannot bear to go with those shrieks in my ears," replied Arthur. + +"Then I will go on without you," said Mark. And he ran on, as if to +make up for lost time. + +"Peter, we should get over that stile, and go to see what is the +matter," said Arthur. + +"Perhaps we ought; but—but you know that there is the bull in the +field." + +"He is a very quiet one." + +"Yes, generally; but he may be in a savage mood now. I feel sure," +added the boy, grasping his brother's arm, "that he must have gored the +poor child whose screams we hear." + +Arthur looked grave and anxious. His brother was older than he, and +Arthur had been accustomed to lean upon his opinion. + +"Will you go, Peter?" he said, at last. + +"Not I—it would be folly—we will send some one from the station." + +"Ah, if they would attend to us boys; and even if they would, help +might not arrive for half an hour, and then it might come too late. O +Peter, that is a terrible cry." + +"I can't bear to stay and hear it!" exclaimed Peter. And so saying, he +turned and ran along the road as fast as Mark had done before him. + +And did Arthur follow his brothers? No, he did not. He went back to the +stile, hastily clambered over it, and with many an uneasy glance at +the bull, that was cropping the grass at no great distance—fearful of +running, lest it should draw him after him—Arthur made his way to the +spot whence the cries proceeded. + +Was Arthur less eager than the other boys to enjoy his treat? Was he +less afraid of being gored by a bull? By no means, for Arthur was +the youngest of the three. He had hardly slept the night before from +thought of the coming pleasure, and he was by no means particularly +courageous by nature. Why, then, did he turn back and cross the +field? It was that the love of God was shed abroad in his heart that +he had learned in the Bible to forget self, and that he sought every +opportunity, by kindness and compassion to his fellow-creatures, to +show his love and gratitude to his heavenly Master. + +Resolute, therefore, neither to let fear nor pleasure stop him in the +course of duty, Arthur proceeded on his way, though I cannot say that +his ears were not anxiously listening for the sound of the railway +whistle, or that he did not often fearfully turn to see if the bull +were running after him. He neither heard the whistle, however, nor was +pursued by the bull, but reached in safety the other end of the field, +where he found, lying in a dry ditch, just beneath the hedge, a poor +girl of about his own age. + +"What is the matter with you?" said Arthur, stooping to help her to +rise. "I am afraid that you are very much hurt." + +The girl was crying so violently that it was some time before Arthur +could make out the cause of her distress. It appeared that she had +fallen in getting over the hedge, and had sprained her ankle so +severely as to be unable to rise. + +"I thought that no one would ever come," sobbed the girl, "though I +screamed as loud as I could." + +[Illustration: HELP IN NEED.] + +"But what can I do for you?" said Arthur. "I am not strong enough to +carry you away." + +"Oh, do you see that little white cottage there, just on the side of +the hill? My father lives there. If you would only go and tell him, I +am sure that he would come and help me." + +"If I go all that distance," thought poor Arthur, "I shall be quite +certain to miss the train." + +But he looked again at the suffering girl, and thought of the holy +history of one who had compassion on a poor injured traveller. He +remembered the words, "Go, and do thou likewise"; and determined to +give up his own pleasure for the comfort of another. Perhaps only a +child can tell how great was the sacrifice to the child! + +Arthur ran in the direction of the cottage, arrived there breathless +and heated, and found the girl's father standing at his door talking +to a baker, who, in his light cart, was going his daily round. A few +words from the panting boy explained to the man the accident that had +happened to his daughter. + +"I am much obliged to you," said the cottager. "I will go to poor Joan +directly." + +The eye of Arthur fell upon the Dutch clock hanging up near the +fireplace. The hour was not quite so late as his fears had imagined, +but still it wanted only eight minutes to ten. + +"I cannot be in time for the train," said the tired boy sadly, half to +himself. "My brothers will be off without me." + +"Did you want to meet the train? And have you been delayed by your +kindness?" said the baker, leaning from his cart, with a look of +interest. "Jump up here beside me. You've a chance of it yet. The train +may not be punctual to a minute, and Dobbin trots as fast as any horse +in the county." + +In a moment the eager boy was up in the cart, and the baker seemed as +eager. You might have thought, too, that the horse knew the state of +the case, he dashed on at such a fine rate! And the train was five +minutes beyond its time. Not till Arthur had sprung down from the cart +at the station, and stood thanking the kind baker who had helped him in +his need, was the long shrill scream of the whistle heard, and the dark +rattling line of carriages appeared. He was in time! Oh yes, he was in +time! + +Mark and Peter enjoyed their visit to the Crystal Palace, but their +pleasure was as nothing compared to that of Arthur. His whole soul was +overflowing with pure delight. He felt inclined to go springing and +bounding along, his heart was so free from a care! As a good man once +said, "How pleasant it is when the bird in the bosom sings sweetly." + +If my reader would know what is real happiness, real delight, let him +seek it in forgetting self, and following the steps of his Lord. Where +there is sorrow which you can cheer, or distress which you can relieve, +remember the Samaritan who beheld a wounded stranger and would not pass +by on the other side. Do not turn a deaf ear to the voice of pity, but +oh, Christian child! "Go and do likewise!" + + + +X. + +THE BEST FRIEND. + +[Illustration] + +"HA! Carl Von Orlich; well met!" exclaimed the veteran Strasse, as, on +the night after one of the fiercest fights in the Seven Years' War, he +suddenly came upon his comrade, and recognized his features by the red +light of the watch-fire, over which he was bending. + +Von Orlich started up, and wrung the hand of his friend. + +"I little thought a few hours since," said he, "to see you or any other +man in the land of the living." + +"You have much cause to thank Him who has covered your head in the day +of battle," observed Strasse, who was one who, in a godless age, did +not shrink from openly confessing his faith, and by so doing had drawn +upon himself many a scoff, some even from his friend Von Orlich. + +"It was hot work," said the officer, wiping his brow. + +"When I saw you from a distance dash into the midst of what seemed a +circle of smoke and fire, through which one could scarcely catch a +glimpse of the flashing swords, I never expected, Von Orlich, to see +you come forth alive." + +"It was to rescue him—the gallant Helden," said Von Orlich. "I saw him +sorely beset; and if I had had a thousand lives, I'd have ventured them +all for his sake. I bore him safe out of it all," added the officer, +with a proud smile of triumph on his lip. + +"Helden is a man who deserves a friend," observed Strasse. + +"He does—better than any other man in Prussia!" exclaimed Von Orlich. +"Did you never hear what he did when he was a gay young page in the +service of our last king, Frederick William?" + +[Illustration: THE TWO COMRADES.] + +"Not I," replied Strasse, seating himself; for he was weary with the +struggle of the day, and glad to warm himself for awhile beside the red +glowing fagots. "Tell me the tale of his youth. It may serve to while +away a few weary minutes; for as my turn for duty will soon come, it is +not worth while to lie down and sleep." + +"Helden, like most of our Prussian youth of gentle blood, was brought +up at a military academy. There he formed a warm friendship with a +lad of somewhat lower rank and much poorer family than his own. They +were never separated, Carl and he—studies, sports, hopes, pleasures, +everything they had in common. Never did brothers cling more closely +together than they. When the youths left the academy, their paths +divided. Helden, who had relatives of rank, became a page at the court +of the king; Carl, who had neither money nor interest, entered the +ranks of the army. But the tie was not broken between them, as with +most men it would have been. The page, midst the splendours of a court, +remained true to the friendship of his boyhood. + +"Carl was of a somewhat wild and reckless nature. Perhaps it stung +his pride to find himself in a position so much below that of his +late companions. Be that as it may, he had not been a month in the +army before he got into serious disgrace—overstayed leave, was out of +barracks till midnight, and was sentenced to receive a public flogging. +You know, Strasse, with what terrible severity that punishment is +inflicted in the army. To many it is equal to a sentence of death—to +Carl it was far worse than death! The agony might be great, but it was +the shame that was intolerable! The very horror of the idea of a public +flogging threw the young soldier into a fever, and threatened to turn +his brain." + +"I do not marvel at that," observed Strasse, as he stretched his hands +to the warming blaze. + +"Helden heard of the sentence passed upon his friend, and resolved +to make every effort to save him. He drew out a simple but touching +petition to the king, and ventured himself to present it—a task +requiring some courage, for you know the character of Frederick +William, and his excessive severity in whatever related to the +discipline of his army." + +"It was something like presenting a petition to a lion to spare the +prey under his paw," observed Strasse, with a smile. + +"And the king received it much as the lion might have done," rejoined +Von Orlich. "He was roused to one of his storms of fury, tore the +petition in pieces, and Helden was fortunate enough to escape with +nothing worse than a torrent of abuse." + +"So Carl underwent his sentence, of course?" asked Strasse. + +"Hear to the end," replied his comrade. "Any one but Helden would have +given up in despair all further attempt to rescue his friend, but, true +as steel as he was, he resolved to make yet another. Helden drew out +a second petition; and on the night before the morning on which the +flogging was to take place, he went to the antechamber with it in his +pocket, with the intention of presenting it to the monarch." + +"He was a bold youth," remarked Strasse. "When we recall how nearly our +late king put to death his own son and heir for a very trifling cause, +one cannot but marvel at the perseverance of Helden." + +"The king," continued Von Orlich, "was engaged, till far into the +night, in secret conference with one of his ministers. Helden, full +of deep anxiety, remained in the ante-room waiting. So long had he to +wait, so weary he grew, less perhaps from the lateness of the hour than +the wear upon his own spirits, that sleep overcame the poor youth. +The king, happening to come out of his cabinet, found his page in +deep slumber in an arm-chair, with what looked like a second petition +sticking half out of his pocket. + +"'If that audacious young scapegrace dare to pester me again with his +petitions, he shall get something sharper than words.' Such, I suspect, +was his majesty's thought when, without awakening the page, curiosity +made him draw forth the scroll. Perhaps, however, his countenance +changed when his eye glanced over the strange petition which it +contained. It was very brief, but to the purpose; and was, as well as +I can remember, in these words: 'Sire, if the sentence passed on Carl +must be executed, I entreat your majesty's permission to suffer instead +of my friend.'" + +[Illustration: THE KING TAKING THE PETITION.] + +"A strange petition, indeed," exclaimed Strasse. "What said the king to +the offer?" + +"Stern and rigid as he was," replied Von Orlich, "such generous +friendship, such brave self-devotion, could not but touch his heart. I +know not how long Helden slumbered. He was startled from his sleep by +the sound of the bell rung by the king in his cabinet. + +"'Now for the effort!' thought Helden, as he sprang forward with a +beating heart to obey the desired and yet dreaded summons. + +"He found the king sitting alone, looking more than usually stern. +Helden received some trifling order from the monarch, who then motioned +to him to retire. + +"'Now, or never!' said Helden to himself. 'The day will soon dawn, and +at sunrise poor Carl is to suffer.' + +"'Why do you delay?' asked the king very harshly, fixing his freezing +gaze on the page. + +"'Sire, pardon!' exclaimed Helden, and bending his knee, he drew forth +a scroll, and presented it to his sovereign. + +"'Will you stand by the consequences?' demanded the king, without +touching the paper. + +"'I will, sire,' replied the generous friend. + +"'Read the contents, then, young man!' said the king. + +"Helden opened the scroll, and started to his feet with an exclamation +of joyful surprise. The paper contained, not his own generous offer, +but a full free pardon for his friend, drawn out and signed by the +monarch himself!" + +"God had touched the king's heart," observed Strasse. + +"Be that as it may," said Von Orlich, "Carl was saved from a punishment +which would have driven him mad. And he lived to pay back this day part +of the debt of gratitude which he owed to the best of friends!" + +"What!" exclaimed Strasse in surprise. "You yourself are the Carl of +whom you speak?" + +"Ay; I have struggled upwards in life, won honours—" a star was +glittering on his breast—"I have gained the wealth and position which +are the prizes held out by war. But were the king to make me a duke," +continued Von Orlich with emotion, "the pleasure and the honour would +be small compared to what I felt to-day in proving my gratitude to the +man who once offered to suffer in my stead!" + +"It is strange," observed Strasse with a thoughtful sigh, as he looked +into the flickering fire, "how apt we are to reserve all our gratitude +for our fellow-man, forgetful of the Friend who not only offered to +suffer, but actually did suffer in our stead! You braved fire and +sword for one who had loved and saved you; shall our love be cold, and +our courage faint, only when our debt is infinite, and our benefactor +divine?" + +Von Orlich made no reply; but as he silently gazed up into the blue +starry heavens, almost for the first time in his life, the heart of the +war-worn veteran rose in thanksgiving to God! + + + +XI. + +THE THICKET OF FURZE. + +[Illustration] + +"WHAT a plague lessons are?" exclaimed Rosey, with a long weary yawn, +as she bent over her French exercises, wishing from her heart that +grammar had never been invented. + +"Work on, little one!" said her brother George, who had overheard the +exclamation. "Remember that it is doubly your duty to be steady and +industrious while mamma is away." + +"It is so difficult!" sighed the child. + +"Many a duty is difficult," answered the elder brother, "but that is +no reason for shirking it. Attending to little duties while we are +young helps us to perform great ones when we are old. Do your lessons +bravely, dear Rosey, and if they be finished by twelve, you shall have +a little story to reward your diligence." + +The word "story" called up a dimple upon Rosey's round cheek. She +turned with more resolution to her tiresome lesson, and the task was +ended by twelve. + +"Now for my story," cried the child, bringing her little chair close to +her brother, and resting her arm on his knee, as—looking up gaily into +his face—she claimed the fulfilment of his promise. + +George looked into the fire for a few moments, as if to draw some ideas +from the cheerful blaze, stirred it, and then leaning back on his +chair, began the following little tale:— + +"Methought I lay down and slept, and dreamed; and in my dream I beheld +a path through a verdant meadow, along which many a child gaily +tripped, gathering the lovely wild flowers that grew on either side. +But at one end of the meadow the path was crossed by a thicket of sharp +prickly furze, and the name of the thicket was Difficulty. The bushes +grew so thick and close, that I wondered whether any child would be +able to pass them; and I sat me down to watch how the little travellers +would get through the Difficulty in their way." + +"I suppose that I was one of the little travellers," laughed Rosey, +"and the furze-bushes were my horrid French verbs!" + +"There are a great many 'Difficulties' in a child's life," replied +George with a smile: "some find it difficult to rise early, some to be +punctual or neat, some to control their tempers, others to be generous +and kind. There are plenty of furze-bushes in our path, but we must +not, like lazy cowards, suffer them to stop us in our onward course." + +"Please tell me about the children in your dream," said Rosey. + +"The first who reached the thicket was a little girl, with ruddy +cheek and curly hair, who had been one of the gayest of the gay, as +she went dancing through the flowery mead. But as soon as she came to +Difficulty, all the cheerfulness fled from her face, she shrank from +the first touch of the prickles as if she had expected that life was to +be all sunshine and flowers, and sitting down on the grass by the side +of the path, she burst into a flood of tears." + +"Oh, the cowardly little creature!" cried Rosey. + +"Then there came up to the spot a young boy, whose appearance to me +was not pleasing. He never looked straight before him, but had a kind +of cunning side glance, which made me fancy him less open and frank +than a Christian boy ought to be. He made no attempt to push through +the thicket, but went creeping along the edge of it, hoping to 'creep +round' Difficulty instead of passing straight onwards. I watched him +to see if he would succeed in his aim, but he had not gone many steps +before his feet stuck fast in a bog, and it was only by violent and +painful efforts that he could struggle out again, to return to the +point whence he had started, with his shoes all clogged with clay, his +time lost, and his object not gained." + +"I suppose that he was a lazy boy," remarked Rosey; "putting off does +not help us over our difficulties. I have sometimes tried that plan of +creeping round, and I always stuck in the bog!" + +"Then," pursued George, "a boy with firm step and resolute air came up +to the thicket. I saw something like a smile on his face as he looked +at the Difficulty before him. He set his teeth hard together, clenched +his hands, and then with bold determination made a dash at the thicket. +On he went, that stout-hearted lad, dashing aside the prickles, pushing +forward as if he scarcely felt the scratches upon his bleeding hands. +Trampling down, struggling through Difficulty, he was soon safe and +triumphant on the opposite side!" + +Little Rosey clapped her hands. "He was a fine fellow!" cried she. "I +think that Nelson and Wellington went dashing through difficulties like +that. But I can't do so," added the child more gravely; "I have not +that bold, strong spirit. I am afraid that I am most like the little +cowardly girl who cried when she saw the thicket." + +"Is not that because you do not look upon your childish troubles as a +means of testing your patience and obedience; is it not because you do +not seek for help from above, even in the little trials of your life?" + +"They seem such trifles to look at in that way," said Rosey, gazing +thoughtfully into the fire. + +"A writer has said that 'trifles form the sum of human things;' and +the life of a child, more especially, is made up of what we call +trifles. Yet children, as well as those who are old, are required to +glorify God; and as they can do no 'great' thing for him, it is by +their cheerful obedience, diligence, and sweet temper, that they must +show their gratitude and love. And does not this thought, dear Rosey, +make the performance of simple daily duties a bright and a holy thing? +If what we do, we do as 'unto the Lord,' feeling that His eye is upon +us, and seeking in all things to please Him, we find pleasure even in +irksome tasks, sweetness in what otherwise would be bitter." + +Rosey looked as if she scarcely understood the words of her brother, +so, to make their meaning clearer, George went on with his tale:— + +"There was one other child whom I saw in my dream advancing towards +the thicket Difficulty. I felt sorry for the little girl, for she was +feeble and pale, and as she moved over the grass, I saw that she was +both lame and barefoot! + +"'Alas!' thought I. 'If she can scarcely make her way along the smooth +and pleasant path, how will she ever struggle through the prickly furze +before her!'" + +[Illustration: THE LAME GIRL.] + +"Perhaps the same thought was in the mind of the little traveller, for +she paused before the thicket, and looked forwards with a scared and +troubled air. Then she clasped her hands, and raised her eyes towards +the soft blue sky above her, and all trace of fear or care left her +smiling face. What was my surprise to see two beautiful little wings, +glittering like gold in the sunlight, and bright with the rainbow's +tints, gradually unfold from her shoulders! The child shook them +for a few moments, as if to try their powers, and then rising above +earth, and all its thorns, she gently flew over the painful place, and +alighting safely on the ground beyond, looked back with a bright and +thankful smile on the Difficulty which she had passed." + +"Oh!" exclaimed Rosey. "What would I not give to have such beautiful +wings!" + +"Those wings, dear Rosey, are 'faith' and 'love,' which lift us above +the world, which bear us onward in a heavenly course, which make us +find our chief delight in doing the will of our heavenly Father." + +"I have not these wings!" + +George drew his little sister closer to him, and bending down his head +towards her, whispered, "'Ask and ye shall receive.' God only can cause +those wings to grow, by the power of his Holy Spirit; He can give them +strength to bear us unharmed over all the rough places of life; and the +waters of the river of death shall not wet even the soles of the feet +of those who pass their depths, buoyed up on the glorious pinions of +'faith' and 'love!'" + + + +XII. + +THE BOY AND THE BIRD'S NEST. + +[Illustration] + +"MARY, my love, all is ready; we must not be late for the train," said +Mr. Miles, as, in his travelling dress, he entered the room where sat +his pale, weeping wife, ready to start on the long, long journey, which +would only end in India. + +The gentleman looked flushed and excited; it was a painful moment for +him, for he had to part from his sister, and the one little boy whom he +was leaving under her care. But Mr. Miles's chief anxiety was for his +wife; for the trial, which was bitter to him, was almost heart-breaking +to her. + +The carriage was at the door, all packed, the last band-box and shawl +had been put in. + +Eddy could hear the sound of the horses pawing the ground in their +impatience to start. But the clinging arms of his mother were round +him—she held him close to her embrace, as if she would press him into +her heart, and the ruddy cheeks of the boy were wet with her falling +tears. + +"O Eddy!—my child—God bless you!" she could hardly speak through her +sobs. + +"My love, we must not prolong this," said the husband, gently trying to +draw her away. "Good-bye, Lucy—good-bye, my boy—you shall hear from us +both from Southampton." + +The father embraced his sister and his son, and then hurried his wife +to the door. + +Eddy rushed after them through the hall, on to the steps, and Mrs. +Miles, before entering the carriage, turned again to take her only son +into her fond arms once more. + +Never could Eddy forget that embrace—the fervent pressure of the lips, +the heaving of his mother's bosom, the sound of his mother's sobs. +Light-hearted boy as he was, Eddy never had realized what parting +was till that time, though he had watched the preparations made for +the voyage for weeks—the packing of those big black boxes that had +almost blocked up the hall. Now he felt in a dream as he stood on the +steps, and through tear-dimmed eyes saw the carriage driven off which +held those who loved him so dearly. He caught a glimpse of his mother +bending forward to have a last look of her boy before a turn in the +road hid the carriage from view; and Eddy knew that long, long years +must pass before he should see that sweet face again. + +"Don't grieve so, dear Eddy," said Aunt Lucy, kindly laying her hand on +his shoulder; "you and I must comfort each other." + +But at that bitter moment Eddy was little disposed either to comfort +any one or to receive comfort himself. His heart seemed rising into +his throat; he could not utter a word. He rushed away into the woods +behind the house, with a longing to be quite alone. He could scarcely +think of anything but his mother; and the poor boy spent nearly an hour +under a tree, recalling her looks, her parting words, and grieving over +the recollection of how often his temper and his pride had given her +sorrow. He felt, in the words of the touching lament,— + + "And now I recollect with pain + How many times I grieved her sore; + Oh, if she would but come again, + I think I would do so no more! + + "How I would watch her gentle eye + 'Twould be my joy to do her will; + And she should never have to sigh + Again for my behaving ill!" + +But boys of eight years of age are seldom long unhappy. Before an +hour had passed, Eddy's thoughts were turned from the parting by his +chancing to glance upwards into the tree whose long green branches +waved above him. Eddy espied there a pretty little nest, almost hidden +by the foliage. Up jumped Eddy, eager for the prize; and in another +minute he was climbing the tree like a squirrel. Soon he grasped and +safely brought down the nest, in which he found, to his joy, three +beautiful eggs! + +"Ah! I'll take them home to—" Eddy stopped short; the word "mother" +had been on his lips; it gave a pang to the boy to remember that the +presence of his gentle mother no longer brightened that home—that she +already was far, far away. Eddy seated himself on a rough bench, and +put down the nest by his side; he had less pleasure in his prize since +he could not show it to her whom he loved. + +[Illustration: EDDY AND THE NEST.] + +While Eddy sat thinking of his parent, as he had last seen her, with +her eyes red and swollen with weeping, his attention was attracted by a +loud pitiful chirping, which sounded quite near. Though the voice was +only the voice of a bird, it expressed such anxious distress, that Eddy +instantly guessed that it came from the poor little mother whose nest +he had carried away. Ah! What pains she had taken to form that delicate +nest!—How often must her wing have been wearied as she flew to and fro +on her labour of love! All her little home and all her fond hopes had +been torn from her at once to give a little amusement to a careless but +not heartless boy. + +No; Eddy was not heartless. He was too full of his own mother's sorrow +when parting from her loved child to have no pity for the poor little +bird, chirping and fluttering over the treasure which she had lost. + +"How selfish I have been!—How cruel!" cried Eddy, jumping up from his +seat. "Never fear, little bird! I will not break up your home; I will +not rob you of your young. I never will give any mother the sorrow felt +by my darling mamma." + +Gently he took up the nest. It was no easy matter to climb the tree +again with it in his hand, but Eddy never stopped until he had replaced +the nest in its own snug place, wedged in the fork of a branch. Eddy's +heart felt lighter when he clambered down again to his seat, and heard +the joyful twitter of the little mother, perched on a branch of a tree. + +And from that day it was Edith's delight to take a daily ramble to that +quiet part of the wood, and have a peep at the nest, half hidden in its +bower of leaves. He knew when the small birds were hatched; he watched +the happy mother when she fed her little brood; he looked on when she +taught her nestlings to take their first airy flight. This gave him +more enjoyment than the possession of fifty eggs could have done. Never +did Eddy regret that he had showed mercy and kindness, and denied +himself a pleasure to save another a pang. + + + +XIII. + +SENDING HORSES TO TRAVELLERS. + +[Illustration] + +"POOR old Matthew!" said Lucy. "I hear that he is almost dying with +cold!" + +Ben was amusing himself with spinning on the table four bright +half-crowns, with which his grandfather had presented him that morning, +but he stopped for a moment to listen to his sister's account of the +sufferings of his aged neighbour, and in a tone of pity said, "I'm sure +that I wish that he were better off, he is such a good old man!" + +"He had nothing but a crust all yesterday," said Lucy. + +"Dear me!" exclaimed Ben, balancing his coin between his finger and +thumb. "I wish that he had had as good a dinner as I!" Twirl, twirl, +went the half-crown, looking like a half transparent ball, as it spun +rapidly round; then gradually its shape altered, it sank lower and +lower, then rattled down to its old position on the table. + +[Illustration: BEN AND THE HALF-CROWNS.] + +"I wish that some one would help him!" said Lucy, glancing at the money. + +"So do I, with all my heart!" replied Ben, in a manner that told pretty +clearly that his charity would not go beyond his good wishes. + +There was a pause, which was first broken by Lucy. "I read such a funny +account, in a book about Thibet," said she, "of a curious piece of +superstition, that I put mark in the place, just that I might read it +to you; I thought that it would make you laugh." + +"Let's have it!" cried Ben, pocketing his half-crowns, for he dearly +loved anything funny. + +So Lucy opened a volume of Huc's "Travels," and read the following +account of the strange ideas of a young student of medicine at +Kounboum:— + + "One day," writes the missionary Huc, "he proposed to us a service of +devotion in favour of all the travellers throughout the whole world. +'We are not acquainted with this devotion,' said we; 'will you explain +it to us?' 'This is it: You know that a good many travellers find +themselves from time to time on rugged toilsome roads, and it often +happens that they cannot proceed by reason of their being altogether +exhausted. In this case we aid them by sending horses to them.' 'That,' +said we, 'is a most admirable custom; but you must consider that poor +travellers such as we are not in a condition to share in the good work. +You know that we possess only a horse and a little mule, which require +rest in order that they may carry us to Thibet.' He clapped his hands +together, and burst into a loud laugh. 'What are you laughing at? What +we have said is the simple truth; we have only a horse and a little +mule.' When his laughter at last subsided, 'It was not that which I +was laughing at,' said he; 'I laughed at your mistaking the sort of +devotion I mean. What we send to the travellers are paper horses.' And +therewith he ran off to his cell, and presently returned, his hands +filled with bits of paper, on each of which was printed the figure of +a horse, saddled and bridled, and going at full gallop. 'Here, these +are the horses we send to the travellers! To-morrow we shall ascend +a high mountain, and there we shall pass the day, saying prayers and +sending off horses.' 'How do you send them to the travellers?' 'Oh, the +means are very easy. After a certain form of prayer, we take a packet +of horses, which we throw up into the air; the wind carries them away, +and by the power of Buddha they are then changed to real horses, which +offer themselves to travellers.'" + +"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Ben, when she had finished. "I never heard +anything so odd in my life. We have nothing in England like these paper +horses." + +"Well, I could not quite say that," observed Lucy; "there was something +that reminded me of them just now." + +"What was that?" said Ben, glancing up at his sister. + +"Sending only 'good wishes' to those to whom we are able to send real +help," Lucy replied with a smile. "They go just as far, and are exactly +as useful to the poor, as the paper horses to the travellers in the +deserts of Thibet." + + + +XIV. + +THORNS AND FLOWERS. + +[Illustration] + +"WHAT can be the difference between Martha and Susan Williamson?" said +old Dame Phillips. "They are as like as two cherries—the same rosy +cheeks, the same height, the same hair, you could hardly know one from +the other." + +"No wonder, for they are twins," replied Widow Green. + +"And yet, how is it that when one of them comes in, it seems as if a +sunbeam were shining into the room; yet, when the other is near, you +would think that she brought the cold east wind with her?" + +"One lives for others, and one for herself; that's the difference +between Martha and Susan," said Mrs. Green, as she poured out her cup +of tea. + +"Ah! I often think that they are like two travellers, walking through +the world with baskets on their arms. Susan has filled her basket +with roses, and wherever she goes there's the sweet smell and the +pretty flowers to make every one round her glad. Martha has filled her +basket with thorns; you fear to come near her for the prickles; she +is scattering thorns wherever she passes, and leaves pain behind her +wherever she has been!" + +"I pity the children when they are left to her care," said the widow. + +"Poor little lambs, they have their full share of the thorns. It is +a word and a blow with her; and as for poor Albert, with his weak +ankles, he may walk on till he drops afore she will take the trouble +of carrying him one step.—Why, here she is!" added the old woman, as +Martha entered the house with a bold, careless air. + +"Good-day, Mrs. Phillips: I've come to borrow your warm new shawl. +You see," added she, seeing a look of reluctance on the face of the +rheumatic invalid, "I'm going to-morrow in the steamer to Greenwich, +and it will be so cold on the water." + +"Come to-morrow, then," said the good-natured dame; "why should I be +all this cold evening without it?" + +"Oh, it is not convenient to come to-morrow!" cried Martha. "I'm off +early, so please for it now." And as she stepped carelessly forward to +take the shawl from the shoulders of her shivering friend, she knocked +down the cup which Mrs. Phillips had just filled. But Martha never said +that she was sorry for the mischief done; she never even stopped to +pick up the broken pieces; her only thought was ever "self!" + +Having got all she wanted, Martha turned to depart, but lingered for a +few minutes to talk. + +"Ah! Mrs. Green, so your son has gone to sea, I hear. How the wind is +blowing, to be sure! I could hardly get up the street. They say there +has been a dreadful shipwreck off the Irish coast—every one lost!" + +Mrs. Green clasped her hands with a look of terror. + +"I hope that the wind will have gone down before I start for +Greenwich," said Martha, as she bounced out of the room, forgetting, of +course, to close the door. She was gone, but she had left the thorns +behind her. + +In a few minutes a gentle tap was heard. + +"Come in," said Mrs. Phillips; and the bright kind face of Susan +appeared. + +"Good evening, Mrs. Phillips; I hope that you are feeling better. I +have brought you a pair of mittens, which I have knit for you, to keep +your poor hands warm in this cold weather.—Mrs. Green, I'm so glad to +see you; and will not you be glad to see 'this?'" she added, holding +up a letter, and then placing it in the mother's trembling hand, with +pleasure almost equal to her own. + +"My son's handwriting!" exclaimed Mrs. Green. "How did you come by it, +my dear?" + +"I knew that you were anxious for letters, so I stepped round by the +post-office to ask if there were any for you." + +"Bless you!" cried Mrs. Green. "You are always thinking of others." + +[Illustration: THE LETTER.] + +When Susan entered the house, she had found gloom and anxiety there. +Before she left it, there were bright looks and smiles of hope and +gratitude. She had left the roses behind her. + +And can you guess the secret cause of her kindness, of the constant, +cheerful benevolence which made her welcome to all? Why did she seem +to live for others?—Because she "lived to God!" One sentence spoken by +the blessed Saviour seemed ever present to her mind: "'Love one another +as I have loved you.'" She knew that the Lord Jesus had "died for all, +that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but +unto Him which died for them" (2 Cor. v. 15). + +Oh! dear reader, have "you" lived for yourself, or for your Lord; are +you scattering roses or thorns? + +On her way home Susan overtook an aged woman, bent down with years, +and yet more with trouble, to judge from her sad, hopeless face. +She carried a large bundle, which seemed too much for her strength. +Cold as was the weather, she walked on but slowly, with a feeble, +half-tottering step, often pausing, as though to take breath. + +Susan paused; and her kind, pitying look seemed to encourage the poor +old woman to address her. + +"Could you, please, tell me the way to John Street, my dear? I am a +stranger in London." + +"With pleasure," replied Susan; "let me see—the third turn to the left, +then walk on till you come to a baker's shop, then—" + +"I shall never make it out," said the old woman, with a hopeless air. + +"Well, then, I'll go with you, and show you the way. Don't hurry +yourself, you look feeble, and your bundle is heavy; let me carry it +for you, it would be a pleasure to me!" And she relieved the poor +stranger of her burden, as they passed through the cold, silent streets. + +"You are good, very good!" sighed the old woman. "Too good for this +cold, heartless, miserable world!" + +"I am sorry that you find it so miserable." + +"Miserable enough! Here am I, a lone widow—I who have had a good +husband, and three as fine boys as ever the sun shone upon. There is no +comfort on earth for me!" + +"But there is comfort in heaven! Do you not hope to see again those +whom you have loved, never more to part? Do you not hope that they are +happy now?" + +"Ay, they are happy; for my husband feared God, and my boys were taken +before they knew evil. But here am I, a feeble old woman, without a +friend on earth." + +"But you have a Friend in heaven; there is comfort again!" + +"Ay, if I could take it, my dear; but my heart is low, and my spirit +weary, and everything looks dark around and above!" + +Susan rather whispered than spoke, "'Why art thou cast down, O my soul? +and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall +yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.'" (Ps. +xlii. 11). + +A tear rolled down the pale cheek of the stranger, but her heart felt +lighter: she had met with one who could feel for her. + +"I wish," said she, after a pause, "that I had thought more of these +things when I was young like you. It doesn't do to put off, one's heart +grows cold and hard. And, oh! it's a weary, weary thing, old age like +mine, no comforts around one, nothing but troubles to look back upon, +nothing but death to look forward to!" and she sighed heavily. + +"And heaven beyond!" said Susan. + +"Ah! If I were sure of 'that,' but maybe heaven is not for a poor, +ignorant, sinful creature like me!" + +"I thought," said Susan timidly, "that heaven was for those who +believe, who repent, who love the Lord Jesus and one another." + +Not another word was spoken till they reached the house, when the aged +stranger laid her trembling hand on the shoulder of her young guide. + +"God Almighty bless you!" she murmured. "You've spoken the first word +of comfort that I've heard for many a long day. God will bless you, and +make you an angel above, as you love to do angels' work below!" + +Reader! May you thus pass through life, blessing and blessed, the roses +which you scatter on the paths of others throwing sweetness over your +own, and making soft your death-bed at the last! + + + +XV. + +HEIR TO SOMETHING BETTER. + +[Illustration] + +"WELL, he's a beauty, he is!" cried Betsy Bonser. "But fine feathers +make fine birds, and his mother dresses him up as if he were Prince of +Wales at least." + +"Who is it, neighbour?" asked the feeble voice of Mary Blane, a sick +woman who was lying in bed in the little cottage out of the window of +which Betsy Bonser was looking as she spoke. + +"Why, it's Squire Knight's little boy, to be sure—hat, feather, and +all—sitting in his little carriage, with his dog on his knee. How +unequal things are in this world! There were you with your dozen +children, scarce able to put shoes on their feet, or bread in their +mouths, and a thirteenth baby must come—" she glanced at a little +creature asleep in its cradle—"just to be a burden and a trouble!" + +[Illustration: THE YOUNG SQUIRE.] + +"He's welcome—bless him!" whispered the mother. + +"Welcome! Well, mothers have an odd way of taking these things," said +Betsy. "I know the squire's baby was welcome, for he was heir to ten +thousand a year!" + +"And I hope that my baby is heir to something better," said Mary with a +gentle smile. "If he be God's child, he'll have an inheritance one day +in heaven!" + +"Well," began Betsy—but she started with surprise, for she saw that the +squire's lady now stood in the cottage! + +Mrs. Knight had knocked so gently, and Betsy had talked so loudly, that +the knock had not been heard, nor the soft step of the lady as she +entered the poor woman's cottage. + +"Oh! Beg your pardon, ma'am, I didn't see you," cried Betsy, dropping +half-a-dozen courtesies. + +Mrs. Knight had brought many nice things for the sick mother, and some +little pieces of dress for Mary's baby, which her own boy had long +outgrown. The lady took, I say, many things to the cottage; she took +one thing away with her—the remembrance of the poor woman's words, +which she had chanced to overhear: "I hope that my baby is heir to +something better." + +When Mrs. Knight returned to her boy, whom she had left outside with +his nurse, she thought again and again of what Mary Blane had said. + +"Ah!" reflected the lady, "my boy will have everything that money can +give him, but, after all, the 'best' things are as free to the poor +as to the rich. My child would be poor indeed if he were not heir to +something better." + +When a few months had passed away, the squire's little son fell ill. +The groom mounted a horse and rode off at full speed for a doctor; +another was sent for from London; everything was procured that could +possibly help to save the child from dying. But if God wills to take a +little lamb to His fold above, doctors and medicine and mother's fond +care cannot keep him on earth. The squire's little darling was taken +early to heaven. + +Then people said, "What a grievous thing it was that the heir of such +an estate should die!" + +If one of Mary Blane's thirteen children had been taken, the world +would have thought less about it, though every one was as dear to her +as Victor Knight had been to his mother. And friends wondered how +poor Mrs. Knight could bear her grief so meekly, and never murmur +when called to part with the child whom she loved so well. It was the +thought of her little one's happiness that soothed her sorrowing heart; +she looked round on the splendid dwelling that might one day have been +her son's, and repeated the poor woman's words, "My baby is heir to +something better." + +After some time, God comforted the poor lady by giving her another +child. There were great rejoicings in the squire's house when a second +heir was born; bonfires were lighted, tenants were feasted, and an ox +was roasted whole. Mrs. Knight was again a happy and thankful mother. +But she never forgot her first little treasure, whose picture with his +dog on his knee, hung just opposite to the seat in her own quiet room +where the lady used often to read the Bible. And when in her reading +she came to an account of "an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, +and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven," she would lift up her +tearful eyes to the picture, and with a grateful heart would say, "Yes, +earth's wealth and honours must pass away; thank God, through Christ, +my baby was heir to something better!" + + + +XVI. + +THE TWO PETS. + +A FABLE. + +[Illustration] + +"AH, Poll! Poll!" cried the little spaniel Fidele to the new favourite +of the family. "How every one likes you and pets you!" + +"No wonder," replied the parrot, cocking her head on one side with +a very conceited air. "Just see how pretty I am! With your rough +hairy coat, and your turned-up nose, who would look at you beside me! +Just observe my plumage of crimson and green, and the fine feather +head-dress which I wear!" + +"Yes, you are a beauty," said Fidele, "that I'm only an ugly little +dog." + +[Illustration: FIDELE AND POLL.] + +"Then how clever I am," continued Miss Parrot, after a nibble at her +biscuit. "No human beings are likely to care for you, for you can't +speak one word of their language." + +"I wish that I could learn it," said Fidele. + +"You've only to copy me." And then in her harsh grating voice the +parrot cried, "What's o'clock?" + +"Bow-wow!" barked Fidele. + +"Do your duty!" screamed the bird. + +"Bow-wow!" barked the dog. + +"There's not a chance that any one will ever care for you, ugly stupid +spaniel," cried Miss Poll. "You may just creep off to your kennel, you +are not fit company for a learned beauty like me." + +Poor Fidele made no complaint, but he felt sad as he trotted off to his +corner. Before Poll's arrival at the Hall, the spaniel had been the +favourite playmate of all Mrs. Donathorn's children. They had taught +him to fetch and carry, to toss up a biscuit placed on his nose and +catch it cleverly in his mouth, or to jump into the water and bring a +stick that had been flung to ever so great a distance. + +But as soon as pretty Poll came, no one seemed to care for Fidele +any more. To teach the parrot to speak was the great delight of the +children. They shouted and clapped their hands when she screamed out +"Pretty Poll," "What's o'clock?" or, "Do your duty." Stupid Fidele! +He could not be taught to speak. Ugly Fidele! Who could for a moment +compare him to a beautiful parrot? So all the kind words, and soft +pats, and sweet biscuits, were given to Poll. It is true that she made +little Tommy once cry out with pain from a bite from her sharp beak—and +that the least thing that displeased her would make her ruffle up her +feathers in a very ill-tempered way, but still she was petted and +praised for her cleverness and her beauty; and she quite despised poor +Fidele, who was nothing but an ugly hairy dog. + +One fine summer's day, the children carried the stand of their +favourite to the bank of the pretty little river which flowed through +their mother's grounds. Bessy and Jemmy amused themselves by feeding +and chatting with the parrot, while little Tommy gathered daisies and +buttercups, or rolled about on the grass. No one cared for Fidele; no +one noticed what he was doing. + +Presently Bessy and Jemmy were startled by a scream, and then a +sudden splashing noise in the water. Poor little Tommy, eager to pull +some blue forget-me-nots which grew quite close to the brink, had +overbalanced himself and tumbled right into the stream. Oh, what was +the terror of the children when they heard the splash, and saw the wide +circles on the water where their poor little brother was sinking. + +"Do your duty!" screamed the parrot, merely talking by rote, and not +caring a feather for the danger of the child, or the distress of his +brother and sister. + +At that moment, there was heard another splash in the water, and then +the brown nose and hairy back of Fidele were seen in the stream, as +the little dog swam with all his might to save the drowning child. He +caught little Tommy by his clothes; he pulled—he tugged—he dragged him +towards the shore, just within reach of the eagerly stretched-out hands +of Jemmy. + +"Oh, he is saved! He is saved!" cried Bessy, as Tommy was dragged out +of the river, dripping, choking, spluttering, crying, but not seriously +hurt. + +He was instantly carried back to the house, undressed, and put into a +warm bed; and the little one was soon none the worse for his terrible +ducking and fright. + +"Oh, you dear—you darling dog!" cried Bessy, as she caught up Fidele, +all wet as he was, and hugged him with grateful affection. "I will +always love you, and care for you, for you were a true friend in need." + +"Pretty Poll!" screamed the parrot, who did not like any one to be +noticed but herself. + +"Fidele is better than pretty; he is brave, and useful, and good," +cried Bessy. + +"Do your duty!" screamed out Miss Poll. + +"Ah, Poll, Poll, it is one thing to prate about duty, and another thing +to 'do it,'" said Bessy. "Fine words are good, to be sure, but 'fine +acts' are a great deal better." + + MORAL. + +Beauty and cleverness may win much notice for a time, but it is he who +is faithful, good, and true, who is valued and loved at the end. + + + +XVII. + +THE TWO STANDARD MEASURES. + +[Illustration] + +"MAMMA, how tall was that great giant of whom papa was telling us?" +said Harry, who, after standing with his back to the door, a pencil in +one hand, and a ruler in the other, was busily engaged in examining +some marks which he had made on the panel. + +"He was nearly seven feet high, I believe," replied Mrs. Prince, +without raising her eyes from her work. + +"And how tall do you think that I am?" said the little boy, with a look +of conscious pride. + +"You? I should say about four feet, my dear." + +"I am 'eight' feet high!" cried Harry, with exultation. + +"Impossible!" + +"I have just measured myself, mamma." + +"You must have measured wrong." + +"Oh I have been very careful; see, here is the mark for each foot up +the door—one, two, four, six, eight." + +"But what is your standard measure, Harry?" said his mother with a +smile. + +"This pretty little ruler, 'that I made for myself,'" cried the child, +exhibiting his pasteboard measure, neatly marked with divisions for the +inches, "but only half the proper length!" "You see, dear mamma, that I +am taller than the giant!" + +"Foolish child!" you say, and I should say so too, did I not fear that +half the world act exactly as he did. We are all too apt to make our +standard measures for ourselves, laying aside "the only true one," +which we find in the Bible; and thus we often deem ourselves sensible +and good, when our wisdom is folly, our actions full of sin. + +The Bible tells us that "holiness" is absolutely necessary. "There is +no need to be so very particular," cries the world. The Bible declares +that we shall be judged for "every idle word." "My words are my own!" +says the trifler. + +It is clear that there are "two standard measures" before us: one +short and easy, the other long and trying; one that makes us seem like +giants, the other like dwarfs. Thus we are too ready to choose the +standard "of our own making," and wilfully to deceive our own hearts. +But oh! Let us ask ourselves one solemn question—"By which standard +shall we be measured at the last day?" + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77151 *** diff --git a/77151-h/77151-h.htm b/77151-h/77151-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..23816a8 --- /dev/null +++ b/77151-h/77151-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2576 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + The Olive-Branch and Other Stories, by A. L. O. E. │ Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/image001.jpg" type="image/cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-size:12.0pt; + font-family:"Verdana"; +} + +p {text-indent: 2em;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} + +.w100 { + width: auto + } + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +p.t1 {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 125%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t2 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t3 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center + } + +p.t3b { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center + } + +p.t4 { + text-indent: 0%; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center + } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +p.poem { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + padding: 20px 0; + text-align: left; + width: 555px; + } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77151 ***</div> + +<p>Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image001" style="max-width: 33.8125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image001.jpg" alt="image001"> +</figure> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image002" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image002.jpg" alt="image002"> +</figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE OLIVE BRANCH.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h1>THE OLIVE-BRANCH</h1> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t1"> +And Other Stories.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +BY<br> +</p> + +<p class="t1"> +<em>A.L.O.E.</em><br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +AUTHOR OF "EXILES IN BABYLON," "TRIUMPH OVER MIDIAN,"<br> +"THE YOUNG PILGRIM," ETC.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image003" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image003.jpg" alt="image003"></figure> + +<p><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +London:<br> +</p> + +<p class="t3"> +T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.<br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.<br> +<br> +——————————<br> +<br> +1885.<br> +</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t3b"> +Contents.<br> +</p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image004" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image004.jpg" alt="image004"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_1">I. THE OLIVE-BRANCH</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_2">II. THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_3">III. NEVER MIND SCOFFS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_4">IV. A PEEP INTO A BACK-KITCHEN</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_5">V. THE TWO PATIENTS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_6">VI. IT'S VERY HARD</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_7">VII. THE PIC-NIC</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_8">VIII. CATCHING AT A SHADOW</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_9">IX. GO AND DO LIKEWISE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_10">X. THE BEST FRIEND</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_11">XI. THE THICKET OF FURZE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_12">XII. THE BOY AND THE BIRD'S NEST</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_13">XIII. SENDING HORSES TO TRAVELLERS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_14">XIV. THORNS AND FLOWERS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_15">XV. HEIR TO SOMETHING BETTER</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_16">XVI. THE TWO PETS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#Chapter_17">XVII. THE TWO STANDARD MEASURES</a></p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<p class="t2"> +<b>THE OLIVE-BRANCH</b><br> +<br> +——————————<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_1">I.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE OLIVE-BRANCH.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image005" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image005.jpg" alt="image005"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"IF you are going for the fodder for our cow, Carlo, what say you to +taking our little Rosina with you? It is long since she has been beyond +our village, and a ride upon our trusty old Duchessa will do her good."</p> + +<p>It was Bice, the wife of an Italian peasant, who spoke these words to +her husband, as she stood at her cottage door, with her bright little +girl at her side.</p> + +<p>"What say you, Rosina?" asked the smiling father. "Have you a mind for +a ride?"</p> + +<p>The little girl clapped her hands for joy. "Oh, if we are going to +the farmer's for the fodder," she cried, "then we will pass by Aunt +Barbara's cottage. May I go in and see her, father, and carry her one +of mother's little goat-milk cheeses that she always likes so much?"</p> + +<p>Rosina saw with surprise a shade of sadness gathering upon her father's +sunburnt face. And when she turned to look at her mother, Bice was +brushing a tear from her eye.</p> + +<p>"You cannot go to your aunt, Rosina," said Carlo; and his voice sounded +almost stern to his child.</p> + +<p>"Is poor aunt ill?" asked the little girl; for she saw that her mother +was greatly distressed.</p> + +<p>"Ask no questions, my child," said Carlo. Then, turning to his wife, he +went on: "She cannot understand, poor lamb, why a woman should quarrel +with an only sister, who never meant to give her cause of offence."</p> + +<p>Rosina heard her father's words with increasing wonder. She knew that +her Aunt Barbara had a peevish and angry temper, but she could not +think how she, or any one else, could possibly quarrel with that gentle +mother who had always taught Rosina to love and forgive. The child did +not, however, venture to ask any more questions, though her heart was +sad at the idea that any one could by unkindness bring a tear to her +mother's eye.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, after all, Carlo," said Bice, looking up earnestly into the +face of her husband, "it might be as well for you to let our little +one run in and see her aunt, as you are passing her very door. Barbara +has always been kind to Rosina; it might—" Bice's voice dropped to a +whisper as she added, "it might do good—it could scarcely do harm."</p> + +<p>"It would look like an attempt to make up with her," said Carlo, rather +proudly; "and after her insolent conduct to you, I would not choose to +take the first step."</p> + +<p>"I would take not the first step only, but go the whole way, if I could +but win back my sister to love me," said Bice, clasping her hands. +"O Carlo, 'Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the +children of God.'"</p> + +<p>"I never knew any one more ready to forget and forgive than you are, +Bice," said her husband; "it is all the greater shame to Barbara that +she quarrels with such a sister. But she is a woman who would snap at +any one who chanced to stand in her light. However, as you wish it, our +little Rosina shall run in and wish her aunt good-day; a child should +never be mixed up with the disputes of older people."</p> + +<p>"And may I carry aunt one of your nice cheeses?" whispered Rosina, +standing on tip-toe, and drawing down her mother towards her that she +might breathe the words in her ear.</p> + +<p>"Alas! Rosina, my darling, she would now accept nothing from me!"</p> + +<p>"Not even a 'kiss?'" whispered Rosina.</p> + +<p>The mother's heart was too full for reply; for, notwithstanding +Barbara's unkindness, she was dear to her only sister. Bice could only +lift her darling up in her arms, and half cover her rosy face with +kisses.</p> + +<p>"Half of these are for your own little girl, half are for auntie," said +simple Rosina; and she resolved to be a trusty messenger, and deliver +faithfully what she considered to be tokens of love and forgiveness.</p> + +<p>Carlo started on his way to the farm, leading the patient and trusty +Duchessa, while Fidele, the dog, ran by his side. The day was warm and +bright, sunshine lay on the valley and gilded the distant hills, but +Rosina sat on her ass more quiet and silent than usual—she had scarcely +a word even for her old friend Fidele. Carlo might have missed her +merry prattle had not his own thoughts been painfully occupied with the +family quarrel. He little guessed what was passing through the mind of +the child scarcely four years of age.</p> + +<p>Barbara, it is true, had hitherto been always kind to Rosina; the child +had seen her angry with others, but had never had a harsh word herself. +Yet Barbara's temper was such that Rosina's love for her had always +been mixed with some fear. What the child had just heard and seen +had increased that feeling of fear to a painful degree. Rosina quite +dreaded having to go alone into the presence of her aunt, the stern +black-eyed woman, whose unkindness had made even her mother cry. Rosina +would far rather have quietly passed the door on her ass; and she knew +that a word to her father would be enough to make him spare her what +she now felt to be a very great trial of courage. But then her mother's +tears and her mother's kisses! Rosina could not forget these, and she +ought to deliver them. Besides, her mother had said such beautiful +words from Scripture; oh, if Aunt Barbara could but have heard them, +surely she would become a peacemaker too, and never be angry or cross +any more!</p> + +<p>So, while the ass went on at her slow, steady pace, little Rosina +was repeating to herself over and over again, "'Blessed are the +peacemakers.'"</p> + +<p>Her young heart beat faster as Duchessa stopped, as she often had done +before, at the vine-covered porch of Barbara's door, over which hung +clusters of ripe dark grapes. Rosina felt almost inclined to cling to +her father's arm, and beg him to drive on Duchessa, for she dared not +go in by herself. But even one as young as Rosina may be guided by +conscience, and conscience was whispering to the child that her mother +wished her to go, that it was right to go, and that the great God of +peace could put kind thoughts into the heart of her aunt.</p> + +<p>Barbara was sitting alone in a darkened room: it was dark because she +had made it so; she had so choked up her window with thick-growing +plants that the light which shone so brightly outside could hardly +creep in through the leaves. And so poor Barbara was shutting out the +sunshine of love from her home and her heart, and making them both +dull and cheerless when they might have been so bright. Do you think +that the proud, quarrelsome woman was happy? Ah, no, dear reader; for +there never is true happiness with sin. It has been truly said that a +little sin disturbs our peace more than a great deal of sorrow. Barbara +was in her secret soul vexed at having quarrelled with her sister; she +was vexed, but she would not own it, for her heart was full of pride. +Barbara had resolved never to confess herself wrong, and rather to live +all her life unloving and unloved than to bend her haughty spirit to +make friends with her younger sister.</p> + +<p>There sat unhappy Barbara, with no companion but bitter thoughts. +She felt terribly alone in the world, but it was her own pride and +temper that had made a desert around her. She could not help thinking +of the happy days of childhood, when she and her sister had been +merry playmates together. Barbara's eyes chanced to rest on a little +olive-plant in her window; and the sight of that plant had brought +back to her memory days of old. She recollected how Bice, then a +rosy-cheeked child, had once asked her what shrub or tree she would +choose for her own especial favourite.</p> + +<p>"I would choose the laurel," had been Barbara's proud reply; "for that +is the plant of which wreaths are made for those who conquer in war."</p> + +<p>"I would choose the olive," little Bice had said; "for it was the leaf +of the olive that was brought by the dove to Noah; and it always seems +as if the plant, with its juicy fruit and silvery hue, made one think +of gentle peace."</p> + +<p>So from that day the olive had always been connected in the mind of +Barbara with the thought of her gentle sister.</p> + +<p>"I'll throw that plant away; I'll pull it up," muttered Barbara; "I +don't care to keep anything now to remind me of her."</p> + +<p>The proud woman had hardly uttered the words when a soft—a very +soft—knock was heard at the door.</p> + +<p>At Barbara's rough "Come in," the door slowly opened, and a little +child appeared, so like to what Bice had been at her age that Barbara +could almost fancy that she was looking again at her earliest playmate.</p> + +<p>Rosina crept in timidly at first, for she thought that her aunt looked +terribly stern.</p> + +<p>"Why do you come here?" asked Barbara, with a little softening, +however, in her tone.</p> + +<p>"I have something to give you from mother," said the child.</p> + +<p>"I will take nothing from her," replied Barbara; "I'll return it, +whatever it be."</p> + +<p>"Will you?" cried Rosina, suddenly running up to her aunt, and opening +wide her little arms. The next moment the arms were clasped tightly +round Barbara's neck, and the soft little lips were printing kisses on +her cheek.</p> + +<p>Barbara was a proud, ill-tempered woman, but she still had a heart, and +a heart that might be conquered by love. She would have spurned a gift, +but she could not refuse a kiss. Barbara could not help pressing her +sister's child to her bosom, and a strange choking sensation appeared +to rise in her throat.</p> + +<p>"Those are mother's kisses—dear mother's kisses—and you promised to +return whatever she sent," cried Rosina. "Give me the kisses back for +my mother!"</p> + +<p>And if Barbara did give the kisses, and if her proud eyes were moist as +she did so, who can wonder? She would have mocked at words of reproach; +she would have retorted insult or scorn; but the kiss, the fond kiss, +sent through the little child, subdued both her anger and pride.</p> + +<p>Barbara rose from her seat, and slowly walked to the window; perhaps +it was partly to hide her eyes that she did so. She broke off a large +branch from the olive, and suddenly turning round, held it out to her +little niece.</p> + +<p>"Take this to your mother from me, Rosina," she said, "and tell her +to remember our early choice. The laurel, I have found, bears but a +poisonous berry; the fruit of the olive is good—I will cultivate it +from this day."</p> + +<p>If Rosina did not fully understand the message, she understood the +smile which followed it, which looked so pleasant on a face so lately +furrowed with gloomy frowns.</p> + +<p>And when Rosina, bearing the olive-branch in her little hand, ran out +to her father, and told him all that had passed, his look of amusement +and pleasure more than rewarded the child for the effort she had made.</p> + +<p>"Brava, my brave little messenger!" exclaimed Carlo, giving Rosina a +hearty kiss as he lifted her up to Duchessa's back. "Brava, little +peacemaker! So you made her give back the kisses again! That bit of +olive will bring as much joy to your mother's heart as if it were made +of silver, with blossoms of pearl and leaves of gold."</p> + +<p>Very joyful was the return of Rosina to her home. The fodder which +Carlo procured from the farm, and heaped high on the patient Duchessa, +looked like a little throne for the child, who, as she saw her mother +standing at her door to welcome her, merrily waved her branch of olive, +the token of joy and success.</p> + +<p>Carlo planted the olive-twig in his garden, where it took root, and in +time grew up to be a goodly tree with blossoms and fruit. Barbara, who +was often a guest at her sister's cottage, watched the growth of the +olive with peculiar interest; and Rosina always on her aunt's birth-day +bore to her a little spray from the tree.</p> + +<p>And when Rosina herself had grown up to be a woman, and married, and +had little children of her own, their favourite spot for play was under +the shadow of what was called "the peacemaker's tree."</p> + +<p>Dear children, plant in the gardens of your own little hearts the +olive-branch of peace.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_2">II.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image006" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image006.jpg" alt="image006"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>AN ass finding the skin of a lion, put it on, and in the disguise of +the king of beasts soon sent the more timid animals scampering in +terror before her. The fox alone showed no fear.</p> + +<p>"What!" brayed the ass. "Are you not frightened? Do you not dread the +lion's terrible jaws?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, my good friend," said the fox, "creatures at a distance may be +alarmed at sight of the tawny hide of the lion, but I have come near +enough to hear the bray and spy the long ears of the ass!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image007" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image007.jpg" alt="image007"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE ASS IN THE LION'S SKIN.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Those who try to inspire respect by false pretences are sure to betray +themselves in the end.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p class="t3"> +————————<br> +<br> +<br> +FALSE PRETENCES.<br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"You say that your father keeps a butler and footman, why that's +nothing!" exclaimed Master Tom Talkaway in a pompous tone to one of the +group of schoolfellows amongst whom he had come for the first time. +"'My' father keeps six men and two boys," added the young boaster, +looking round him with an air of triumph.</p> + +<p>"I say!" exclaimed Jack, one of the boys whose mother could only afford +to have one general servant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you should see how we go on in London!" cried Tom. "You've not a +notion of real high life in a poor little village like this. Why," he +continued in his swaggering way, sticking his thumbs into the pockets +of his waistcoat, "I've seen five, six, seven carriages waiting before +father's door, and the most of them had coronets on them."</p> + +<p>"I say!" repeated poor Jack; while the other boys exchanged looks of +surprise, scarcely knowing whether to believe their companion or not.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gilbert, the usher, who had been sitting by the window reading, +raised his eyes from his book.</p> + +<p>"Tom Talkaway," he quietly said, "I happen to know about your father: +he is a respectable haberdasher in London, and, for aught that I know, +may keep six men in his shop and two boys to carry his parcels; nor +should I be surprised if some of his customers came in carriages even +with coronets on them."</p> + +<p>Tom was thunderstruck at these words; his thumbs were pulled out of his +pockets, he flushed up to the roots of his hair. There was a general +roar of laughter from his schoolfellows, and cries of "Look at the +great son and heir of the haberdasher!" which increased the boy's +confusion.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" cried the usher, raising his hand to command silence. "There is +'nothing' to be ashamed of in 'honest' trade, but 'a great deal' to be +ashamed of in 'dishonest pretence.' And," he added, looking sternly at +Tom, "it is only the 'ass' that puts on the skin of the lion, and he is +sure soon to be found out, and to meet the scorn which he merits."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_3">III.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>NEVER MIND SCOFFS.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image008" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image008.jpg" alt="image008"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"I'LL splash that duck all over! I'll make it as wet as a sponge in the +water! I'll soon take out all the shine from its green and glittering +neck!"</p> + +<p>So cried little Guy, as with both hands he flung water at the beautiful +bird. But calmly the duck swam on; its rich plumage was dry, not a drop +would rest upon it, and bright as ever in the sunlight shone its green +and glittering neck.</p> + +<p>"I shall pelt it with water from my squirt!" cried Guy. "I shall +certainly wet it at last, and make its feathers like those of the dead +pigeon which I found yesterday in the brook!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image009" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image009.jpg" alt="image009"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE BOY AND THE DUCK.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Yet calmly the duck swam on; its rich plumage was dry, not a drop would +rest upon it, and bright as ever in the sunlight shone its green and +glittering neck.</p> + +<p>Why was the duck never wet, though the boy in his malice threw so +much water upon it? Because Nature has given it oil on its feathers +that throws off the moisture at once. Even when the bird dives in the +stream, it rises unwetted and unstained.</p> + +<p>When we are pelted with scoffs and words of unkindness, let the "oil +of patience" keep our temper unruffled, and then they have no more +real power to harm us than water to injure a duck. There are those who +laugh and mock at others for refusing to join them in evil: they pelt +them with bitter jests, and try to throw shame upon them. Are not such +acting the part of Guy? Let all who are laughed at for doing right +go steadily on their way; shame cannot rest upon them, nor dim the +brightness of a character that will shine but the more clearly for such +vain attempts to blot it.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_4">IV.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>A PEEP INTO A BACK-KITCHEN.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image010" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image010.jpg" alt="image010"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"WHAT can a little boy of seven years of age do?" I would ask of my +young readers. Perhaps they will answer, "He can read, perhaps write in +a very big round hand; he can bowl a hoop, toss a ball, spin a top, and +fly a kite."</p> + +<p>"But can such a child be of any 'real use' in the world?"</p> + +<p>Let me answer this question by giving a truthful account of a visit +which I paid a few days ago to a family in one of the poorer streets of +London.</p> + +<p>My ring at the door of a lodging-house for the poor was answered by +little Ben, a boy of about seven years of age. The sound of a baby's +cry was heard from the back-kitchen, from which he had just come, and +which was the dwelling-place of the family.</p> + +<p>No wonder was it that the poor baby cried, for I found, on descending +the pitch-dark staircase, that Ben was the sole nurse for the time +of the sickly infant. That scene in the dark dull kitchen was a +strange picture of life amongst the poor. There was Ben, after he had +followed me down-stairs, hushing the baby in his little arms, and soon +succeeding in quieting it, for he was evidently an experienced and +skilful nurse. There were two other children under his care—Polly, +about four years old, and Annie, not two. One might almost have said +that Ben had "three" babies to look after, but I soon found that Polly +was already to be reckoned as his little assistant.</p> + +<p>Annie began to cry; Polly went up to her sister, put her hands on +either side of her face, and tried, as well as she could, to soothe +her. Annie, however, cried still. Ben said a word or two to Polly, +and the little nursemaid, "four years of age," hastened to get a cup, +into which she poured water from a jar which stood on the ground, and +she then brought the drink to her thirsty little sister. The boy had +guessed the cause of the crying, and Polly having thus removed it, we +had again quietness in the back-kitchen.</p> + +<p>Ben, a very intelligent little fellow, entered freely into conversation +with me, while he nursed the baby in his arms. That boy had been +in sole charge of the three children for two hours, while his poor +half-blind mother was out, procuring necessaries for the family.</p> + +<p>"Are you happy?" I inquired. The question seemed a strange one to be +asked in so gloomy an abode.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm happy," replied the boy, with an honest smile on his face.</p> + +<p>What a lesson for many a pampered, peevish child, grumbling and +discontented in a comfortable home!</p> + +<p>"Does Polly ever go out?" I inquired, for the low dark room looked +something like a prison.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I sometimes take her out."</p> + +<p>"And does Annie go out?"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image011" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image011.jpg" alt="image011"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>BEN NURSING THE BABY.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Yes, when Polly goes, she goes; I take them in the 'chay.'"</p> + +<p>This "chay" was twice mentioned by Ben, which rather surprised me, +for I certainly did not suspect that the family kept a carriage. My +attention was, however, directed at last to a substantial-looking +perambulator, which in the dim light I had not noticed before.</p> + +<p>"Father made that," said Ben.</p> + +<p>This was almost too much for me to believe. I questioned the boy +closely, but he was sure of the fact. I found afterwards, from the +mother's account, that the father had bought the wheels and other iron +parts, the wreck of a former perambulator, for "ninepence," as they +were to be sold as old iron. He had actually made all the rest of the +carriage for his little ones, stuffing the cushion with hay. It was a +striking proof of the father's ingenuity, that labour of love!</p> + +<p>B— must be a very industrious man. He goes to the docks in hope of +getting a day's job there, and then, after his return, "cleans his +potatoes," as little Ben told me; for when the labours of the day are +over, B— is glad to go out at night to sell baked potatoes, that he may +thus help by double work to support his almost blind wife, and four +little children.</p> + +<p>"What do you get for breakfast, Ben?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Bread and butter—no," said the child, correcting himself; "father gets +bread and butter, I get bread and drippings. But 'I like the drippings +best,'" he added, with a nice feeling which pleased me.</p> + +<p>The poor mother soon came in, half exhausted from wandering about for +two hours, for in her blindness she could hardly find her way. She was, +however, calm and contented.</p> + +<p>When I asked her what message she had for a lady who had sent her a +present by me, "Tell her that I am in better circumstances," was the +pale, thin woman's reply.</p> + +<p>As her husband had succeeded in getting four and a half days' work that +week, Mrs. B— seemed to feel that she had nothing to complain of. Her +greatest trouble was the illness of her babe, as she feared that the +little one might die. Very thin and wasted the poor infant looked, but +the other three children appeared plump and well-fed. Mrs. B— must be +an excellent manager, notwithstanding her blindness, and it is clear +that her husband's earnings do not go to the ale-house.</p> + +<p>I have reason to hope that she is a God-fearing woman, and that she +and her husband pray as well as labour. Ben is to attend the Sunday +school. He would go to the weekday school also, which he used to enjoy +attending, but so useful a child cannot be spared from his home.</p> + +<p>I left that dark back-kitchen with a feeling rather of respect than of +pity. Little Ben, brought up in the midst of poverty, with three young +children to care for, and an almost blind mother to help, may lead a +life of happiness, as he certainly does of usefulness, with hope before +him, and love around, and the blessing of God upon him!</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_5">V.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE TWO PATIENTS.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image012" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image012.jpg" alt="image012"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>NAY, little Tommy, do not shrink away, as if I meant to do you harm. If +a thorn has been left in your finger for days, and if the poor finger +is swelled and sore, and cannot get well till the thorn is out, is it +wise to cry, and pull back your hand, and not let your mother look at +the place? There, hold it out now, like a brave little man; and while I +am doing all that I can to relieve you, I'll tell you a tale of a poor +dog that was much more hurt than you are.</p> + +<p>A doctor found in the street a poor spaniel that had broken one of its +legs. The man had a kindly heart, so he took the dog to his home, set +its bone, put splinters round it, and wrapped it up in bandages, in +hopes that the leg might be healed. I do not think that the spaniel +struggled and howled as you did two minutes ago, though the doctor, +kind as he was, must have given a good deal of pain.</p> + +<p>There, Tommy, the thorn is out; you can see it on the point of my +needle, and like a good brave boy you never uttered a cry when you felt +the prick. Now, while I bathe and bandage the finger, I will tell you +more of the dog.</p> + +<p>The spaniel's leg grew quite strong and well. The doctor sent the dog +home, as he knew to whom he belonged. But he had not seen the last of +his patient.</p> + +<p>Some time afterwards the doctor heard a whining and scraping at his +door, and when he opened it, who should be there but his old friend the +spaniel, and with him a poor lame dog that could hardly limp along. The +spaniel jumped and wagged his tail, rubbed his nose against the doctor, +and looked up in his face, asking him, as plainly as dog could ask, to +do the same kind office for his friend as he had done for himself.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image013" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image013.jpg" alt="image013"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE SECOND PATIENT.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The doctor could not resist the sensible creature's appeal. He bound up +the leg of the second dog both with kindness and skill, and the poor +creature, much relieved, limped slowly away with the friend who had so +wisely brought him to the place where he himself had found a cure.</p> + +<p>Now your finger is bandaged up, Tommy. I have played the doctor's part, +and hope in a few days to see that all is as well as ever. And if Mary +or Lucy, when gathering blackberries in the wood, manage to run a thorn +into a poor little finger, do not let her wait till it fester and swell +like your own, but play the part of the wise little dog, and bring her +here to the doctor at once.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_6">VI.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>IT'S VERY HARD.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image014" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image014.jpg" alt="image014"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"IT'S very hard to have nothing to eat but porridge, when others have +every sort of dainty," muttered Charlie, as he sat with his wooden bowl +before him. "It's very hard to have to get up so early on these bitter +cold mornings, and work hard all day, when others can enjoy themselves +without an hour of labour. It's very hard to have to trudge along +through the snow while others roll about in their coaches."</p> + +<p>"It's a great blessing," said his grandmother, as she sat at her +knitting—"it's a great blessing to have food, when so many are hungry; +to have a roof over one's head, when so many are homeless. It's a great +blessing to have sight, and hearing, and strength for daily labour, +when so many are blind, deaf, or suffering."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image015" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image015.jpg" alt="image015"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>CHARLES AND HIS GRANDMOTHER.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Why, grandmother, you seem to think that nothing is hard," said the +boy, still in a grumbling tone.</p> + +<p>"No, Charlie. There is one thing that I think very hard."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" cried Charlie, who thought that at last his grandmother +had found some cause for complaint.</p> + +<p>"Why, boy, I think 'that heart is very hard' that is not thankful for +so many blessings."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_7">VII.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE PIC-NIC.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image016" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image016.jpg" alt="image016"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"WHAT a delightful morning for a ride!" exclaimed Mina, as she patted +the pretty black pony which her brother Felix was about to saddle for +her. "I almost wish that the place fixed on for the pic-nic were three +times as far away, that I might have a longer gallop over the common, +gay with golden furze, and along the green shady lanes."</p> + +<p>"You forget," said Felix with a smile, "that if you have to ride, we +have to walk; and that two miles each way is enough to give us an +appetite for the chicken-pie and cold tongue which are stowed away in +the basket."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image017" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image017.jpg" alt="image017"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>BEFORE THE PIC-NIC.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"This is just the day for a pic-nic!" cried Mina. "I am sure that we +shall enjoy ourselves much in the wood. There is only one thing that +may damp our pleasure," she added; "I almost wish that mamma had not +invited Priscilla Grey, and yet it is unkind to say so. It would have +been hard on the poor girl to have left her behind."</p> + +<p>"She's as ill-tempered a wasp as ever I met with!" cried Felix. "And it +seems as if she had an especial spite against you, for no reason that I +can think of, except that our parents being richer than hers, you ride +on Frisky, while she has to go upon foot."</p> + +<p>"I have never willingly done anything to vex her," said Mina.</p> + +<p>"You would never vex any creature living!" exclaimed Felix, who was +very fond of his sister. "But Priscilla is always on the lookout for +some cause of offence, and those who do so can always manage to find +one. If you only heard how she was speaking of you the other day! It +made me so angry, that if she had not been a girl, I think that I +really should have struck her. She said—"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to hear what she said, dear Felix," observed Mina, who +was a peace-loving girl.</p> + +<p>"But I've a bit of good news to give you. Priscilla, after all, will +not be at the pic-nic to-day. She slipped her foot yesterday going +down-stairs, and has sprained her ankle—not badly enough to lay her up, +but enough to make it quite out of the question for her to walk four +miles."</p> + +<p>It must be owned that Mina's first feeling was one of relief at being +rid of the company of so disagreeable a girl. But at that moment the +sun, which had been hiding behind a cloud, darted out his glorious +beams, lighting up the landscape around, smiling on the weedy waste as +well as the beautiful garden. Those rays brought to the mind of Mina +part of a verse from the Bible, "'He maketh his sun to rise on the evil +and on the good.'"</p> + +<p>Mina remembered what she should do as one of the children of Him who +bade us love our enemies, and do good to them that hate us.</p> + +<p>"Felix," said the gentle girl, "if Priscilla cannot walk, she can ride."</p> + +<p>"Of course, if she has anything to ride upon better than a dog or a +cat!" laughed Felix.</p> + +<p>"I could lend her my pretty Frisky, and walk with you to the wood."</p> + +<p>Felix gave a loud whistle of surprise. "Lend her your pony, and lose +your ride! How can you dream of doing such a thing!"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Felix, I feel that I must do it. As you have kindly saddled +Frisky, we will go together—it is but a step—and lead him to the door +of Priscilla."</p> + +<p>"Well, you are wondrously kind," cried Felix. "I could understand your +giving up your ride for a sister, or a friend, but to think of your +doing so for the sake of such a girl as Priscilla!"</p> + +<p>"It is not just for her sake," said Mina; and she thought to herself, +it is for the sake of Him who is kind to the unthankful and to the evil.</p> + +<p>With a little difficulty, Mina persuaded her brother to yield to her +wishes, and they led the black pony to the door of the small house in +which Priscilla lived with her mother. Priscilla, who was in worse +temper than usual, from being disappointed of her expected treat, +caught sight of them through the window.</p> + +<p>"Ah, there's that girl Mina!" she exclaimed, with a burst of spiteful +passion. "She's bringing that ugly beast that she is so proud of, just +to let me see how much better off she is than I am. I wish that it +would rain. I wish that a thunderstorm would come and spoil the fun of +the pic-nic."</p> + +<p>But very different were Priscilla's feelings when Mina ran into the +room, inquired kindly after her ankle, and then offered to lend her +Frisky that she might ride to the wood. Shame and something like +gratitude mingled with pleasure and surprise, and Priscilla owned to +herself, what she never had owned before, that it was not only in +worldly wealth that Mina was richer than she.</p> + +<p>No rain fell, no thunderstorm came to spoil the pleasure of the +pic-nic. There were few clouds in the sky, and none over the spirit of +Mina. She enjoyed her walk, she enjoyed her feast, she enjoyed seeing +and adding to the pleasure of all; but her richest enjoyment came from +the whisper of an approving conscience, that she had not been overcome +of evil, but had overcome evil with good.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_8">VIII.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>CATCHING AT A SHADOW.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image018" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image018.jpg" alt="image018"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"OH, Alice dear, won't it be fine fun to drive into London and spend +the day with grandmamma to-morrow!" cried little Minnie Davis to her +sister.</p> + +<p>"I hope that you may find it so," was Alice's reply. "As for me, I will +not be with you."</p> + +<p>"Not go to London!" exclaimed her brother Charlie, looking up in +surprise from his book.</p> + +<p>"No; I hope to go somewhere further than to London, and have better fun +still. What say you to the Crystal Palace?" asked Alice, with a beaming +smile.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say that the Brownes have asked you to drive down +there in their carriage to-morrow?" said Charlie eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Well, no, not exactly 'asked' me, but I think that they will call for +me on the way. Indeed I'm almost sure of it, for when Lizzie told me +that they were all going, she smiled and squeezed my hand, just as much +as to say, 'I hope you'll be one of the party.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you've nothing better to go upon than a smile and a squeeze +of the hand," laughed Charlie, "I should advise you to come with us +to grandmamma, and not give up a certain pleasure for one so very +uncertain!"</p> + +<p>"But I 'have' something more to go upon," said Alice, who was not +pleased at her brother's laugh. "Mrs. Browne knows that I have never +been to the Crystal Palace, and that I long above all things to see it; +and a month ago she said to me, 'We must take you there with us some +day.'"</p> + +<p>Charlie smiled and shook his head. "Alice," said he, "don't you be like +the dog in the fable, that when crossing a brook with a bone in his +mouth, saw his own reflection in the stream, and was so eager to snatch +at what he thought another bone in the jaws of another dog that in the +attempt to get it, he dropped his own bone into the water."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image019" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image019.jpg" alt="image019"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE DOG AND ITS SHADOW.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>Alice was a little out of humour at being compared to so foolish a dog, +and coldly replied, "If I choose to take my chance of a treat, I don't +see that it matters to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but, Alice dear," said gentle little Minnie, "won't grandmamma +be disappointed not to see you, and wouldn't papa like to have you +with him, and wouldn't it be such a pleasure for us all to drive up +together?"</p> + +<p>Minnie was a loving, coaxing little girl, and Alice was very fond of +her. Besides, there was reason in what she said, so that it was in a +hesitating tone that her sister replied,—</p> + +<p>"I don't think—at least I hope that dear grandmamma won't much mind +my staying away just this once; I daresay that I'll have another +opportunity of seeing her before the winter sets in. You will take her +my love, and tell her that nothing but a visit to the Crystal Palace—" +("The 'shadow' of a visit," interrupted Charlie)—"would prevent my +enjoying the pleasure of going to her," continued Alice, without +appearing to notice the interruption. "As for papa, I have his leave +to remain behind if I wish it, and he has allowed me to go with the +Brownes."</p> + +<p>"That is to say, if they wish to have you," laughed Charlie; "remember +the dog and the bone, Alice, remember the dog!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>The morning came, sunshiny and bright: all breakfast-time the children +were talking of the coming pleasures of the day. The chaise drove up to +the door. Charlie and Minnie were eager to start for London, the only +damp on their enjoyment being that their sister was not going with them.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Alice darling, do come!" pleaded Minnie. "We shall miss you so +sadly, and so will grandmamma: we should all be so happy together!"</p> + +<p>"We'll be happy together this evening, dear, when I tell you about all +the wonderful things that I shall have seen—the stuffed beasts and the +living birds, the huge tree, and the splendid Alhambra court."</p> + +<p>"Alice, my girl, I hope that we are to have you with us," said Mr. +Davis, coming out of his room with his driving-whip in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Dear papa—if you don't mind—I think I'd rather stop behind just this +once."</p> + +<p>"Well, do as you please," said the father.</p> + +<p>But Alice thought that she saw a little shade of displeasure on his +face, and she felt much inclined to run after him, and beg to be taken +with him in the chaise.</p> + +<p>"Alice is changing her mind!" cried Charlie.</p> + +<p>It was an unfortunate observation; Alice was foolish enough to pride +herself upon never changing her mind, even when she had made a mistake, +and she did not choose that Charlie should be able to laugh at her for +so doing. She therefore stayed within the gate of her father's pretty +little garden at Hampstead, bade good-bye to the party, and saw them +drive off towards London.</p> + +<p>Alice could not help a feeling of misgiving as the chaise rattled away +down the road, but she turned from the gate with the remark, "They will +have a pleasant visit, I hope, but nothing to be compared to my treat. +I will run and put on my best hat and my new kid gloves, and be all +ready to start; for the Brownes are likely to set off at ten, and I +wouldn't keep them waiting—no, not for one minute."</p> + +<p>But if Alice would not keep the Brownes waiting, it was out of her +power to prevent being kept waiting herself. Very impatient she grew as +she watched by the gate, counting up to a hundred again and again, to +make time appear to pass less slowly.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! What can be delaying them so long? What if they should not be +going to the Crystal Palace after all—if I should have to stay here the +whole day all alone, after disappointing Minnie, and running the risk +of vexing dear kind grandmamma, who always gives such an affectionate +welcome? There's the sound of wheels—they're coming at last! Oh no, it +is only the butcher's cart! What a dust it stirs up! And here comes the +great lumbering omnibus."</p> + +<p>Alice drew back a little from the gate, to be out of the way of the +dust. The omnibus was crowded with passengers within and without—it +seemed to Alice as if all the world were going pleasuring except +herself, and it was her own fault that she was not at that moment +driving through London. Had she been less selfish and self-willed, +she would have given up for the sake of others her chance of the +much-desired treat.</p> + +<p>Scarcely had Alice returned to her post close behind the gate, when +she uttered an exclamation of joy, clapped her hands, and could hardly +refrain from jumping.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Here they are coming at last—I know the blue liveries and the +spanking gray horses. There is Mrs. Browne's green bonnet, and there is +Lizzie leaning out from the carriage; she sees me—she is smiling—she is +kissing her hand—and—"</p> + +<p>Poor Alice stopped short in the middle of her joyful sentence, for, +alas! the carriage did not stop, the spanking grays did not slacken +their pace as they dashed along the road in front of the gate! The +smile of eager delight on the face of the poor child changed to a look +of blank dismay when the carriage had actually passed, and no one +had called to the coachman to pull up, and Lizzie and her party had +actually disappeared from view, hastening on their way to the Crystal +Palace!</p> + +<p>When carriage, blue liveries, and all, could be no more seen, and +even the rumble of the wheels could be heard no longer, Alice burst +out crying. She could not help it, so bitter was her disappointment, +so great her regret at her own folly. She ran into the house, threw +herself down on a sofa, and sobbed. She had dropped the pleasure which +she might have enjoyed, trying, like the dog, to snatch at another; she +had disregarded advice, she had acted a selfish as well as a foolish +part, and now all her delightful hopes had ended in disappointment!</p> + +<p>Alice cried violently, but she did not cry long. Presently she lifted +her head, dried her wet eyes, and began to try to bear her misfortune +more bravely.</p> + +<p>"This has been a sad lesson for me," said Alice to herself with a sigh. +"I should not have minded the disappointment so much if it had been +through no fault of my own. What a miserably dull day I shall spend! +Papa and the children will not be back till the evening,—I have nothing +to amuse me, or take up my thoughts. Oh, that I had gone up to London!"</p> + +<p>But Alice was, after all, too sensible a child to give herself up for +hours to vain regrets. "What can't be cured must be endured." She had +made one mistake which could not be repaired, but to have remained all +the day long in dull idleness, fretting over her disappointment, would +have been to make another.</p> + +<p>"I had better occupy myself about something," thought Alice, rising up +from the sofa. "Charlie's garden wants weeding, it is half covered with +groundsel and chickweed; shall I give him a surprise by clearing it +all nicely before he comes back? Dear little Minnie has her stockings +to mend, and I know that she finds darning so difficult; shall I save +her the trouble by doing the work myself? Papa asked me yesterday to +put his papers in order; here is leisure time in which I can arrange +everything as he likes. If I cannot be happy to-day, I may at least be +useful: I'll weed, I'll work, I'll sort the papers, and so pass the +wearisome hours!"</p> + +<p>Alice had this time made a wise resolution, and she found that while +her little fingers were so busy, her mind had less time to dwell upon +the sad disappointment of the morning. She had almost regained her +cheerfulness at last, before she heard the sound of the returning +chaise, and ran out to meet the party from London at the gate of the +garden.</p> + +<p>"Well, Alice, where have you been?" cried Charlie, as he jumped down +from the chaise.</p> + +<p>"What have you seen?" asked Minnie eagerly, as she followed her brother.</p> + +<p>Alice tried to give a good-humoured smile as she made reply—"When +you go to your garden, Charlie, and you to your workbasket, Minnie, +you will easily find out where I have 'been.' And as for what I have +'seen,' I have seen that it is best to be contented with pleasures +within our reach, and that he was a foolish dog indeed that dropped his +bone to catch at a shadow!"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_9">IX.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>GO AND DO LIKEWISE.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image020" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image020.jpg" alt="image020"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"MAKE haste, make haste, or I do believe that the train will be off!" +exclaimed Arthur, hurrying with his two brothers along the highroad, +towards a small station at which the train was to call at ten.</p> + +<p>"I really can hardly keep up with you, Arthur," said Peter. "You rush +on like a steam-engine yourself."</p> + +<p>"If any of us had only a watch to tell us the exact time. But the train +comes so fast, and gives so little notice; and only think, if we were +to miss it!"</p> + +<p>"What a splendid day we have for our trip!" cried Mark. "Not a cloud to +be seen in the sky! I do long to see the Crystal Palace. They say that +it is the most beautiful thing in the world!"</p> + +<p>"How kind it is in uncle to give us such a treat!" said Arthur, his +rosy face beaming with pleasure. "We have never had such a holiday +before. Oh, let's make haste—come on, come on!"</p> + +<p>"What's that sound?" exclaimed Mark, stopping short.</p> + +<p>"Not the railway whistle, I hope," cried Arthur.</p> + +<p>"It's a loud cry of distress from the end of that field," said Peter, +looking alarmed.</p> + +<p>"There it is again," cried Arthur. "Some one is in terror or in pain."</p> + +<p>"I daresay," said Mark impatiently; "but you know we've no time for +delay."</p> + +<p>"I suspect that it is some one hurt by the bull that is kept in that +field," cried Peter. "I can see the creature through the hedge."</p> + +<p>"Can you see any human being?" said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"No, no one; but the voice shows where the person must be."</p> + +<p>"We cannot wait any longer," said Mark. "Remember that if we are late +for this train we must give up the treat altogether."</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear to go with those shrieks in my ears," replied Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Then I will go on without you," said Mark. And he ran on, as if to +make up for lost time.</p> + +<p>"Peter, we should get over that stile, and go to see what is the +matter," said Arthur.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we ought; but—but you know that there is the bull in the +field."</p> + +<p>"He is a very quiet one."</p> + +<p>"Yes, generally; but he may be in a savage mood now. I feel sure," +added the boy, grasping his brother's arm, "that he must have gored the +poor child whose screams we hear."</p> + +<p>Arthur looked grave and anxious. His brother was older than he, and +Arthur had been accustomed to lean upon his opinion.</p> + +<p>"Will you go, Peter?" he said, at last.</p> + +<p>"Not I—it would be folly—we will send some one from the station."</p> + +<p>"Ah, if they would attend to us boys; and even if they would, help +might not arrive for half an hour, and then it might come too late. O +Peter, that is a terrible cry."</p> + +<p>"I can't bear to stay and hear it!" exclaimed Peter. And so saying, he +turned and ran along the road as fast as Mark had done before him.</p> + +<p>And did Arthur follow his brothers? No, he did not. He went back to the +stile, hastily clambered over it, and with many an uneasy glance at +the bull, that was cropping the grass at no great distance—fearful of +running, lest it should draw him after him—Arthur made his way to the +spot whence the cries proceeded.</p> + +<p>Was Arthur less eager than the other boys to enjoy his treat? Was he +less afraid of being gored by a bull? By no means, for Arthur was +the youngest of the three. He had hardly slept the night before from +thought of the coming pleasure, and he was by no means particularly +courageous by nature. Why, then, did he turn back and cross the +field? It was that the love of God was shed abroad in his heart that +he had learned in the Bible to forget self, and that he sought every +opportunity, by kindness and compassion to his fellow-creatures, to +show his love and gratitude to his heavenly Master.</p> + +<p>Resolute, therefore, neither to let fear nor pleasure stop him in the +course of duty, Arthur proceeded on his way, though I cannot say that +his ears were not anxiously listening for the sound of the railway +whistle, or that he did not often fearfully turn to see if the bull +were running after him. He neither heard the whistle, however, nor was +pursued by the bull, but reached in safety the other end of the field, +where he found, lying in a dry ditch, just beneath the hedge, a poor +girl of about his own age.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter with you?" said Arthur, stooping to help her to +rise. "I am afraid that you are very much hurt."</p> + +<p>The girl was crying so violently that it was some time before Arthur +could make out the cause of her distress. It appeared that she had +fallen in getting over the hedge, and had sprained her ankle so +severely as to be unable to rise.</p> + +<p>"I thought that no one would ever come," sobbed the girl, "though I +screamed as loud as I could."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image021" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image021.jpg" alt="image021"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>HELP IN NEED.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"But what can I do for you?" said Arthur. "I am not strong enough to +carry you away."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you see that little white cottage there, just on the side of +the hill? My father lives there. If you would only go and tell him, I +am sure that he would come and help me."</p> + +<p>"If I go all that distance," thought poor Arthur, "I shall be quite +certain to miss the train."</p> + +<p>But he looked again at the suffering girl, and thought of the holy +history of one who had compassion on a poor injured traveller. He +remembered the words, "Go, and do thou likewise"; and determined to +give up his own pleasure for the comfort of another. Perhaps only a +child can tell how great was the sacrifice to the child!</p> + +<p>Arthur ran in the direction of the cottage, arrived there breathless +and heated, and found the girl's father standing at his door talking +to a baker, who, in his light cart, was going his daily round. A few +words from the panting boy explained to the man the accident that had +happened to his daughter.</p> + +<p>"I am much obliged to you," said the cottager. "I will go to poor Joan +directly."</p> + +<p>The eye of Arthur fell upon the Dutch clock hanging up near the +fireplace. The hour was not quite so late as his fears had imagined, +but still it wanted only eight minutes to ten.</p> + +<p>"I cannot be in time for the train," said the tired boy sadly, half to +himself. "My brothers will be off without me."</p> + +<p>"Did you want to meet the train? And have you been delayed by your +kindness?" said the baker, leaning from his cart, with a look of +interest. "Jump up here beside me. You've a chance of it yet. The train +may not be punctual to a minute, and Dobbin trots as fast as any horse +in the county."</p> + +<p>In a moment the eager boy was up in the cart, and the baker seemed as +eager. You might have thought, too, that the horse knew the state of +the case, he dashed on at such a fine rate! And the train was five +minutes beyond its time. Not till Arthur had sprung down from the cart +at the station, and stood thanking the kind baker who had helped him in +his need, was the long shrill scream of the whistle heard, and the dark +rattling line of carriages appeared. He was in time! Oh yes, he was in +time!</p> + +<p>Mark and Peter enjoyed their visit to the Crystal Palace, but their +pleasure was as nothing compared to that of Arthur. His whole soul was +overflowing with pure delight. He felt inclined to go springing and +bounding along, his heart was so free from a care! As a good man once +said, "How pleasant it is when the bird in the bosom sings sweetly."</p> + +<p>If my reader would know what is real happiness, real delight, let him +seek it in forgetting self, and following the steps of his Lord. Where +there is sorrow which you can cheer, or distress which you can relieve, +remember the Samaritan who beheld a wounded stranger and would not pass +by on the other side. Do not turn a deaf ear to the voice of pity, but +oh, Christian child! "Go and do likewise!"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_10">X.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE BEST FRIEND.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image022" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image022.jpg" alt="image022"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"HA! Carl Von Orlich; well met!" exclaimed the veteran Strasse, as, on +the night after one of the fiercest fights in the Seven Years' War, he +suddenly came upon his comrade, and recognized his features by the red +light of the watch-fire, over which he was bending.</p> + +<p>Von Orlich started up, and wrung the hand of his friend.</p> + +<p>"I little thought a few hours since," said he, "to see you or any other +man in the land of the living."</p> + +<p>"You have much cause to thank Him who has covered your head in the day +of battle," observed Strasse, who was one who, in a godless age, did +not shrink from openly confessing his faith, and by so doing had drawn +upon himself many a scoff, some even from his friend Von Orlich.</p> + +<p>"It was hot work," said the officer, wiping his brow.</p> + +<p>"When I saw you from a distance dash into the midst of what seemed a +circle of smoke and fire, through which one could scarcely catch a +glimpse of the flashing swords, I never expected, Von Orlich, to see +you come forth alive."</p> + +<p>"It was to rescue him—the gallant Helden," said Von Orlich. "I saw him +sorely beset; and if I had had a thousand lives, I'd have ventured them +all for his sake. I bore him safe out of it all," added the officer, +with a proud smile of triumph on his lip.</p> + +<p>"Helden is a man who deserves a friend," observed Strasse.</p> + +<p>"He does—better than any other man in Prussia!" exclaimed Von Orlich. +"Did you never hear what he did when he was a gay young page in the +service of our last king, Frederick William?"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image023" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image023.jpg" alt="image023"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE TWO COMRADES.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Not I," replied Strasse, seating himself; for he was weary with the +struggle of the day, and glad to warm himself for awhile beside the red +glowing fagots. "Tell me the tale of his youth. It may serve to while +away a few weary minutes; for as my turn for duty will soon come, it is +not worth while to lie down and sleep."</p> + +<p>"Helden, like most of our Prussian youth of gentle blood, was brought +up at a military academy. There he formed a warm friendship with a +lad of somewhat lower rank and much poorer family than his own. They +were never separated, Carl and he—studies, sports, hopes, pleasures, +everything they had in common. Never did brothers cling more closely +together than they. When the youths left the academy, their paths +divided. Helden, who had relatives of rank, became a page at the court +of the king; Carl, who had neither money nor interest, entered the +ranks of the army. But the tie was not broken between them, as with +most men it would have been. The page, midst the splendours of a court, +remained true to the friendship of his boyhood.</p> + +<p>"Carl was of a somewhat wild and reckless nature. Perhaps it stung +his pride to find himself in a position so much below that of his +late companions. Be that as it may, he had not been a month in the +army before he got into serious disgrace—overstayed leave, was out of +barracks till midnight, and was sentenced to receive a public flogging. +You know, Strasse, with what terrible severity that punishment is +inflicted in the army. To many it is equal to a sentence of death—to +Carl it was far worse than death! The agony might be great, but it was +the shame that was intolerable! The very horror of the idea of a public +flogging threw the young soldier into a fever, and threatened to turn +his brain."</p> + +<p>"I do not marvel at that," observed Strasse, as he stretched his hands +to the warming blaze.</p> + +<p>"Helden heard of the sentence passed upon his friend, and resolved +to make every effort to save him. He drew out a simple but touching +petition to the king, and ventured himself to present it—a task +requiring some courage, for you know the character of Frederick +William, and his excessive severity in whatever related to the +discipline of his army."</p> + +<p>"It was something like presenting a petition to a lion to spare the +prey under his paw," observed Strasse, with a smile.</p> + +<p>"And the king received it much as the lion might have done," rejoined +Von Orlich. "He was roused to one of his storms of fury, tore the +petition in pieces, and Helden was fortunate enough to escape with +nothing worse than a torrent of abuse."</p> + +<p>"So Carl underwent his sentence, of course?" asked Strasse.</p> + +<p>"Hear to the end," replied his comrade. "Any one but Helden would have +given up in despair all further attempt to rescue his friend, but, true +as steel as he was, he resolved to make yet another. Helden drew out +a second petition; and on the night before the morning on which the +flogging was to take place, he went to the antechamber with it in his +pocket, with the intention of presenting it to the monarch."</p> + +<p>"He was a bold youth," remarked Strasse. "When we recall how nearly our +late king put to death his own son and heir for a very trifling cause, +one cannot but marvel at the perseverance of Helden."</p> + +<p>"The king," continued Von Orlich, "was engaged, till far into the +night, in secret conference with one of his ministers. Helden, full +of deep anxiety, remained in the ante-room waiting. So long had he to +wait, so weary he grew, less perhaps from the lateness of the hour than +the wear upon his own spirits, that sleep overcame the poor youth. +The king, happening to come out of his cabinet, found his page in +deep slumber in an arm-chair, with what looked like a second petition +sticking half out of his pocket.</p> + +<p>"'If that audacious young scapegrace dare to pester me again with his +petitions, he shall get something sharper than words.' Such, I suspect, +was his majesty's thought when, without awakening the page, curiosity +made him draw forth the scroll. Perhaps, however, his countenance +changed when his eye glanced over the strange petition which it +contained. It was very brief, but to the purpose; and was, as well as +I can remember, in these words: 'Sire, if the sentence passed on Carl +must be executed, I entreat your majesty's permission to suffer instead +of my friend.'"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image024" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image024.jpg" alt="image024"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE KING TAKING THE PETITION.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"A strange petition, indeed," exclaimed Strasse. "What said the king to +the offer?"</p> + +<p>"Stern and rigid as he was," replied Von Orlich, "such generous +friendship, such brave self-devotion, could not but touch his heart. I +know not how long Helden slumbered. He was startled from his sleep by +the sound of the bell rung by the king in his cabinet.</p> + +<p>"'Now for the effort!' thought Helden, as he sprang forward with a +beating heart to obey the desired and yet dreaded summons.</p> + +<p>"He found the king sitting alone, looking more than usually stern. +Helden received some trifling order from the monarch, who then motioned +to him to retire.</p> + +<p>"'Now, or never!' said Helden to himself. 'The day will soon dawn, and +at sunrise poor Carl is to suffer.'</p> + +<p>"'Why do you delay?' asked the king very harshly, fixing his freezing +gaze on the page.</p> + +<p>"'Sire, pardon!' exclaimed Helden, and bending his knee, he drew forth +a scroll, and presented it to his sovereign.</p> + +<p>"'Will you stand by the consequences?' demanded the king, without +touching the paper.</p> + +<p>"'I will, sire,' replied the generous friend.</p> + +<p>"'Read the contents, then, young man!' said the king.</p> + +<p>"Helden opened the scroll, and started to his feet with an exclamation +of joyful surprise. The paper contained, not his own generous offer, +but a full free pardon for his friend, drawn out and signed by the +monarch himself!"</p> + +<p>"God had touched the king's heart," observed Strasse.</p> + +<p>"Be that as it may," said Von Orlich, "Carl was saved from a punishment +which would have driven him mad. And he lived to pay back this day part +of the debt of gratitude which he owed to the best of friends!"</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaimed Strasse in surprise. "You yourself are the Carl of +whom you speak?"</p> + +<p>"Ay; I have struggled upwards in life, won honours—" a star was +glittering on his breast—"I have gained the wealth and position which +are the prizes held out by war. But were the king to make me a duke," +continued Von Orlich with emotion, "the pleasure and the honour would +be small compared to what I felt to-day in proving my gratitude to the +man who once offered to suffer in my stead!"</p> + +<p>"It is strange," observed Strasse with a thoughtful sigh, as he looked +into the flickering fire, "how apt we are to reserve all our gratitude +for our fellow-man, forgetful of the Friend who not only offered to +suffer, but actually did suffer in our stead! You braved fire and +sword for one who had loved and saved you; shall our love be cold, and +our courage faint, only when our debt is infinite, and our benefactor +divine?"</p> + +<p>Von Orlich made no reply; but as he silently gazed up into the blue +starry heavens, almost for the first time in his life, the heart of the +war-worn veteran rose in thanksgiving to God!</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_11">XI.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE THICKET OF FURZE.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image025" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image025.jpg" alt="image025"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"WHAT a plague lessons are?" exclaimed Rosey, with a long weary yawn, +as she bent over her French exercises, wishing from her heart that +grammar had never been invented.</p> + +<p>"Work on, little one!" said her brother George, who had overheard the +exclamation. "Remember that it is doubly your duty to be steady and +industrious while mamma is away."</p> + +<p>"It is so difficult!" sighed the child.</p> + +<p>"Many a duty is difficult," answered the elder brother, "but that is +no reason for shirking it. Attending to little duties while we are +young helps us to perform great ones when we are old. Do your lessons +bravely, dear Rosey, and if they be finished by twelve, you shall have +a little story to reward your diligence."</p> + +<p>The word "story" called up a dimple upon Rosey's round cheek. She +turned with more resolution to her tiresome lesson, and the task was +ended by twelve.</p> + +<p>"Now for my story," cried the child, bringing her little chair close to +her brother, and resting her arm on his knee, as—looking up gaily into +his face—she claimed the fulfilment of his promise.</p> + +<p>George looked into the fire for a few moments, as if to draw some ideas +from the cheerful blaze, stirred it, and then leaning back on his +chair, began the following little tale:—</p> + +<p>"Methought I lay down and slept, and dreamed; and in my dream I beheld +a path through a verdant meadow, along which many a child gaily +tripped, gathering the lovely wild flowers that grew on either side. +But at one end of the meadow the path was crossed by a thicket of sharp +prickly furze, and the name of the thicket was Difficulty. The bushes +grew so thick and close, that I wondered whether any child would be +able to pass them; and I sat me down to watch how the little travellers +would get through the Difficulty in their way."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that I was one of the little travellers," laughed Rosey, +"and the furze-bushes were my horrid French verbs!"</p> + +<p>"There are a great many 'Difficulties' in a child's life," replied +George with a smile: "some find it difficult to rise early, some to be +punctual or neat, some to control their tempers, others to be generous +and kind. There are plenty of furze-bushes in our path, but we must +not, like lazy cowards, suffer them to stop us in our onward course."</p> + +<p>"Please tell me about the children in your dream," said Rosey.</p> + +<p>"The first who reached the thicket was a little girl, with ruddy +cheek and curly hair, who had been one of the gayest of the gay, as +she went dancing through the flowery mead. But as soon as she came to +Difficulty, all the cheerfulness fled from her face, she shrank from +the first touch of the prickles as if she had expected that life was to +be all sunshine and flowers, and sitting down on the grass by the side +of the path, she burst into a flood of tears."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the cowardly little creature!" cried Rosey.</p> + +<p>"Then there came up to the spot a young boy, whose appearance to me +was not pleasing. He never looked straight before him, but had a kind +of cunning side glance, which made me fancy him less open and frank +than a Christian boy ought to be. He made no attempt to push through +the thicket, but went creeping along the edge of it, hoping to 'creep +round' Difficulty instead of passing straight onwards. I watched him +to see if he would succeed in his aim, but he had not gone many steps +before his feet stuck fast in a bog, and it was only by violent and +painful efforts that he could struggle out again, to return to the +point whence he had started, with his shoes all clogged with clay, his +time lost, and his object not gained."</p> + +<p>"I suppose that he was a lazy boy," remarked Rosey; "putting off does +not help us over our difficulties. I have sometimes tried that plan of +creeping round, and I always stuck in the bog!"</p> + +<p>"Then," pursued George, "a boy with firm step and resolute air came up +to the thicket. I saw something like a smile on his face as he looked +at the Difficulty before him. He set his teeth hard together, clenched +his hands, and then with bold determination made a dash at the thicket. +On he went, that stout-hearted lad, dashing aside the prickles, pushing +forward as if he scarcely felt the scratches upon his bleeding hands. +Trampling down, struggling through Difficulty, he was soon safe and +triumphant on the opposite side!"</p> + +<p>Little Rosey clapped her hands. "He was a fine fellow!" cried she. "I +think that Nelson and Wellington went dashing through difficulties like +that. But I can't do so," added the child more gravely; "I have not +that bold, strong spirit. I am afraid that I am most like the little +cowardly girl who cried when she saw the thicket."</p> + +<p>"Is not that because you do not look upon your childish troubles as a +means of testing your patience and obedience; is it not because you do +not seek for help from above, even in the little trials of your life?"</p> + +<p>"They seem such trifles to look at in that way," said Rosey, gazing +thoughtfully into the fire.</p> + +<p>"A writer has said that 'trifles form the sum of human things;' and +the life of a child, more especially, is made up of what we call +trifles. Yet children, as well as those who are old, are required to +glorify God; and as they can do no 'great' thing for him, it is by +their cheerful obedience, diligence, and sweet temper, that they must +show their gratitude and love. And does not this thought, dear Rosey, +make the performance of simple daily duties a bright and a holy thing? +If what we do, we do as 'unto the Lord,' feeling that His eye is upon +us, and seeking in all things to please Him, we find pleasure even in +irksome tasks, sweetness in what otherwise would be bitter."</p> + +<p>Rosey looked as if she scarcely understood the words of her brother, +so, to make their meaning clearer, George went on with his tale:—</p> + +<p>"There was one other child whom I saw in my dream advancing towards +the thicket Difficulty. I felt sorry for the little girl, for she was +feeble and pale, and as she moved over the grass, I saw that she was +both lame and barefoot!</p> + +<p>"'Alas!' thought I. 'If she can scarcely make her way along the smooth +and pleasant path, how will she ever struggle through the prickly furze +before her!'"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image026" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image026.jpg" alt="image026"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE LAME GIRL.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Perhaps the same thought was in the mind of the little traveller, for +she paused before the thicket, and looked forwards with a scared and +troubled air. Then she clasped her hands, and raised her eyes towards +the soft blue sky above her, and all trace of fear or care left her +smiling face. What was my surprise to see two beautiful little wings, +glittering like gold in the sunlight, and bright with the rainbow's +tints, gradually unfold from her shoulders! The child shook them +for a few moments, as if to try their powers, and then rising above +earth, and all its thorns, she gently flew over the painful place, and +alighting safely on the ground beyond, looked back with a bright and +thankful smile on the Difficulty which she had passed."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Rosey. "What would I not give to have such beautiful +wings!"</p> + +<p>"Those wings, dear Rosey, are 'faith' and 'love,' which lift us above +the world, which bear us onward in a heavenly course, which make us +find our chief delight in doing the will of our heavenly Father."</p> + +<p>"I have not these wings!"</p> + +<p>George drew his little sister closer to him, and bending down his head +towards her, whispered, "'Ask and ye shall receive.' God only can cause +those wings to grow, by the power of his Holy Spirit; He can give them +strength to bear us unharmed over all the rough places of life; and the +waters of the river of death shall not wet even the soles of the feet +of those who pass their depths, buoyed up on the glorious pinions of +'faith' and 'love!'"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_12">XII.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE BOY AND THE BIRD'S NEST.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image027" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image027.jpg" alt="image027"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"MARY, my love, all is ready; we must not be late for the train," said +Mr. Miles, as, in his travelling dress, he entered the room where sat +his pale, weeping wife, ready to start on the long, long journey, which +would only end in India.</p> + +<p>The gentleman looked flushed and excited; it was a painful moment for +him, for he had to part from his sister, and the one little boy whom he +was leaving under her care. But Mr. Miles's chief anxiety was for his +wife; for the trial, which was bitter to him, was almost heart-breaking +to her.</p> + +<p>The carriage was at the door, all packed, the last band-box and shawl +had been put in.</p> + +<p>Eddy could hear the sound of the horses pawing the ground in their +impatience to start. But the clinging arms of his mother were round +him—she held him close to her embrace, as if she would press him into +her heart, and the ruddy cheeks of the boy were wet with her falling +tears.</p> + +<p>"O Eddy!—my child—God bless you!" she could hardly speak through her +sobs.</p> + +<p>"My love, we must not prolong this," said the husband, gently trying to +draw her away. "Good-bye, Lucy—good-bye, my boy—you shall hear from us +both from Southampton."</p> + +<p>The father embraced his sister and his son, and then hurried his wife +to the door.</p> + +<p>Eddy rushed after them through the hall, on to the steps, and Mrs. +Miles, before entering the carriage, turned again to take her only son +into her fond arms once more.</p> + +<p>Never could Eddy forget that embrace—the fervent pressure of the lips, +the heaving of his mother's bosom, the sound of his mother's sobs. +Light-hearted boy as he was, Eddy never had realized what parting +was till that time, though he had watched the preparations made for +the voyage for weeks—the packing of those big black boxes that had +almost blocked up the hall. Now he felt in a dream as he stood on the +steps, and through tear-dimmed eyes saw the carriage driven off which +held those who loved him so dearly. He caught a glimpse of his mother +bending forward to have a last look of her boy before a turn in the +road hid the carriage from view; and Eddy knew that long, long years +must pass before he should see that sweet face again.</p> + +<p>"Don't grieve so, dear Eddy," said Aunt Lucy, kindly laying her hand on +his shoulder; "you and I must comfort each other."</p> + +<p>But at that bitter moment Eddy was little disposed either to comfort +any one or to receive comfort himself. His heart seemed rising into +his throat; he could not utter a word. He rushed away into the woods +behind the house, with a longing to be quite alone. He could scarcely +think of anything but his mother; and the poor boy spent nearly an hour +under a tree, recalling her looks, her parting words, and grieving over +the recollection of how often his temper and his pride had given her +sorrow. He felt, in the words of the touching lament,—</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<br> +"And now I recollect with pain<br> + How many times I grieved her sore;<br> + Oh, if she would but come again,<br> + I think I would do so no more!<br> + <br> +"How I would watch her gentle eye<br> + 'Twould be my joy to do her will;<br> + And she should never have to sigh<br> + Again for my behaving ill!"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>But boys of eight years of age are seldom long unhappy. Before an +hour had passed, Eddy's thoughts were turned from the parting by his +chancing to glance upwards into the tree whose long green branches +waved above him. Eddy espied there a pretty little nest, almost hidden +by the foliage. Up jumped Eddy, eager for the prize; and in another +minute he was climbing the tree like a squirrel. Soon he grasped and +safely brought down the nest, in which he found, to his joy, three +beautiful eggs!</p> + +<p>"Ah! I'll take them home to—" Eddy stopped short; the word "mother" +had been on his lips; it gave a pang to the boy to remember that the +presence of his gentle mother no longer brightened that home—that she +already was far, far away. Eddy seated himself on a rough bench, and +put down the nest by his side; he had less pleasure in his prize since +he could not show it to her whom he loved.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image028" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image028.jpg" alt="image028"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>EDDY AND THE NEST.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>While Eddy sat thinking of his parent, as he had last seen her, with +her eyes red and swollen with weeping, his attention was attracted by a +loud pitiful chirping, which sounded quite near. Though the voice was +only the voice of a bird, it expressed such anxious distress, that Eddy +instantly guessed that it came from the poor little mother whose nest +he had carried away. Ah! What pains she had taken to form that delicate +nest!—How often must her wing have been wearied as she flew to and fro +on her labour of love! All her little home and all her fond hopes had +been torn from her at once to give a little amusement to a careless but +not heartless boy.</p> + +<p>No; Eddy was not heartless. He was too full of his own mother's sorrow +when parting from her loved child to have no pity for the poor little +bird, chirping and fluttering over the treasure which she had lost.</p> + +<p>"How selfish I have been!—How cruel!" cried Eddy, jumping up from his +seat. "Never fear, little bird! I will not break up your home; I will +not rob you of your young. I never will give any mother the sorrow felt +by my darling mamma."</p> + +<p>Gently he took up the nest. It was no easy matter to climb the tree +again with it in his hand, but Eddy never stopped until he had replaced +the nest in its own snug place, wedged in the fork of a branch. Eddy's +heart felt lighter when he clambered down again to his seat, and heard +the joyful twitter of the little mother, perched on a branch of a tree.</p> + +<p>And from that day it was Edith's delight to take a daily ramble to that +quiet part of the wood, and have a peep at the nest, half hidden in its +bower of leaves. He knew when the small birds were hatched; he watched +the happy mother when she fed her little brood; he looked on when she +taught her nestlings to take their first airy flight. This gave him +more enjoyment than the possession of fifty eggs could have done. Never +did Eddy regret that he had showed mercy and kindness, and denied +himself a pleasure to save another a pang.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_13">XIII.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>SENDING HORSES TO TRAVELLERS.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image029" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image029.jpg" alt="image029"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"POOR old Matthew!" said Lucy. "I hear that he is almost dying with +cold!"</p> + +<p>Ben was amusing himself with spinning on the table four bright +half-crowns, with which his grandfather had presented him that morning, +but he stopped for a moment to listen to his sister's account of the +sufferings of his aged neighbour, and in a tone of pity said, "I'm sure +that I wish that he were better off, he is such a good old man!"</p> + +<p>"He had nothing but a crust all yesterday," said Lucy.</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" exclaimed Ben, balancing his coin between his finger and +thumb. "I wish that he had had as good a dinner as I!" Twirl, twirl, +went the half-crown, looking like a half transparent ball, as it spun +rapidly round; then gradually its shape altered, it sank lower and +lower, then rattled down to its old position on the table.</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image030" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image030.jpg" alt="image030"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>BEN AND THE HALF-CROWNS.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"I wish that some one would help him!" said Lucy, glancing at the money.</p> + +<p>"So do I, with all my heart!" replied Ben, in a manner that told pretty +clearly that his charity would not go beyond his good wishes.</p> + +<p>There was a pause, which was first broken by Lucy. "I read such a funny +account, in a book about Thibet," said she, "of a curious piece of +superstition, that I put mark in the place, just that I might read it +to you; I thought that it would make you laugh."</p> + +<p>"Let's have it!" cried Ben, pocketing his half-crowns, for he dearly +loved anything funny.</p> + +<p>So Lucy opened a volume of Huc's "Travels," and read the following +account of the strange ideas of a young student of medicine at +Kounboum:—</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<br> + "One day," writes the missionary Huc, "he proposed to us a service of +devotion in favour of all the travellers throughout the whole world. +'We are not acquainted with this devotion,' said we; 'will you explain +it to us?' 'This is it: You know that a good many travellers find +themselves from time to time on rugged toilsome roads, and it often +happens that they cannot proceed by reason of their being altogether +exhausted. In this case we aid them by sending horses to them.' 'That,' +said we, 'is a most admirable custom; but you must consider that poor +travellers such as we are not in a condition to share in the good work. +You know that we possess only a horse and a little mule, which require +rest in order that they may carry us to Thibet.' He clapped his hands +together, and burst into a loud laugh. 'What are you laughing at? What +we have said is the simple truth; we have only a horse and a little +mule.' When his laughter at last subsided, 'It was not that which I +was laughing at,' said he; 'I laughed at your mistaking the sort of +devotion I mean. What we send to the travellers are paper horses.' And +therewith he ran off to his cell, and presently returned, his hands +filled with bits of paper, on each of which was printed the figure of +a horse, saddled and bridled, and going at full gallop. 'Here, these +are the horses we send to the travellers! To-morrow we shall ascend +a high mountain, and there we shall pass the day, saying prayers and +sending off horses.' 'How do you send them to the travellers?' 'Oh, the +means are very easy. After a certain form of prayer, we take a packet +of horses, which we throw up into the air; the wind carries them away, +and by the power of Buddha they are then changed to real horses, which +offer themselves to travellers.'"<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p>"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Ben, when she had finished. "I never heard +anything so odd in my life. We have nothing in England like these paper +horses."</p> + +<p>"Well, I could not quite say that," observed Lucy; "there was something +that reminded me of them just now."</p> + +<p>"What was that?" said Ben, glancing up at his sister.</p> + +<p>"Sending only 'good wishes' to those to whom we are able to send real +help," Lucy replied with a smile. "They go just as far, and are exactly +as useful to the poor, as the paper horses to the travellers in the +deserts of Thibet."</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_14">XIV.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THORNS AND FLOWERS.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image031" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image031.jpg" alt="image031"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"WHAT can be the difference between Martha and Susan Williamson?" said +old Dame Phillips. "They are as like as two cherries—the same rosy +cheeks, the same height, the same hair, you could hardly know one from +the other."</p> + +<p>"No wonder, for they are twins," replied Widow Green.</p> + +<p>"And yet, how is it that when one of them comes in, it seems as if a +sunbeam were shining into the room; yet, when the other is near, you +would think that she brought the cold east wind with her?"</p> + +<p>"One lives for others, and one for herself; that's the difference +between Martha and Susan," said Mrs. Green, as she poured out her cup +of tea.</p> + +<p>"Ah! I often think that they are like two travellers, walking through +the world with baskets on their arms. Susan has filled her basket +with roses, and wherever she goes there's the sweet smell and the +pretty flowers to make every one round her glad. Martha has filled her +basket with thorns; you fear to come near her for the prickles; she +is scattering thorns wherever she passes, and leaves pain behind her +wherever she has been!"</p> + +<p>"I pity the children when they are left to her care," said the widow.</p> + +<p>"Poor little lambs, they have their full share of the thorns. It is +a word and a blow with her; and as for poor Albert, with his weak +ankles, he may walk on till he drops afore she will take the trouble +of carrying him one step.—Why, here she is!" added the old woman, as +Martha entered the house with a bold, careless air.</p> + +<p>"Good-day, Mrs. Phillips: I've come to borrow your warm new shawl. +You see," added she, seeing a look of reluctance on the face of the +rheumatic invalid, "I'm going to-morrow in the steamer to Greenwich, +and it will be so cold on the water."</p> + +<p>"Come to-morrow, then," said the good-natured dame; "why should I be +all this cold evening without it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is not convenient to come to-morrow!" cried Martha. "I'm off +early, so please for it now." And as she stepped carelessly forward to +take the shawl from the shoulders of her shivering friend, she knocked +down the cup which Mrs. Phillips had just filled. But Martha never said +that she was sorry for the mischief done; she never even stopped to +pick up the broken pieces; her only thought was ever "self!"</p> + +<p>Having got all she wanted, Martha turned to depart, but lingered for a +few minutes to talk.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Mrs. Green, so your son has gone to sea, I hear. How the wind is +blowing, to be sure! I could hardly get up the street. They say there +has been a dreadful shipwreck off the Irish coast—every one lost!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Green clasped her hands with a look of terror.</p> + +<p>"I hope that the wind will have gone down before I start for +Greenwich," said Martha, as she bounced out of the room, forgetting, of +course, to close the door. She was gone, but she had left the thorns +behind her.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes a gentle tap was heard.</p> + +<p>"Come in," said Mrs. Phillips; and the bright kind face of Susan +appeared.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Mrs. Phillips; I hope that you are feeling better. I +have brought you a pair of mittens, which I have knit for you, to keep +your poor hands warm in this cold weather.—Mrs. Green, I'm so glad to +see you; and will not you be glad to see 'this?'" she added, holding +up a letter, and then placing it in the mother's trembling hand, with +pleasure almost equal to her own.</p> + +<p>"My son's handwriting!" exclaimed Mrs. Green. "How did you come by it, +my dear?"</p> + +<p>"I knew that you were anxious for letters, so I stepped round by the +post-office to ask if there were any for you."</p> + +<p>"Bless you!" cried Mrs. Green. "You are always thinking of others."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image032" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image032.jpg" alt="image032"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE LETTER.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>When Susan entered the house, she had found gloom and anxiety there. +Before she left it, there were bright looks and smiles of hope and +gratitude. She had left the roses behind her.</p> + +<p>And can you guess the secret cause of her kindness, of the constant, +cheerful benevolence which made her welcome to all? Why did she seem +to live for others?—Because she "lived to God!" One sentence spoken by +the blessed Saviour seemed ever present to her mind: "'Love one another +as I have loved you.'" She knew that the Lord Jesus had "died for all, +that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but +unto Him which died for them" (2 Cor. v. 15).</p> + +<p>Oh! dear reader, have "you" lived for yourself, or for your Lord; are +you scattering roses or thorns?</p> + +<p>On her way home Susan overtook an aged woman, bent down with years, +and yet more with trouble, to judge from her sad, hopeless face. +She carried a large bundle, which seemed too much for her strength. +Cold as was the weather, she walked on but slowly, with a feeble, +half-tottering step, often pausing, as though to take breath.</p> + +<p>Susan paused; and her kind, pitying look seemed to encourage the poor +old woman to address her.</p> + +<p>"Could you, please, tell me the way to John Street, my dear? I am a +stranger in London."</p> + +<p>"With pleasure," replied Susan; "let me see—the third turn to the left, +then walk on till you come to a baker's shop, then—"</p> + +<p>"I shall never make it out," said the old woman, with a hopeless air.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I'll go with you, and show you the way. Don't hurry +yourself, you look feeble, and your bundle is heavy; let me carry it +for you, it would be a pleasure to me!" And she relieved the poor +stranger of her burden, as they passed through the cold, silent streets.</p> + +<p>"You are good, very good!" sighed the old woman. "Too good for this +cold, heartless, miserable world!"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry that you find it so miserable."</p> + +<p>"Miserable enough! Here am I, a lone widow—I who have had a good +husband, and three as fine boys as ever the sun shone upon. There is no +comfort on earth for me!"</p> + +<p>"But there is comfort in heaven! Do you not hope to see again those +whom you have loved, never more to part? Do you not hope that they are +happy now?"</p> + +<p>"Ay, they are happy; for my husband feared God, and my boys were taken +before they knew evil. But here am I, a feeble old woman, without a +friend on earth."</p> + +<p>"But you have a Friend in heaven; there is comfort again!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, if I could take it, my dear; but my heart is low, and my spirit +weary, and everything looks dark around and above!"</p> + +<p>Susan rather whispered than spoke, "'Why art thou cast down, O my soul? +and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall +yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.'" (Ps. +xlii. 11).</p> + +<p>A tear rolled down the pale cheek of the stranger, but her heart felt +lighter: she had met with one who could feel for her.</p> + +<p>"I wish," said she, after a pause, "that I had thought more of these +things when I was young like you. It doesn't do to put off, one's heart +grows cold and hard. And, oh! it's a weary, weary thing, old age like +mine, no comforts around one, nothing but troubles to look back upon, +nothing but death to look forward to!" and she sighed heavily.</p> + +<p>"And heaven beyond!" said Susan.</p> + +<p>"Ah! If I were sure of 'that,' but maybe heaven is not for a poor, +ignorant, sinful creature like me!"</p> + +<p>"I thought," said Susan timidly, "that heaven was for those who +believe, who repent, who love the Lord Jesus and one another."</p> + +<p>Not another word was spoken till they reached the house, when the aged +stranger laid her trembling hand on the shoulder of her young guide.</p> + +<p>"God Almighty bless you!" she murmured. "You've spoken the first word +of comfort that I've heard for many a long day. God will bless you, and +make you an angel above, as you love to do angels' work below!"</p> + +<p>Reader! May you thus pass through life, blessing and blessed, the roses +which you scatter on the paths of others throwing sweetness over your +own, and making soft your death-bed at the last!</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_15">XV.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>HEIR TO SOMETHING BETTER.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image033" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image033.jpg" alt="image033"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"WELL, he's a beauty, he is!" cried Betsy Bonser. "But fine feathers +make fine birds, and his mother dresses him up as if he were Prince of +Wales at least."</p> + +<p>"Who is it, neighbour?" asked the feeble voice of Mary Blane, a sick +woman who was lying in bed in the little cottage out of the window of +which Betsy Bonser was looking as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's Squire Knight's little boy, to be sure—hat, feather, and +all—sitting in his little carriage, with his dog on his knee. How +unequal things are in this world! There were you with your dozen +children, scarce able to put shoes on their feet, or bread in their +mouths, and a thirteenth baby must come—" she glanced at a little +creature asleep in its cradle—"just to be a burden and a trouble!"</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image034" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image034.jpg" alt="image034"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>THE YOUNG SQUIRE.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"He's welcome—bless him!" whispered the mother.</p> + +<p>"Welcome! Well, mothers have an odd way of taking these things," said +Betsy. "I know the squire's baby was welcome, for he was heir to ten +thousand a year!"</p> + +<p>"And I hope that my baby is heir to something better," said Mary with a +gentle smile. "If he be God's child, he'll have an inheritance one day +in heaven!"</p> + +<p>"Well," began Betsy—but she started with surprise, for she saw that the +squire's lady now stood in the cottage!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Knight had knocked so gently, and Betsy had talked so loudly, that +the knock had not been heard, nor the soft step of the lady as she +entered the poor woman's cottage.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Beg your pardon, ma'am, I didn't see you," cried Betsy, dropping +half-a-dozen courtesies.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Knight had brought many nice things for the sick mother, and some +little pieces of dress for Mary's baby, which her own boy had long +outgrown. The lady took, I say, many things to the cottage; she took +one thing away with her—the remembrance of the poor woman's words, +which she had chanced to overhear: "I hope that my baby is heir to +something better."</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Knight returned to her boy, whom she had left outside with +his nurse, she thought again and again of what Mary Blane had said.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" reflected the lady, "my boy will have everything that money can +give him, but, after all, the 'best' things are as free to the poor +as to the rich. My child would be poor indeed if he were not heir to +something better."</p> + +<p>When a few months had passed away, the squire's little son fell ill. +The groom mounted a horse and rode off at full speed for a doctor; +another was sent for from London; everything was procured that could +possibly help to save the child from dying. But if God wills to take a +little lamb to His fold above, doctors and medicine and mother's fond +care cannot keep him on earth. The squire's little darling was taken +early to heaven.</p> + +<p>Then people said, "What a grievous thing it was that the heir of such +an estate should die!"</p> + +<p>If one of Mary Blane's thirteen children had been taken, the world +would have thought less about it, though every one was as dear to her +as Victor Knight had been to his mother. And friends wondered how +poor Mrs. Knight could bear her grief so meekly, and never murmur +when called to part with the child whom she loved so well. It was the +thought of her little one's happiness that soothed her sorrowing heart; +she looked round on the splendid dwelling that might one day have been +her son's, and repeated the poor woman's words, "My baby is heir to +something better."</p> + +<p>After some time, God comforted the poor lady by giving her another +child. There were great rejoicings in the squire's house when a second +heir was born; bonfires were lighted, tenants were feasted, and an ox +was roasted whole. Mrs. Knight was again a happy and thankful mother. +But she never forgot her first little treasure, whose picture with his +dog on his knee, hung just opposite to the seat in her own quiet room +where the lady used often to read the Bible. And when in her reading +she came to an account of "an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, +and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven," she would lift up her +tearful eyes to the picture, and with a grateful heart would say, "Yes, +earth's wealth and honours must pass away; thank God, through Christ, +my baby was heir to something better!"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_16">XVI.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE TWO PETS.</b><br> +</p> + +<p class="t4"> +<b>A FABLE.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image035" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image035.jpg" alt="image035"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"AH, Poll! Poll!" cried the little spaniel Fidele to the new favourite +of the family. "How every one likes you and pets you!"</p> + +<p>"No wonder," replied the parrot, cocking her head on one side with +a very conceited air. "Just see how pretty I am! With your rough +hairy coat, and your turned-up nose, who would look at you beside me! +Just observe my plumage of crimson and green, and the fine feather +head-dress which I wear!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are a beauty," said Fidele, "that I'm only an ugly little +dog."</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image036" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image036.jpg" alt="image036"></figure> +<p class="t4"> +<b>FIDELE AND POLL.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"Then how clever I am," continued Miss Parrot, after a nibble at her +biscuit. "No human beings are likely to care for you, for you can't +speak one word of their language."</p> + +<p>"I wish that I could learn it," said Fidele.</p> + +<p>"You've only to copy me." And then in her harsh grating voice the +parrot cried, "What's o'clock?"</p> + +<p>"Bow-wow!" barked Fidele.</p> + +<p>"Do your duty!" screamed the bird.</p> + +<p>"Bow-wow!" barked the dog.</p> + +<p>"There's not a chance that any one will ever care for you, ugly stupid +spaniel," cried Miss Poll. "You may just creep off to your kennel, you +are not fit company for a learned beauty like me."</p> + +<p>Poor Fidele made no complaint, but he felt sad as he trotted off to his +corner. Before Poll's arrival at the Hall, the spaniel had been the +favourite playmate of all Mrs. Donathorn's children. They had taught +him to fetch and carry, to toss up a biscuit placed on his nose and +catch it cleverly in his mouth, or to jump into the water and bring a +stick that had been flung to ever so great a distance.</p> + +<p>But as soon as pretty Poll came, no one seemed to care for Fidele +any more. To teach the parrot to speak was the great delight of the +children. They shouted and clapped their hands when she screamed out +"Pretty Poll," "What's o'clock?" or, "Do your duty." Stupid Fidele! +He could not be taught to speak. Ugly Fidele! Who could for a moment +compare him to a beautiful parrot? So all the kind words, and soft +pats, and sweet biscuits, were given to Poll. It is true that she made +little Tommy once cry out with pain from a bite from her sharp beak—and +that the least thing that displeased her would make her ruffle up her +feathers in a very ill-tempered way, but still she was petted and +praised for her cleverness and her beauty; and she quite despised poor +Fidele, who was nothing but an ugly hairy dog.</p> + +<p>One fine summer's day, the children carried the stand of their +favourite to the bank of the pretty little river which flowed through +their mother's grounds. Bessy and Jemmy amused themselves by feeding +and chatting with the parrot, while little Tommy gathered daisies and +buttercups, or rolled about on the grass. No one cared for Fidele; no +one noticed what he was doing.</p> + +<p>Presently Bessy and Jemmy were startled by a scream, and then a +sudden splashing noise in the water. Poor little Tommy, eager to pull +some blue forget-me-nots which grew quite close to the brink, had +overbalanced himself and tumbled right into the stream. Oh, what was +the terror of the children when they heard the splash, and saw the wide +circles on the water where their poor little brother was sinking.</p> + +<p>"Do your duty!" screamed the parrot, merely talking by rote, and not +caring a feather for the danger of the child, or the distress of his +brother and sister.</p> + +<p>At that moment, there was heard another splash in the water, and then +the brown nose and hairy back of Fidele were seen in the stream, as +the little dog swam with all his might to save the drowning child. He +caught little Tommy by his clothes; he pulled—he tugged—he dragged him +towards the shore, just within reach of the eagerly stretched-out hands +of Jemmy.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is saved! He is saved!" cried Bessy, as Tommy was dragged out +of the river, dripping, choking, spluttering, crying, but not seriously +hurt.</p> + +<p>He was instantly carried back to the house, undressed, and put into a +warm bed; and the little one was soon none the worse for his terrible +ducking and fright.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you dear—you darling dog!" cried Bessy, as she caught up Fidele, +all wet as he was, and hugged him with grateful affection. "I will +always love you, and care for you, for you were a true friend in need."</p> + +<p>"Pretty Poll!" screamed the parrot, who did not like any one to be +noticed but herself.</p> + +<p>"Fidele is better than pretty; he is brave, and useful, and good," +cried Bessy.</p> + +<p>"Do your duty!" screamed out Miss Poll.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Poll, Poll, it is one thing to prate about duty, and another thing +to 'do it,'" said Bessy. "Fine words are good, to be sure, but 'fine +acts' are a great deal better."</p> + +<p class="t3"> +MORAL.<br> +</p> + +<p>Beauty and cleverness may win much notice for a time, but it is he who +is faithful, good, and true, who is valued and loved at the end.</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<h3><a id="Chapter_17">XVII.</a></h3> + +<p class="t3"> +<b>THE TWO STANDARD MEASURES.</b><br> +</p> + +<p><br></p> + +<figure class="figcenter" id="image037" style="max-width: 25.3125em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/image037.jpg" alt="image037"> +</figure> + +<p><br></p> + +<p>"MAMMA, how tall was that great giant of whom papa was telling us?" +said Harry, who, after standing with his back to the door, a pencil in +one hand, and a ruler in the other, was busily engaged in examining +some marks which he had made on the panel.</p> + +<p>"He was nearly seven feet high, I believe," replied Mrs. Prince, +without raising her eyes from her work.</p> + +<p>"And how tall do you think that I am?" said the little boy, with a look +of conscious pride.</p> + +<p>"You? I should say about four feet, my dear."</p> + +<p>"I am 'eight' feet high!" cried Harry, with exultation.</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"I have just measured myself, mamma."</p> + +<p>"You must have measured wrong."</p> + +<p>"Oh I have been very careful; see, here is the mark for each foot up +the door—one, two, four, six, eight."</p> + +<p>"But what is your standard measure, Harry?" said his mother with a +smile.</p> + +<p>"This pretty little ruler, 'that I made for myself,'" cried the child, +exhibiting his pasteboard measure, neatly marked with divisions for the +inches, "but only half the proper length!" "You see, dear mamma, that I +am taller than the giant!"</p> + +<p>"Foolish child!" you say, and I should say so too, did I not fear that +half the world act exactly as he did. We are all too apt to make our +standard measures for ourselves, laying aside "the only true one," +which we find in the Bible; and thus we often deem ourselves sensible +and good, when our wisdom is folly, our actions full of sin.</p> + +<p>The Bible tells us that "holiness" is absolutely necessary. "There is +no need to be so very particular," cries the world. The Bible declares +that we shall be judged for "every idle word." "My words are my own!" +says the trifler.</p> + +<p>It is clear that there are "two standard measures" before us: one +short and easy, the other long and trying; one that makes us seem like +giants, the other like dwarfs. Thus we are too ready to choose the +standard "of our own making," and wilfully to deceive our own hearts. +But oh! Let us ask ourselves one solemn question—"By which standard +shall we be measured at the last day?"</p> + +<p><br><br><br></p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77151 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/77151-h/images/image001.jpg b/77151-h/images/image001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b5fb64c --- /dev/null +++ b/77151-h/images/image001.jpg diff --git a/77151-h/images/image002.jpg b/77151-h/images/image002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb906df --- /dev/null +++ b/77151-h/images/image002.jpg diff --git a/77151-h/images/image003.jpg b/77151-h/images/image003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..072f3af --- /dev/null +++ b/77151-h/images/image003.jpg diff --git a/77151-h/images/image004.jpg b/77151-h/images/image004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7306cce --- /dev/null +++ b/77151-h/images/image004.jpg diff --git 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