Honest Hal and other pictures of child life

Material Information

Honest Hal and other pictures of child life
Religious Tract Society (Great Britain) ( Publisher )
Gresham Press ( Printer )
Unwin Brothers (Firm) ( Printer )
Place of Publication:
London ;
Manchester ;
Religious Tract Society
Gresham Press ; Unwin Brothers
Publication Date:
Physical Description:
94, [2], 16 p., [1] leaf of plates : ill. (some col.) ; 15 cm.


Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Christian life -- Juvenile fiction ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1877 ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1877 ( rbgenr )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1877 ( rbprov )
Bldn -- 1877
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Publishers' catalogues ( rbgenr )
Prize books (Provenance) ( rbprov )
novel ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London
England -- Manchester
England -- Brighton
England -- Chilworth
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )


General Note:
Date of publication from prize inscription.
General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
Statement of Responsibility:
by the author of "Fatherless Dan," "Springfield Stories," etc.

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections ( with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
026814463 ( ALEPH )
ALH2046 ( NOTIS )
61250521 ( OCLC )

Full Text





Aain~rr I3 Ro nul Pirn luneiit B lolt, f' V


1 ..
rk _. ~- -- -~~




|idtum of Uijt rife.

By tle Autlior of




HONEST HAL ....................................... 5

HIDE-AND-SEEK ......................... ........... 17


" SO NICE ....... ................... .......... 36

HANS AND HIS MASTER ....................... 44


" AS GOOD AS HE GAVE ........,........... 6

FAITHFUL TOBY.................................... 72

THE YOUNG PLEADER ........................... 78

-ESUS AND THE YOUNG ........................ 87

EARLY CONSECRATION.......................... 95




jIARRY ESTCOTT, or Hal, as he was
k 1- usually called, was the boldest
and most active boy in the village of
Coomleigh. He was only thirteen, but
he was well-grown, strong, and healthy,
and had never known what it was to
have a day's sickness.
High-spirited, good-tempered, and
ever ready for fun that had no harm
in it, he was a general favourite, and
was always called upon by other boys


'for his help in every matter requiring a
clear head, a steady hand, or a strong
It was said that no one but Hal
Estcott would have dared to climb that
tall, smooth tree by the river, just to
bring down little Joey Hakon's kite,
which had caught amongst the topmost
Only Hal would have had the courage
and the kindness to throw aside his
jacket and boots, and dash into that
same river, to pull out Annie Weston's
little dog that had swum out too far,
and was being carried away by the
current: and only Hal would have ven-
tured to collar the butcher's bulldog,
for rushing out at a poor lame old
woman who was carrying a bundle of
faggots down the street.
It will be seen from all this that Hal
was a brave boy, and it can well be


believed that no adventure or attempt
requiring either courage or skill was
often set on foot without his presence
and help.
About a mile and a half out of the
village of Coomleigh stood Squire Hol-
lingworth's house. A grand old place
it was, with massive walls and old-
fashioned windows, and great rooms,
and dark solid furniture which, you
could see at once, belonged to years
long past.
Surrounding this noble mansion were
flower-gardens and lawns, shrubberies
and terrace-walks, and, more than all,
a fine orchard of several acres, well-
stocked with many kinds of fruit.
We need scarcely say that this orchard
was the great admiration of the village
boys, and that a very usual walk with
some of them was to the top of the hill
by the old Hall, from which they could


look down on the bright fruit garden
with its varied treasures.
Cherry-time had come round; and
in the Squire's orchard the old stand-
ard cherry-trees were laden. with their
coral clusters. Thrushes and blackbirds
feasted to their hearts' content, for the
Squire would never allow his gardeners
to shoot one of the feathered songsters
which thronged his gardens. They built
in his shrubberies, eat his fruit all day,
and warbled their thanks every evening,
and were just the happiest little birds
in the county. But cherries, we are
sorry to say, were a temptation to thieves
who had neither wings nor feathers; and
many were the longing glances that
marked the sunlight on the rich ripe
fruit, and then surveyed sadly the high
wall that surrounded the orchard.
One evening some of the village boys
had been playing football in the meadow


that sloped softly up the hill on one side,
and down to the orchard on the other.
Tired at last, they stopped to rest,
panting and thirsty. Hal Estcott was
among them, his bright face flushed
with delight, his eyes sparkling with
"Oh, dear me! sighed Mark Reed,
the biggest boy of the group; are you
not dreadfully thirsty, boys ? I am, and
that's a fact."
"So am I," yawned Moses Meek, a
fat-faced lad, with light hair and no eye-
brows. "What wouldn't I give for some
of them cherries over there "
"The birds are always eating them,
and I do not see why we should not
have a few!" growled Tim Moody, a
shock-headedfellow,brown with freckles.
"" I do not see either as there'd be much
harm in it; we needn't take a lot."
"Hush, boys," cried Hal; "you don't

10 : ri i.c OF CHILD LIFE.

know what you're talking about! Come
along, let's be going home; it's just
upon six o'clock, one can see by the
It is not your place to bid us hush,
any way," said Mark; if we choose to
talk about cherries, talk about 'em we
will, for all you may say."
It isn't wrong to talk about cherries,
Mark," replied Hal, more quietly;
"that's not what I meant. But it is
wrong to want other people's fruit and
to wish we could take it."
"Wrong or no wrong," said Moses,
"I do want some; and if that wall weren't
such a high affair I would soon have a
capful of cherries, whatever Hal Estcott
might say."
"Well, the wall would be a shade too
much for your climbing," muttered Tim
Moody, with a mocking chuckle; but
here's Hal would think nothing of it.


Would you, Hal? You would be over
and back again like a bird."
I am not going to try," said Harry,
decidedly. Come along, boys, it's
time for tea."
"Now, just look here, Hal Estcott,"
said Mark; "you know you are a prime
fellow, and we are all very fond of you.
You are as active as a cat, and it wouldn't
take you three minutes to fetch us fruit
enough for the lot of us. The gardeners
always go to their tea at six, and the
coast's quite clear. Here we are close
by the wall; I will give you a leg up,
and the whole thing can be done in no
Harry drew himself up proudly.
"Mark Reed," said he, "if that wall
were only a foot high, I wouldn't step
over it into the Squire's orchard; and
what's more, none of you shall act the
thief either, for as sure as you try, I


shall go round to the Hall and report
Dearie me sneered Moses; "we
are coming out in a new character. So
you are going to turn spy and informer,
are you ? "
The hot blood flushed Hal's cheeks,
but he said quietly, "You know, boys,
that I hate telling tales, but I will not
stand by and see the Squire robbed; so,
there, you have my answer!" And
Hal folded his arms and looked firmly
round at his companions.
Mark Reed's manner grew more
threatening. He approached Hal with
his great fist clenched, and said roughly,
" Now, master preacher, you have got
to do one of two things or take the con-
sequence. Either you go over that wall
and bring us some cherries, or you trot
off home, and do not peach to any one,
and leave us to do as we please."


I shall do neither of these things,"
replied Hal. I shall certainly not try
to steal the fruit, nor will I go home to
the village unless you all go too."
Mark uttered a cry of rage, and aimed
a blow at Hal's head. The boy nimbly
jumped aside, and before Mark could
aim again he was arrested by a loud
shout of surprise from some of his
In the noise of the dispute the boys
had not heard that a ladder had been
moved on the other side of the wall to
the place opposite which they stood;
and now a man's head and shoulders
and a pair of strong arms appeared
above, and the voice of the Squire's
head-gardener said, "So you thought
I had gone to tea, did you ? A nice set
you are! I know you all-you, Mark
Reed, and a precious coward you are to
strike a boy smaller than yourself. And

you, Moses Meeks, and you, you ruffian
of a Tim, and the rest of you, who would
stand by and see a fellow abused because
he would not be a thief! Now all of
you be off as quick as you can, except
Hal Estcott. I want a word with him
The boys needed no second bidding.
Ashamed at being found out, they slunk
away, and Hal and the gardener were
left by themselves.
"Just wait a minute or two and I will
come back to you," said the man, and
he ran down the ladder into the orchard.
Presently he came back with a little
basket full of the ripest cherries and put
it into Hal's hands.
"There, my lad," said he, kindly;
"take these home with you and enjoy
them, and I shall speak to the Squire
about you. Honest boys like you don't
grow on bushes like blackberries, and I


am sure he will be glad to make your
Hal thanked the gardener, and went
home very much delighted. Nothing
ever tasted half so good as those cherries,
though Hal himself did not eat many,
but gave them nearly all to his little
brother and sister.
It would have done your heart good
to have seen the frolic that Hal and
Jamie and Susie had that evening; Hal
trundling the little girl in the big wheel-
barrow, and Susie, with her lap full of
cherries, trying her best to make her
brother eat his share.
But this was not all; for the next
morning who should call at the cottage
but the Squire himself, and after talking
awhile with Hal and Hal's mother he
offered him the place of an under-gar-
dener at the Hall, and wages beginning
at seven shillings a week.


You are rather young for the situ-
ation, Harry," said the Squire, kindly;
"but you are honest, and you have been
brought up in the fear of God. I doubt
not you will be both steady and intelli-
gent, my boy; only go on as you have
begun, remembering that, 'He that
walketh uprightly, walketh surely.' But
do not rely on your own strength and
purpose. Seek for the grace of the
Holy Spirit, through whose help alone
you can do whatsoever is holy, wise,
and good."


O i, mother! did you say that Fanny
.'. Cooper was coming to-morrow?
What a bother it is! I know she'll
be a horrid little girl, and our holi-
days will be quite spoilt."
Mrs. Groves looked up from her sew-
ing, and her face was very grave as she
replied, Millie, dear, I am sorry to
hear you speak like this. You know
that Fanny's father is poor, and the
child never gets any change or plea-
sure. You know, too, that the Coopers
live in London, and Fanny pines for a
breath of our sweet and wholesome
country air. These are my reasons


for asking her to come and stay with
us. Besides, Millie, you have never
seen Fanny, and it is very wrong and
hasty of you to make up your mind
that she is what you call horrid.
From all I can hear, she is a very
sweet-tempered little girl, and I do
trust that both you and Katie will be
kind to her, and help her to enjoy her-
self as much as possible."
Millie was in one of her naughty
moods that day, and so, instead of re-
plying pleasantly, she said, with a
shake of her shoulders and a pout,
"I don't see, mother, why we should
have to put ourselves out just for other
folk's amusement. The whole of our
holidays will be spent in waiting upon
a foolish little town girl, who will be
frightened at every live thing she sees,
and will want as much taking care of
as a baby. I wish, with all my heart,


that she wasn't coming, and I dare say
Katie wishes the same "
What is that Katie wishes ? cried
a merry voice; and Kate entered the
room, having just heard the last four
words of her sister's speech.
"We are only talking about that girl
coming to-morrow," said Millie, crossly.
What, poor little Fanny Cooper "
said Katie, with a smile; I have been
trying to think what we can do for her.
You will help me, will you not, Millie?
I should like her to have a happy visit."
But Millie made no reply, and Mrs.
Groves, who saw that to talk to her
now would be mere waste of words,
said no more, and both the girls left
the room.
The morrow came, and about tea-
time Farmer Groves drove his light
cart up to the farmhouse door, and
carefully helped down his little visitor,
2 *


whom he had been to meet at the nearest
Come along in, my chick !" said
he, kindly; and taking the child's hand
in his own, he led her across the thres-
hold, where his good wife was waiting
with a hearty welcome.
Katie too came forward, and helped
to take off little Fanny's hat and
jacket; but Millie stood aloof, and
gave no sign of greeting to the new-
Fanny Cooper was a sweet, pleasant-
looking child, with large, wistful grey
eyes, and rather pale cheeks, but with
a bright sunny smile which showed
her to be capable of enjoyment. She
was somewhat shy at first, but soon
she was chatting gaily over the cosy
tea-table, and speaking of all the beau-
tiful and wonderful things she had seen
during her long drive from the station.


Millie could see plainly enough that
Fanny Cooper was anything but stupid,
but she would not confess her error even
to herself, and was sullen and silent to
the end of the meal, much to the shame
and sorrow of Mrs. Groves and Kate.
A little bedstead had been moved into
the room where the girls slept; this was
intended for Fanny, and when the child
began to be drowsy Mrs. Groves gave
her into Katie's charge, and told her to
see her young friend comfortably into
Katie gladly obeyed, and soon Fanny
was cosily nestled between the sheets,
and so quiet that her companion thought
her fast asleep. Millie came in shortly
after, and the two sisters began to get
ready for the night.
Do not make quite so much noise,
Millie, dear," said Katie, in a whisper,
as Millie went banging about, not trying


to be quiet, but just yielding to her own
evil temper.
I shall make as much noise as
I please! replied Millie, defiantly;
" what's Fanny Cooper, that I should
keep quiet for her? "
"Hush! hush! you will wake the
child, and she is so tired with the
journey !" said Katie. Do be good,
dear Millie, and not so cross! "
"Just stop your preaching, Kate! "
replied Millie, angrily. If that tire-
some chit is going to set you all against
me, I wish she had never come, that I
do! "
Katie did not answer, and Millie went
on muttering and grumbling to herself
until she was undressed. Then, with-
out a word of prayer to her heavenly
Father, or a verse of God's holy book
in her memory and heart, she lay down
to sleep.


She was just sinking into the first
light slumber, when she was aroused by
the sound of a low sob; then another
and another, coming as it seemed, from
Fanny's little bed in the corner.
Millie listened for a moment or two
in silence. Then her conscience re-
proached her for her cruel words about
the child, and she said softly-" Fanny,
is that you crying? What is the matter
-are you not well ?"
There was no answer, only another
stifled sob. Millie sat up in bed and
paused, fearing to waken her sister, but
Katie was sleeping soundly, as her
regular breathing showed.
Then Millie gently threw back the
bedclothes and got up, and stole on
tip-toe to the side of the sobbing child.
Her temper was all gone now, and her
heart was deeply touched at Fanny's

I hope she didn't hear what I said
about her," thought Millie, as she
stooped in the darkness over the little
bed where Fanny lay; "it was very
wrong of me to be so cross."
"Fanny, dear," said she aloud, "do
you not feel well, or what's the matter ?"
Fanny's sobs came thick and fast.
" Oh, Katie you've been very kind to
me, but I wish I'd never come; I do
wish I had never come "
Millie's own tears now began to fall.
She pressed her cheeks to the wet hot
face on the pillow, and whispered, It
is not Katie, Fanny, dear, it's Millie;
and I am very, very sorry I have been
so unkind to you, and I will never be
so any more if you will try to forgive
me and to be happy again. Kiss me,
Fanny, and say you will! "
In a moment the child's little arms
were clasped round her new friend's


neck, and after a few minutes Fanny's
sobs were hushed, and Millie went back
to bed with a lighter heart than she had
had all day.
The next. morning, Mrs. Groves and
Katie were both surprised and pleased
to see the change in Millie's manner.
Nothing was now too much to do for
the little visitor, and such merry times
never were known as began that day.
Such ramblings about the pretty country
round, such showing off of all the farm
sights, such feeding of poultry and pigs,
such romps and games of hide-and-seek
in the barn and granary, and such happy
flushed faces as could not often have
been seen before.
"There's only one sort of hide-and-
seek which I hope we shall never
play at again," said Fanny to Millie
one evening, as they went upstairs to


Millie looked puzzled, and said,
"What do you mean, Fanny?"
"Why," replied Fanny, thoughtfully,
" I mean the kind you and I played the
first day I came, when you hid your real
self from me, and when you had to come
to me in the dark before I could find
The tears came into Millie's eyes.
"You are quite right, dearie," she
said; we will never play that sort
of hide-and-seek any more "


oi must give it up, my dear boy,
5 there is no help for it. Now your
poor father is gone I cannot afford to
have you taught. I must get you a
place somewhere as errand-boy, and you
must try and earn a trifle for yourself."
Carl sighed heavily. He was but a
.child, but the dream of his little life had
been to be a musician like his father;
and now that father was dead his mother
would have to work hard to keep herself
and him, and of course no lessons were
Mrs. Schmidt was an Englishwoman,


but she had married a German violinist,
in regular employment in London, and
for some years they had lived very hap-
pily. But Frank Schmidt, never in
strong health, had suddenly been struck
down by an epidemic then raging in the
city, and soon the poor woman was a
widow and her boy fatherless.
It was only about a fortnight after the
funeral that Carl and his mother were
sitting together, and Mrs. Schmidt made
use of the words with which this story
Carl went to bed that night more sor-
rowful than he would have owned to his
mother. It seemed very hard that, with
a strong love of music, and a longing
for the life and work of a musician, he
should have to become a mere drudge
-a little errand-boy, carrying parcels
for a small tradesman, and every day
getting further and further from reach-


ing his desire. But the poor child did
not suffer his grief to take the form of
.grumbling. Young as he was, he knew
that duty should be done cheerfully; and
he was too loving a son to add to his
mother's troubles by any selfishness of
his own.
So he fell asleep at last with his eye-
lashes wet, but with a resolve in his
brave young heart to do what was right.
You might have smiled, perhaps, but you
certainly would not have laughed, could
you have heard the concluding sentence
of Carl's prayer a prayer which he
had said just before his weary eyes closed
in slumber: "0 Lord Jesus, help me
to be very good, though I am only to be
an errand-boy, and am never to learn
A week later, Carl Schmidt got a situ-
ation as errand-boy to a neighboring
baker, where he earned eighteenpence


a week. His duties were many, though
not very difficult. He went out in the
cart with the baker's manwhen the bread
was taken round to people's houses; he
cleaned the windows of the shop, he
washed the counters, and swept the
floor, and sometimes, when both master
and man were out, he served any cus-
tomer who happened to come in for a
bun or a penny loaf.
We cannot say that Carl liked this
sort of work, but he tried to take an in-
terest in it, and to do it faithfully; and
so he was contented and happy, as every-
body is who cheerfully does his duty.
The baker was a bachelor, and as he
had some nice rooms over the shop, he
was in the habit of letting them to
Just before Carl entered the baker's
service, one of these lodgers had gone,
and now another came, looked at the


rooms, and took them. To Carl's great
delight he turned out to be a German;
and one day, as the boy was running up-
stairs for something his master wanted,
he heard a sound which sent the warm
blood mounting to his very temples, and
made his heart throb wildly with joy.
It was the tone of a violin -the new
lodger was a violinist !
Carl longed to throw himself down
outside the musician's door, and listen
to the practising; but his time was not
his own, and he must not do this without
leave. Back he went to his master,
whom he astonished by his excited looks.
Oh, sir," cried the boy, "the new
lodger is a violinist, like my dear father;
I just heard him play! "
Well, what of that ?" said the baker.
"Only, sir," replied Carl, "if you
would be so good as to let me stay a
few moments after my work is done, so

that I may hear him practise, I should
be so happy, and so grateful."
"Oh dear, yes,"said the baker, kindly;
"you may begin to-night, if you like."
So that evening Carl placed himself
outside the new lodger's door, where he
sat down on the floor with his head in
his hands, and listened for the violin.
The music began at last, and every note
brought rapture to Carl's sensitive ear.
The thrilling melodies, some of which
he knew so well, drew tears to his eyes,
and once, as the music paused, he forgot
himself so far as to sob aloud.
In an instant the door opened, and
the musician's face appeared.
Why, what are you doing here, mein
Kind (mychild) ?" said he, gently. "Ah
crying too ? Poor little man, who has
been scolding you ? "
"No one, sir," sobbed Carl. I am
not crying for that. It is your music,


that beautiful fiddle, which has made
me cry."
Herr Riibner, for that was the man's
name, laid his hand on the child's
shoulder, and drew him into his room.
Now tell me," he said, "why you
love music so much, and what made
you cry."
In a few words Carl told his little
history his father's profession, and
that father's promise that his child
should follow it-the long-cherished
hope of one day becoming a musician;
then the father's death, and the poverty
of the bereaved home, and the giving
up of all the fondest wishes that had
made the future so bright.
Herr Riubner listened silently to all,
then drawing the child nearer to him he
said, Tell me, my boy, would you still
like to learn the violin ? '
"Like it? Oh, sir! don't ask me;

my heart is almost broken because I
cannot be what my father promised,
because I must never hope to learn."
Don't be too sure of that," said the
man, with a twinkle in his eye. "Look
here now I have a little old fiddle
which will do very well to learn upon;
and if you like to come to me every
night after you have finished for my
landlord downstairs, I will give you a
"You, sir? You really will! Oh,
sir, this is too much, how shall I ever
thank you !" And Carl seized the hand
of the violinist and pressed it again and
again to his lips.
"There, there, mein Kind, it isn't
worth all that," said Herr Riibner,
kindly. Run away now, and come to
me to-morrow at this time."
From that day Herr Rtibner began
to give Carl regular lessons, and the


boy made such progress as amply to
repay his kind master. Meanwhile, he
did not neglect his duties, but per-
formed them well, rising daily in his
employer's favour.
Carl had his desire, and after years
of hard work he became a successful
violinist. But through life he never
forgot that it was while trying to dis-
charge his distasteful duties with cheer-
fulness that God had sent him what he
so longed for; and he was often heard
to say-" If any one, whether man or
child, only does what he believes to be
right, God will take good -care of the
rest, for truly He leadeth the blind
by a way which they know not.' He
has led me by the light of His Divine
Spirit, and to God will I devote my



ARRY, do just look at those hens
Sand chickens! What greedy
creatures! Selfish things! I have a
good mind not to give them another
handful; they do not deserve to be
Harry and Lily Duncan were staying
with their uncle and aunt in the country,
and it was their great delight to go all
over the farm in the morning, patting
the horses, watching the cattle, playing
with the great yard-dog, and feeding
the poultry; but this morning either
the chickens were very hungry, or Lily

SO NICE." 37

was very cross; at all events, they
came under her displeasure, and led her
to speak in an angry way.
Harry did not reply for a minute; he
was watching the hungry birds jostling
each other and clucking over their meal.
Then he said, "They cannot help it,
Lily; poor little things, they do not
know any better. How can they tell
what is wrong and what is right ? Of
course it would be different if they could
think and feel as we do, and it would be
very wicked if we were to behave in this
greedy way."
Why, Harry, what nonsense you
are talking!" cried Lily, pettishly; "I
am sure we are never greedy, and never
could be; at least I never could;" and
Lily proudly tossed her head. Why,
do you not remember, Harry, before I
left home, how one day I gave nearly
the whole of my luncheon to little Sally


King, because her grandmother had
punished her by not allowing her to
have any dinner?"
Harry could not help a smile, as he
replied, "Yes, Lily, I know all about
it, and I know too that just before you
gave your luncheon away, you said to
me, 'Look here, Harry! Is not this
tiresome? Mamma has given us bread
and treacle again this morning; I declare
I will not eat a morsel of mine, poor
sickly stuff! I have a good mind to
throw it all to Carlo, for I am not a bit
hungry.' And just then poor Sally
came up crying, and told us what was
the matter, and so you gave the bread
and treacle to her instead of to the dog.
It was not so very kind after all !"
"You are a very rude boy!" cried
Lily, angrily; "you know quite well
that if I had liked my luncheon I should
have given it away just the same; I

SO NICE." 39

never was selfish or greedy in my life,
and I never shall be, so you may say
what you like!" And Lily walked
away, while Harry remained behind in
the farmyard, and kindly threw another
handful or two to the hungry hens.
Here, Harry, dear," said a pleasant
voice behind him, as after feeding the
poultry he had been working in the
garden, and now stopped a moment to
rest, leaning on his spade.
Harry turned, and saw his aunt hold-
ing a plate containing a large cake of
gingerbread, which she offered him,
saying, "This is for your luncheon
to-day, my boy, as we do not dine till
"Oh1, thank you, aunt," said Harry,
for, like most boys, he was fond of
gingerbread; but before putting it to
his lips, he said, Is there a cake for
Lily, too, aunt ?"


No, my dear, I have no more to-day;
she had some gingerbread last time
when you had none, and now it is your
turn; I shall give her some bread and
butter." So saying, she went into the
house, leaving Harry with the ginger-
bread in his hand still untasted.
Poor Lily," thought he, "she cares
so much more about these things than
I do. I will take this gingerbread to
her." And off he started, only stopping
for a moment to put aside his gardening
He found his sister in her room, where
she was sitting with a book in her hand.
Some bread and butter was on a plate
before her.
Here, Lily," cried Harry, I have
brought you- a cake!" Lily's face
brightened. Oh, Harry, that is good
of you, thank you very much; that is
better than bread and butter."

"SO NICE." 41

Well, then," said Harry, if you
do not want the bread and butter, may
I eat it ?"
"No, I think you had better not,"
replied Lily, coolly. "This cake may
not be enough, you know, and it is
a long time to wait for dinner."
Harry said no more, but ran down-
stairs, and out-of-doors again, and
tried to forget how hungry he was.
Meanwhile, Lily's delight was not so
great as you might suppose. When
Harry left her, she held the cake in
her hand for several minutes without
eating it.
"Ought I to take it from Harry?"
said conscience; but as conscience
spoke, Lily's eyes fell once more on the
"So nice !" cried she. "I declare,
too, it has almonds in it. Oh, I must
eat it!" Then she broke off a great


piece and eat it up quickly; and con-
science was silenced for the time.
Well, Harry, how did you like your
cake ? said his aunt to him at dinner-
time. "It is plain that it did not dis-
agree with you."
Harry blushed, but said nothing; he
only looked across at Lily, who blushed
too, though she also said not a word.
Mrs. Duncan glanced from one to the
other, and guessed how matters stood.
Did you give your cake away, my
boy ? said she, gently.
"Yes, aunt, I did," said Harry, whose
cheeks were quite red by this time.
Oh, well," said Mrs. Duncan, turn-
ing to Lily, "you made an exchange,
no doubt; your brother gave you his
gingerbread, and you gave him your
bread and butter ? "
Lily was silent, but hung her head
with shame.

SO NICE." 43

Is it possible," said her aunt, that
you have allowed Harry to go without
any luncheon at all ? I am ashamed of
you, Lily, the more so as I heard your
angry words about my hungry chickens,
and your boastful words about yourself.
Remember, it is often the case that
none have such swift eyes to see, or
such hard words to judge the faults of
others, as those who indulge in the
same faults themselves. Consider, too,
my child, who it is that has said, 'Judge
not, that ye be not judged; for with what
judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged,
and with what measure ye mete, it
shall be measured to you again.' We
are all indebted to God for mercy; let
us learn to be merciful. If He for-
gives our thousand faults, for Christ's
sake, let us be tender towards the faults
of others."


"RETCHEN, my child, the church
Clock is sounding seven; make
haste and take thy books, and get
thee away to the school. But stay,
where is thy brother?" These words
were uttered by Frau Schelten to her
little daughter, who was playing below
in the garden. Early as was the hour,
the family had finished their slight
breakfast of coffee and black bread, and
now the mother, a bustling woman,
was busily going about her household
duties, pausing for a moment, however,
to remind her children of their school.


Presently Gretchen's shrill voice was
Mother, I have called to Hans, but
he says he means not to go to school
to-day: he would fish in the pond, and
cares not for his lessons."
Sayest thou that he will not go,
Gretchen ? asked the Frau. Nay,
then, he shall, or my name is not Liza
Schelten; for, truly, I would strike his
temper out of him with my good man's
Sunday staff, rather than that he should
say to me, I will not.' "
With these words the angry mother
descended the stairs, and finding Hans
just ready to start, his rod and fishing-
line in his hand, she seized him by the
arm, and taking Gretchen on the other
side, proceeded to drag the unruly boy
towards the school-house, while he
enlivened the way with kicking and
struggling for his freedom. Now you


must know, my dear young readers,
that the German burgher-schools, as
they are called, are a national institu-
tion, and in them boys and girls, up to
the age of twelve or thirteen, are taught
together; and thus it happened that
Hans and Gretchen attended the same
As Frau Schelten, with the little
Gretchen on one side, and the naughty
Hans on the other, neared the school-
house door (the angry mother scolding
all the while in a strained, high-pitched
voice), the wrath and resentment of the
boy passed all bounds. Down on the
pavement in front of the school went
his slate and his book-burdens for
which he had most unwillingly ex-
changed his rod and line-while from
his lips there escaped a howl of passion
and despair. The mother tightened her
grasp of the boy's arm.


"If the schoolmaster does not give
thee something for this that shall bring
tears to thy eyes, he is but a foolish
man "
Hans, who had been dragging with
all his might upon his mother's hand,
looked up, and saw in the doorway the
form of the schoolmaster, who advanced
to meet them, while from the window
peeped the eager faces of boys and girls,
anxious to know what was meant by
this noise.
I bring you a pupil who cares not
for being taught, Mr. Schoolmaster,"
cried Frau Schelten, pinioning Hans by
both his arms and planting him by
main force in front of her. Truly,"
continued she, "he is the plague of
my life."
The schoolmaster replied not, and
Hans, raising his sullen eyes, suffered
them to rest upon the countenance


of this instructor of the young, and
saw what in his former casual glance
he had not observed, namely, that the
face before him was not that of the
usual master. Illness had detained the
accustomed teacher at home, and the
present preceptor was only a temporary
supply. This, however, Hans did not
know, and his surprise at meeting the
new face was so great, that for a mo-
ment he forgot his passion, and suffered
the master to take his hand, while little
Gretchen stood looking timidly on, and
the Frau opened wide her black eyes
with amazement at the sudden silence
of Hans.
The schoolmaster fixed his glance
upon the face of the boy, then laying a
gentle but firm grasp upon his shoulder,
he said to the mother,-
My good woman, make not your-
self too anxious or troubled about your


son. I fear not but that hewill learn
right well. What sayest thou, Hans ?"
And the soft clear eyes of the ques-
tioner looked straight into the dark
gaze of the boy, who, still silent, felt
the flush of shame rising to his cheek
and brow.
The master, however, did not wait for
answer, but gently drew him within the
doorway; Gretchen followed, and then
the preceptor, bidding Frau Schelten
a polite "good morning," closed the
school-house door, and began the busi-
ness of the day. This commenced with
a Scripture lesson, read and expounded
by the master. The lesson on this
particular occasion, whether owing to
the interesting way in which it was ex-
plained, or to the novelty of a new in-
structor, was peculiarly impressive, and
presently Hans, who had expected
nothing less than a0 severe punish-


ment, became so much absorbed that
he forgot everything except the voice
of the speaker and the beauty of the
When the lesson was concluded, he
awoke as from a dream to find the kind
eyes of his master upon him once more.
As the boys began to separate, the
teacher made a sign to Hans to stay.
He did so, for his master's look was
too firm to allow of its being disre-
garded. He remained behind, looking
down and playing with his fingers, till
the schoolroom was emptied of all but
the preceptor and himself. Then the
old man walked up to the shamefaced
boy, and with a bright, frank smile held
out his hand.
Hans Schelten," said he, "fear me
not. I have but a few words to say to
thee, but these thou wilt do well to
heed. That which I hear of thee is


not good, my son, but shall not that
which may be heard in the time to come
be better? Now I tell thee, Hans, that,
with the help of the great Father, thou
canst do for thyself what no other may
do for thee: break that unruly spirit
of thine, even as no angry words from
friend or foe could ever break it. Thou
seest I scold thee not; but I would
have thee school thyself, and I believe,
as I look into thy face-nay, I am sure
-that thou wilt strive to do my bid-
ding. Now, go thy way, child, and
let me greet thee again at school to-
Then, with one more grasp of the
hand, the master and pupil parted, and
Hans joined his little sister, who had
been patiently waiting for him outside.
Home together they went, and as they
entered the cottage, Frau Schelten's
voice called to them:-

"Ah, you are home at last, you
loiterers. Did the master chide thee
well, Hans, for thy stubborn ways ? "
Hans answered not, but went up to
his room, and remained there for some
time pondering over what his teacher
had said. That evening the old school-
master called upon Frau Schelten, and
told her of his conversation with her
boy, begging her to second his efforts
and to try the effect of kindness and
confidence upon his fiery nature. He
told her that from the school-house
window, as she and her children came
up the street, he had seen enough to
show him that the mother and boy were
not upon the best of terms. At length
she promised to follow, for a time at
least, the old man's advice; and we
may say with truth that she never had
occasion to repent her wise decision.
Hans' wilful temper, no longer pro-


evoked and aggravated, came gradually
under the control of principle and good
sense; and when we last heard of
him, he was a grown-up man, and was
thoroughly respected by all who knew



SITTLE TROT'S real name was
Tabitha 'Purner, but she had
been called Trot when she was quite a
baby, and now, though she was seven
years old, her mother, schoolfellows,
and friends still used the same pet
Mrs. Turner was a laundress, and
had to work hard to keep a tidy home
for Trot and herself, and to send the
little girl to school every day; but she
did not mind hard work, and somehow
each morning brought fresh strength


and fresh courage, and the struggle for
the daily bread was made lighter by
thoughts of that kind, loving Father in
heaven, who is the God of the fatherless
and widow.
Little Trot was a merry child, as fond
of a laugh or a romp as any one could
be; but this did not prevent her being
gentle, as well as useful, too, in her own
small way.
It was Trot who blew the fire to make
it burn in the morning, and who washed
and put the breakfast-things away be-
fore going to school. It was Trot who
helped to fold the clothes for the mangle.
It was she who ran errands for Mrs.
Turner, when school was over, in the
afternoon; and she it was again, who,
before bedtime came, would bring her
Testament, and, sitting down by th3
side of her poor, tired mother, would
read to her, in her simple childish way,


of the loving deeds and sweet kind
words of the Saviour, who Himself had
lived among the poor and the sorrowful,
and was ready to pity and help them.
There was never any school on Satur-
day, so Trot used to spend the day in
doing all she could for her mother, who
was always even more busy than usual
then, as she had to be ironing all day,
and getting her week's wash home in
the evening.
One Saturday morning Mrs. Turner
said to her little girl, "Trot, dear, I
want you to take that jug that hangs
on the nail, and to go to the grocer's for
me. Here is twopence, my child, and
you may get twopennyworth of treacle;
we shall have some rice for dinner to-
day, and that will be nice to eat with it."
Trot jumped up, put on her little hat,
took the jug from the nail, and started
off to the grocer's, singing cheerily as


she went. She bought the treacle, and,
coming out of the shop, had just turned
her face homeward, when her foot
slipped on a piece of orange peel, thrown
there by some careless boy, and down
she came upon the pavement, the jug
flying out of her hand as she fell, and
breaking into twenty pieces, while the
treacle, like a little brown stream, ran
across the sidewalk and into the gutter,
where it mixed with the dirty water,
and flowed quietly down the street.
Trot was up in a moment she did
not mind the hard knock she had given
her elbow, or the pain of the grazed
skin on her knee; but when she saw
the pieces of the jug, and the treacle
flowing away, she sat down on the door-
step of the shop and burst into tears.
A group of children gathered round
her very soon-some asking questions,
some full of pity.

Will your mother be angry, and
will she beat you ?" asked one little
boy, whose ears were boxed when he
did wrong.
"Oh no! no!" sobbed Trot; "it
is not that; mother never beats me,
but I have broken that jug, and it is one
that father gave to mother years ago."
"But, you know, you needn't tell
your mother it was your fault," said a
big girl, who stood gaping at what was
done; "you can say that somebody
pushed you down, or that a boy tried to
take the jug away from you, and in your
wanting to keep hold of it, it broke."
Little Trot ceased her sobbing, and
looked up into the girl's face with a
glance of real surprise. Do you
mean," said she, while a deep flush
came into her cheeks, "that I should
tell mother a lie, to make her think I
was not in fault ? "


"Well," replied the girl, somewhat
ashamed, "you need not call it a lie;
but it is a pity, you know, to be blamed
if you can save yourself."
"I would not do such a thing for
anything! cried little Trot; "not if I
was to be beat ever so for speaking the
truth. No; mother has always told
me that when I'm in trouble I must
ask God to help me; but I shall go
now and tell her just how I broke the
Little Trot got up from the doorstep,
and the crowd of children parted to let
her go on her way; but just then a
hand was laid on her shoulder, and a
kind voice said, Here, dear child, God
never forgets His little ones, and He
sends you this money to get a new jug
for your mother." Then, as Trot looked
up, she saw bending over her the kind
face of her Sunday-school teacher, and


a bright new shilling was put into her
hand. Before the little girl had time to
thank the lady she was gone; but, as
Trot walked home, her simple heartfelt
thanks went up to the loving Father in
heaven, and she prayed that He would
help her always to speak the truth, and
to be His own little scholar as long as
she lived.


"[ 'HAT'S the matter with you to-
YV' night, Gerald ? What are you
so thoughtful about ? Anything wrong,
my boy ?"
Gerald Marlow looked up as his
father spoke, and said gravely, It's
only that I am a little troubled about
Ned Cooper. It is not pleasant to be
hated as that fellow hates me."
"What have you done to deserve
such hatred, Gerald ? asked Mr. Mar-
Nothing, except of course to try to
be at the top of my class; but he was


always at the top, I believe, before I
was moved up'to that form, and I sup-
pose it is natural that he should feel
vexed at having a younger boy a little
above him-though I am sure it is little
enough, and I could not help it, could
I do not know that you could," re-
plied Mr. Marlow; "but you need not
make yourself unhappy about it. If
you have done nothing wrong, you can
leave the rest; and now you have come
home for the holidays, any ill-will on
the part of Ned Cooper will have time
to die out before you meet again."
No, papa," rejoined Gerald, "I am
afraid we shall meet again sooner than
you think, or than I wish. Ned
Cooper's father has taken a house
not far from here, and they are to
move into it this week, so that we may
see each other often. Oh, papa, I never


had an enemy in my life before, and it
makes me feel very uncomfortable when
I think of what he said just as I was
leaving school. Look here, Marlow,'
said he, 'you have just got my place in
the school, and I'll never forgive you;
and if ever I get a chance of paying
you out, you may be sure I shall do
it.' "
"Well, my boy, you are not afraid of
him, are you ? asked Mr. Marlow, with
a smile.
Gerald smiled too. No, papa, you
know I am not afraid, but I cannot bear
to have any one feeling like this."
Well, Gerald," said his father, "my
advice to you is to carry the whole
matter in prayer to God, and ask Him
to soften the heart of this lad; and
watch yourself carefully too, and be sure
that no bitter feeling rises in your heart
to prevent your forgiving Ned Cooper in


all sincerity." So saying, Mr. Marlow
left the room, and Gerald, after thinking
over for a while what his father had
been saying, betooklhimself to his work-
shop, as he called a little room which
his parents had fitted up with every-
thing to suit his mechanical tastes.
Gerald had natural talent for the use
of tools, and nothing gave him more en-
joyment than a morning spent in his
workshop. On this day, however, he had
some special work in hand. A few weeks
before, an uncle of Gerald's had brought
him as a present a beautiful little ship;
but Gerald's young cousin had got hold
of it during Gerald's absence, and had
pulled it about until the rigging and
sails were quite spoiled, and the paint
rubbed from the sides of the vessel.
-Now to restore all its former beauty to
the little ship was Gerald's great con-
cern, and this was the task he set him-


self. The job took very much longer
than he had expected, and several days
went by before the rigging of the Sea-
gull, as he called his boat, was com-
pleted. However, it was finished at
last, and Gerald, full of triumph at
his success, placed it on the seat of
the open window, and went out for a
long walk in the woods.
The air was so sweet and fresh, the
wild flowers were so plentiful, that the
afternoon slipped by quickly, and it was
tea-time before Gerald turned his steps
Come, my boy, you are rather late,"
said Mrs. Marlow, as her son walked
into the room; "sit down at once,
Gerald, and have your tea; I am sure
you must need it."
The meal passed merrily ; then
Gerald said, rising from the table, I
must go and have a look at my Sea-


gull; the paint ought to be about dry
by now."
He left the room, but in a moment
Mr. and Mrs. Marlow heard a cry of
distress, which made them follow
There stood Gerald, holding in his
hand the little vessel, once so bright
and new, now spoilt and defaced almost
past knowing. The paint had been
rubbed and daubed while still wet-
the slender masts were broken off
short, the pretty white sails were torn
to shreds-the vessel was quite spoilt.
Papa," said Gerald, "I know who
has done this: this is some of Ned
Cooper's work. He has long known
that I lad a workshop, and he has
passed by, and seen this boat in the
window, and he has spoilt it to revenge
himself upon me. I shall never forgive
him-never, never! "


Mr. Marlow laid his hand upon the
boy's shoulder, and said gently, Gerald,
you are forgetting yourself; I feel for
your distress, but your duty remains
the same."
"But, papa," cried Gerald, with a
deep sob, "one cannot help being angry
about it. How could he be so mean, so
cruel? I should like to give him as
good as he gave."
Mr. Marlow saw that the best plan to
quiet Gerald would be to leave him
quite to himself, so, drawing his wife's
hand through his arm, he left the room,
shutting the door behind him.
Gerald was not seen again till bed-
time, and he* came to say good-night.
His face was very pale, but he was
quiet, and even cheerful, and as his
parents kissed him they felt sure that
he had conquered his passion, and fore.
bore to ask him any questions.


The next morning Gerald said to Mr.
Marlow, Papa, may I go into the town
with you this morning? there is some-
thing I want to get there."
Certainly you may, my dear," re-
plied Mr. Marlow; and accordingly
Gerald was set down at a shop-door in
the town, while Mr. Marlow proceeded
farther, to his office. After a few
minutes spent in the shop, Gerald
came out, carrying a brown paper
parcel, and with this he walked home,
a distance of about five miles. All that
afternoon the boy was very busy in his
workshop: let us take a peep in at
the window, and see what he is doing.
He is just putting the finishing touch
to a beautiful little ship, not unlike
the first one, but new and fresh, and
needing only the additions of a flag,
a name in large white letters, and a
small cargo.


Painted very skilfully on the flag was
a dove, holding an olive-branch; while,
rather in contrast to this peaceful em-
blem, the white letters on the bow of
the ship showed that her name was The
Just after dark on the same day, Ned
Cooper, who after an idle afternoon
was trying to fix his attention upon a
book, was surprised to see the servant
come in with a large parcel, directed
in a firm round-hand to himself. He
opened it, and you may imagine his
surprise when he saw a little ship, com-
plete in every way. With a strange
choking sensation in his throat he
opened the letter too, and read the
following few lines: -

DEAR NED,-I am quite sure it is
neither right nor pleasant for us to be
enemies. If I have done anything to


provoke you, please forgive me ; if you
have done anything to anger me, I
forgive you. Pray accept this little
present from me, and let me remain,.
Your sincere friend,

This was Gerald's revenge, and. a
very thorough revenge he would have
thought it, too, could he have seen poor
Ned go down on his knees at the table,
and sob as if his heart would break.
Ned did not sleep much that night,
but early the next morning he set off to
go to Gerald Marlow.
At the meeting of the boys some tears
were shed on both sides, and this with-
out either of them being at all unmanly.
That the peace and understanding be-
tween them were perfect we can hardly
doubt; nor can we doubt either for one
moment that Gerald felt he had-in the


best sense of the words-given back to
Ned "as good as he gave." "Be not
overcome with evil, but overcome evil
with good."
May God the Holy Spirit aid all our
readers to resist evil thoughts and ways,
and to show a Christian temper in all



SAMMIE and Tibbie Ryde were two
as dear little fat chubby children
as you would meet on a ten-mile walk
in the country. They were very con-
tented and happy; though their parents
were poor, and could only just pay
twopence a week for their schooling,
and were not able to buy them any
Their father, John Ryde, was at work
all day, and their mother took in wash-
ing, so, as you may imagine, the
children, when school was over, were


left pretty much to themselves; but
they were good and obedient children,
and their mother was never anxious
about them, especially when old Toby,
the dog, was with them.
If any one were to ask me if Toby were
a handsome dog, I should reply without
hesitation, Certainly not." But of
course ideas of beauty differ; and if
you think that legs wide apart, a rough
wiry coat, and a total absence of tail,
constitute beauty, I am willing to call
him what you please. However, if
"Handsome is that handsome does"
be a true motto, Toby was, without
doubt, as handsome a dog as ever lived;
for a more faithful, loving old creature
never slept on a cottage hearth.
Well, we must not spend too much
time in describing Toby, or we shall
have none for our story, and that would
be a pity, as the story will show Toby's

character better than any description
could possibly do.
One day the children were sitting out
on the steps of a shed at some little
distance from their home.
Sammie was drawing on his slate,
and Tibbie, who had great respect for
her brother's talents, was watching him
with rapt attention. Toby, as usual,
was with them, and, mounted in a dig-
nified attitude on the higher steps, was
occupied evidently with some serious
Suddenly, from the foot of the little
meadow to the right of them, there
came a noise of shouting and cries.
The children looked up and listened.
Toby bristled and growled. Mad dog!
mad dog! The cries and shouts came
nearer, and then Sammie and Tibbie
clung together in fear; for running at
a steady pace, directly towards them,


came a large brown dog, followed by a
troop of men with sticks and clubs.
Sammie looked behind him, but the
shed door was locked, and there was
no shelter to be got there.
"Run, run for your lives !" shouted
the men; but the poor children were too
frightened to move, and in one moment
it was too late; but in that one moment
a gallant defender presented himself.
Right in front of the little ones, with
glowing eyes, and hair erect, and angry
growls coming from his lips, Toby
planted himself, braced for a spring,
and with his great white teeth ready
for the enemy. Another instant, and
the teeth met in the throat of the mad
dog, and the two animals rolled over
"Stand off, little man," said one of
the men, as Sammie ran up, anxious to
defend his four-footed friend; we will


settle it for you." So saying, he raised
his club high in the air, and seizing an
opportunity when the brown dog's head
was uppermost, he aimed a heavy blow
full on the crown, and the terrible
creature ceased to struggle.
Then Toby got up and shook himself.
The men examined him all over, to see
whether he was bitten, but they found
that his sudden dart at the throat of
the mad dog had prevented the possi-
bility of the deadly fangs closing upon
him, and he was quite unhurt.
It needs not for us to describe how
Sammie and Tibbie kissed and hugged
poor Toby, and cried over him, calling
him by every loving name they could
think of; or how at last they took him
home in triumph, accompanied by the
men, all eager to relate the adventure,
and to praise Toby. All this you can
picture to yourselves; it only remains


for us to draw one little lesson from this
Shall a poor dumb creature be more
faithful to its master than we to ours ?
Shall a mere dog, with a mere dog's
instinct and knowledge, be willing to
die for an earthly friend, and we be
unwilling to give up even our hearts
and affections to our loving Friend
in heaven?
We leave this question with you.
May our Father give you strength and
grace to answer it truly!


SBOUT six miles from the city of
Brussels, in a country village,
there stood a little cottage, where there
lived a poor widow and her two children.
Frau Meyer had been very well off while
her husband lived, for he had owned
a small farm which, with skill and
patience, yielded a good living; but
now, for several years, she had found
it hard to keep her children and herself;
for after Wilhelm Meyer's death the
farm was badly, perhaps dishonestly,
managed, by a selfish servant, and one


thing after another failed, until at last
the place had to be sold to pay the
Frau Meyer, when a child, had learned
to make lace, and now her early training
stood her in good stead, for she began
to give all her leisure time to this work,
and by means of it was able to rent the
little cottage in which our story finds
her, and to support her two children,
Franz and Marie.
Marie was a good little girl, and a
great comfort to her mother; with a
cheerful temper, a neat, active figure,
and a love of being useful, she went
singing about the housework, while her
mother was busy with her lace; and
she never grumbled, though the food
was often scanty enough, and though
her poor clothes had to be patched and
darned almost every time they were


If Franz had been as good and as use-
ful as Marie, the little home, though poor,
might have been a very happy one, but
we are sorry to say that Franz was not
a good boy. He was selfish and thought-
less, and would suffer his mother and
sister to take any amount of trouble on
his account. Then, if he were reproved,
he would either sulk in silence or would
reproach them with unkindness, until
at last both the patient mother and the
tender, loving sister would weary of the
thankless task, and in despair would let
him alone.
One day Franz came in from school
very hungry. Dinner was not quite
ready, and, as usual, he was too restless
to wait for it. While Marie was busy
over the fire with her saucepan, he
began to open the little cupboard in
the wall, and to examine the shelves,
to see if he could find anything eatable.


Now it so happened that on one of the
shelves there was a small pot of broth,
which Marie had saved for her mother,
and which she meant to warm up for
her supper that evening. There was
only enough for one person, and Marie,
with a daughter's loving foresight, had
kept it for the one who needed it the
This pot, however, Master Franz
soon found, and taking it out of its
hiding-place, he brought it to the little
table, and seizing a wooden spoon, was
about to take the first large mouthful of
the cold broth, when his sister looked
"Why, Franz," cried she, "what are
you doing ? That broth is for mother's
supper, and you must not touch it; see,
your dinner is nearly ready." And,
showing the saucepan, she placed it on
the side of the stove.


I do not see why I should not have
this broth," said Franz, holding the
spoon half-way to his mouth; mother
does not care for such things half so
much as I do, and she will never miss
it." And the greedy boy put the spoon
to his lips, and was about to swallow
its contents, when Marie took hold of
his hand, and said, gently but firmly,
" No, Franz, you must not eat mother's
supper; she works hard enough for us,
and you shall not rob her of what little
food I can save."
"Then take that for your pains!"
cried Franz, aiming a blow at her
head, as she took the pot from him.
"I hate you, I do, you unkind sister! "
And in a fit of rage the boy rushed
by her, and was out of the cottage in
a moment.
Poor Marie shed a few tears as she
placed the pot on the shelf, and pro-


ceeded to dish up the dinner, but she
checked her sobs, for fear of causing
pain to her mother.
Franz did not return, and in the
afternoon Frau Meyer said, Marie,
dear, I do not know what can have
come to Franz; will you run and see if
he is in the meadow, or down by the
mill ? he has had no dinner to-day, and
perhaps something has happened to
prevent his coming home."
Marie said nothing about her brother's
conduct; she only tied a handkerchief
over her head, and set out on her search,
hoping she might find him in a better
Through the meadow and down to
the mill she went, but no Franz was to
be seen; at last, glancing through a
hole in a fence into an orchard, she
saw her brother climbing an apple-tree,
and shaking down the ripe fruit as he

mounted. She called out to him, but he
did not hear, and just at that moment
the country policeman, or watchman,
whose duty it was to look after the
orchards, sprang from behind a clump
of bushes, and in rough tones called to
Franz to come down.
The boy did so, pale and trembling,
and the man, taking him by the wrist,
took him through the orchard to a side
gate which led into the road.
In another moment Marie darted
through this gate to meet them. Clasp-
ing both hands, and looking up in the
policeman's face, she cried, "Oh, sir,
do not take my brother away; I think
he will be a good boy if you will forgive
him this once-only this once, dear
sir!" And the child pleaded so hard
that the man stopped and looked kindly
down into her face.
Well," said he, "now I think of it,


your mother is well known in the village,
and you, Marie, are called a loving
daughter, so I must even let off this
young scapegrace for once, more espe-
cially as he must be a good boy at home
for you to love him so much."
Franz blushed at this, but when the
man had let go his wrist, and had left
the children together, he turned to his
sister, and placing both arms round her
neck, begged her to forgive him his
cruel blow and bitter words, and to
believe that he never would forget her
loving pleading for him that day.
Franz kept his word; this little event
was a turning-point in his history, and
he grew up to be a comfort and sup-
port to his mother, and as loving and
gentle a brother to Marie as she could
It is a good thing to have a successful
leader on earth, and is it not a comfort

to know that there is a Pleader and
Intercessor in heaven? "If any man
sin, we have an Advocate with the
Father, Jesus Christ the righteous."



E have now given a few pictures
of child-life at home and
abroad. Have you seen your likeness
in any of them? Honesty, mutual
forbearance, the cheerful discharge of
duty, unruly temper, want of truthful-
ness, resentment; good or bad, how
is it with you? But, before we close
our book, we must have a few words
on the most important of all subjects.
This subject we shall call-


Jesus is the best friend of the young;
He is the best example to the young;
He is the only Saviour of the young.
I. He is the children's BEST FRIEND.
"Jesus has not forgotten the time when
He was a child. He understands the
troubles, the cares and griefs of child-
hood's heart, for He has felt them. If
He had not been a child Himself, you
might think, "He will do for the old,
but not for the young. I fear He will
look upon me as foolish when I tell my
little sorrows to Him." But no; He
was a child before He was a man, and
is as much a friend of the children as
of the parents.
"What do you do without a mother
to tell all your troubles to ? asked a
child who had a mother of one whose
mother was dead.
Mother told me to whom to go
before she died," answered the young


orphan. "I go to the Lord Jesus
Christ; He was my mother's Friend,
and He is mine."
"Jesus Christ is up in the sky," said
the other; He is a long way off, and
has a great many things to attend to in
heaven. It is not likely He can stop
to mind you."
I do not know anything about that,"
said the orphan; "all I know is, He
says He will; and that's enough for
Yes, Jesus says He will" be the
friend of the young, that He loves and
cares for them, and that "of such is
the kingdom of heaven; and that is
enough. And what a friend He is!
Others there are who love you, but no
one loves as He does. How strong He
is on His heavenly throne -able to do
everything to make you happy. How
wise-knowing better than any one in


this world what to give you and what
to withhold.
I am sure that every young reader
needs just such a good kind friend as
Jesus is. Come to Him now, just as
you are, and trust in His great love.
II. Jesus Christ was once a child:
then He is AN EXAMPLE to the young.
We do not know all that He did and
said when a child; but this we know,
that He was perfectly good, and had not,
like other children, a wicked heart that
sinned against God.
If we could have looked in upon the
home where Jesus dwelt, I think we
should have seen the happiest home
there has ever been in this world. Jesus
was always quick to obey the first word
of His mother; not slow and tardy, as
if it were hard to obey; not trying to
find excuses for disobeying as soon as
He was out of sight, but always anxious


to do all He could to gladden His
parents' hearts and to make their home
Now if the holy Jesus, whom the
angels had obeyed in heaven, so
honoured His earthly parents, how
much more should all others do so!
"Children, obey your parents in the
Lord; for this is right."
Jesus not only obeyed His parents;
He also obeyed God. When He was
only twelve years old, He said, "Wist
ye not that I must be about my Father's
business ? Oh that we could see every
young person as ready to do God's work
and obey God's will as Jesus was! It
is true that none of us can be as holy
here as that spotless Lamb of God;
yet He wants all to be as like Him
as we can; and if we pray to Him He
will help us with His Holy Spirit to
serve and obey God. So He has helped


many children, and made them so like
Jesus, that people have wondered to see
Christ's spirit shining so brightly in
the lives of His little ones.
Now we do not expect you to be as
wise as Christ was, yet all should try
to be like Him. This is the reason
why you are taught the heavenly wis-
dom, the knowledge of God and Christ,
in the family, the Sabbath school, and
the church. Yet I am afraid that
some are more anxious to grow old
and to grow rich than to grow wise
and good.
God says to every one of you, "Ask
what I shall give thee." What do you
answer? Oh, in all your prayers ask
Him to make you wise and good, and
He will not deny your request; but,
like as He gave to the four children
at Babylon who prayed to Him, He
will give you "knowledge and skill,"


and help you to understand His blessed
Another thing that we know about
the Child Jesus is, that "the grace of
God was upon Him."
What is grace ? It is the favour and
friendship of God helping a child or a
man to serve Him. What was it that
changed the wicked Saul of Tarsus into
the great Apostle Paul, and that helped
him to do and suffer so much for Jesus ?
Hear him: By the grace of God," he
says, I am what I am." This grace
of His Spirit can give you a new heart,
can make you a child of God, and can
lead you when you die to the world
of light and glory. Will you not then
pray for it ?
III. Jesus is the only SAVIOUR of the
Young as you are, you are a sinner
against God. The Bible tells you so;

your own heart tells you so. Oh, lay
those sins upon Jesus, for He says,
" Suffer little children, and forbid them
not, to come unto Me." He loves
you, and died to save you; yes, to save
even the youngest child who hears of
Him. For you He lived and laboured
and shed His precious blood.
Many dear little ones have found
Jesus as their Saviour, and been made
the children of God, and heirs of the
kingdom of heaven. May you love
Him as your best Friend, follow Him
as your best Example, and trust in
Him as your only and almighty Saviour.
"I love them that love Me, and those
that seek Me early shall find Me."



,,T the bright morn of life, when youth
' With vital ardour glows,
And shines in all the fairest charms
That beauty can disclose;

Deep in thy soul, before its powers
Are yet by vice enslaved,
Be thy Redeemer's glorious name
And character engraved :

Ere yet the shades of sorrow cloud
The sunshine of thy days ;
And cares, and toils, in endless round,
Encompass all thy ways :

Ere yet thy heart the woes of age
With vain regret deplore,
And sadly muse on former joys,
That now return no more.

True wisdom, early sought and gained,
In age will give thee rest;
Oh, then, improve the morn of life,
To make its evening blest!


Naovhs for t(t yffung



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