Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Only a penny
 Laura's lesson
 Kathie's fairy-land
 How Charlie found a dog
 The smuggler
 Mother's staff
 Henry, Charles and the Indians
 Little Edward, the lighthouse...
 Christmas Eve
 The last dollar
 Back Cover

Group Title: Snow-drop library
Title: Only a penny, and other stories
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00055896/00001
 Material Information
Title: Only a penny, and other stories
Series Title: Snow-drop library
Physical Description: 116, 2 p. : ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Felter, John D
Perkinpine & Higgins ( Publisher )
Westcott & Thomson ( Printer )
Publisher: Perkinpine & Higgins
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Manufacturer: Westcott & Thompson, Stereotypers
Publication Date: [1870]
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1870   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements -- 1870   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1870
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Publishers' advertisements   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
General Note: Publisher's advertisements follow text.
General Note: Added series t.p., engraved.
General Note: Some illustrations engraved by Felter.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00055896
Volume ID: VID00001
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: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002235137
notis - ALH5579
oclc - 14285655

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Table of Contents
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Only a penny
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
    Laura's lesson
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
    Kathie's fairy-land
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
    How Charlie found a dog
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
    The smuggler
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
    Mother's staff
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
    Henry, Charles and the Indians
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
    Little Edward, the lighthouse boy
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
    Christmas Eve
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
    The last dollar
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text


1- -s

,The Baldwin Library
U ra.crsay
2 11 2mi


-', I r r 2 .. ".p
--V 7.





Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by


In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District
of Pennsylvania.

Stereotypers, Philada.


ONLY A PENNY........................................... 7

LAURA'S LESSON............................................ 14

KATHIE'S FAIRY-LAND..................................... 34

How CHARLIE FOUND A DOG......................... 48

THE SMUGGLER......... ......... ............................. 60

MOTHER'S STAFF........................................... 73

HENRY, CHARLES AND THE INDIANS................. 84


CHRISTMAS EVE............................................ 104

THE LAST DOLLAR................... ................. 111







" fH, nurse, I have been reading to
V Willie such a pretty story about
some one who was very rich. I do
wish I had a great deal of money;
how nice it would be!" and little
Effie Stanley sighed as she closed her
"Why, Miss Effie, what would you
do with it ?" asked nurse.
"Oh, a great deal. Let me see,"
said Effie, thoughtfully. Well, first
I should buy a carriage for papa and
mamma, and a doll's house for Lotty,
and a pony for George, and oh, nurse,
I should not forget you either. I would
buy you ever so many gowns like the
one you admired so much in the
draper's window the other day."
i* 7


Thank you, my dear !" said nurse,
smiling; "but should you not want
something for yourself?"
"Yes, to be sure, only I should get
the other things first: it would be so
nice to see every one so pleased and
happy. But there! it is no use think-
ing about it, for I have only a penny
belonging to me," Effie added, sighing
It certainly is not much," replied
nurse, "and you can't make any of
your grand presents with it. But
I'm thinking that there are other
things that make people happier than
gold. Kind words and kind actions
are often of more use, and do more
toward lightening heavy hearts, than
any sum of money coolly or grudg-
ingly given. Ah! and I should not
wonder either if you were to do more
good with your penny than some
people would with five dollars."


Do good! Oh, I wish I could; but
how is it possible with only a penny?
You must be joking, nurse?"
"No, I am not indeed. But how
did you think of spending it?"
":I meant to buy some ribbon for
my doll; but if I can do any good
with it, I will certainly wait and see
if I have an opportunity. If it were
a half dollar, or a quarter, or a dime
even; but only a penny! I'm afraid,
nurse, it would be of no use."
"Wait and only see," was nurse's
That same afternoon nurse took
Effie and her brother and sister out
for a walk. As they were returning
home, they saw a little girl sitting
outside the gates of the park. She
had no shoes or stockings, and her
clothes were hanging about her in
rags. She leaned her head wearily
on her hand, and the poor, pale,


pinched face had a fearfully sad ex-
pression that was p-itiful to behold.
"Nurse," said Effie, do you see
that poor little girl? Shall I give
her my penny?"
"But the doll's ribbon, Miss Effie?"
"Oh never mind that!" and in
another moment Effie was bending
over the forlorn child. "Poor little
girl!" she said, in a sweet voice full
of sympathy; I'm so sorry for you;
you look tired, and perhaps you are
hungry. I wish I could give you
more, but I have only a penny."
Oh, thank you, miss, thank you
for the money, and for your kind
words too;" and the poor child's
bright eyes were full of tears. There
was no time for any further conversa-
tion; the people were hurrying to and
fro, and nurse deemed it expedient to
get her young charge out of the crowd.
What a happy little girl was Effie!


You may be sure she felt quite satis-
fied with the way in which she had
spent her penny, only she wished she
knew something more about the child
to whom she had given it, for she felt
strangely interested in her. Several
weeks passed away, when one after-
noon, as Effie stood looking out of
the window, she suddenly exclaimed,
" Oh, mamma, do come; here is the
little girl I told you about. She is
selling flowers on the other side of
the street. Ah! there she sees me
now. May I beckon to her to come
here ?" Mrs. Stanley gave her
daughter the permission she sought,
and Effie ran to the door and brought
her into the hall. "Ah, ma'am," she
said, in answer to Mrs. Stanley's in-
quiries, "it is all owing to the dear
young lady that I am so well off now."
Effie glanced at her poor bruised, bare
feet, and she remembered how she'had


wished to be richer, and here was that
miserably clad, half-starved flower-
girl calling herself well off."
Tell me your story-all about your-
self, I mean," said Effie eagerly.
"Father and mother died a long
while ago," replied the child, and
my brother Teddy and me lives all
alone in the world. I had been very
sick before I saw you that day, but I
felt as if I'd soon be better if I could
only breathe fresh air, and so I wan-
dered all the way to the park, and
there I felt faint and sat down. I
thought of mother, and wondered
what would become of Teddy if I
died. Whilst I was thinking of this,
you came and spoke to me, and gave
me a penny. But it was not the
penny that did me so much good,
though I was glad enough for that
too, but those were the first kind
words I'd heard for many a long day,


and oh they did my heart good, and
when you were gone I did not feel so
lonely like."
"And did you buy something to eat
with the penny ?" asked Effie, hastily.
"Oh no, I bought some flowers, one
bunch, and made it up into ever so
many nosegays, and before night I
had sold them all and made twelve
cents, and then I bought two penny-
worths of bread for Teddy and me."
Do you live far from here ?" asked
Mrs. Stanley, who was also much in-
terested in the little flower-girl's story.
"About two miles, ma'am. And
oh I'm so glad to have seen the
young lady again, and to be able to
thank her once more for her good-
ness;" and so the little flower-girl,
after having been regaled with tea,
Having made inquiries, Mrs. Stan-
1ev found that Nelly Brown (for that

was her name) was a very deserving,
industrious girl, though she and her
brother lived in great poverty. Sev-
eral ladies interested themselves about
her, and she and Teddy were put in
the way of earning a respectable live-
As for Effie, she was more than de-
lighted; and many a time afterward
did she thank her good nurse for her
advice, and for pointing out to her
how much may be effected by kind
words, and even the judicious spend-
ing of only a penny.


"(H dear!" Laura Preston sighed,
Impatiently, "there's the baby
awake again! I do wish I could

lit 1 IN ...........,. ,'.. ir ,r rll
h I L '
I II" I, II ..

,, ,',, ,,t, '::,,
, I,' 4F [_
-l' ': i ', ", ,
I',di~' ,',l," ---' " ,

,,,_ "----.. ,, liil:

have a little time like the other girls!
They're all going to Bell Cummings'
to play croquet, and I meant to ask
you if I couldn't go."
Laura's voice choked over a sob.
It was hard to stay in the house all
this beautiful weather, to know what
fun the girls were having, and she out
of it all, taking care of this tiresome
baby. She wished there were no such
things as babies in the world. Satur-
day, she had to give up Annie Gra-
ham's little tea-party; Monday after-
noon, she had a pretty book that had
to be returned the next day, and he
wouldn't let her read a line; here it
was Wednesday, and it seemed to her
that she had done nothing but take
care of him for the last month.
"If you could take him in the car-
riage; he'd be so much better for a
change in the open air."
Mrs. Preston uttered this timidly.


She was so ill and worn, and looked
so tired, that, at any other time, her
little daughter's heart would have
been moved with pity.
"But I couldn't go there, and I
shouldn't want to; they'd all call me
nurse-maid. I don't see why Ann
can't find some time to take care of
the baby. She used to, I'm sure."
"My being sick has made so much
more work, you know."
At this the baby gave a cry. Laura
jerked him up from the cradle, and
then he screamed.
"You're a little crosspatch !"
"Bring him to me," said her
Laura felt a little ashamed then,
and cuddled him up between her face
and neck, and began to whisper softly
to him. He was very sleepy, and
soon shut his eyes.
"I guess he will go to sleep again,"


she said, in a gentler tone, and began
walking up and down the room. Yet
all the time she was thinking of the
bright sunshine and the smooth, vel-
vety lawn where the girls were going
to play croquet.
"Mother," she said, presently,
"couldn't we have some one come
and take care of the baby while you
are so poorly? There's Jenny Briggs
out of a place."
"Mrs. Sayre said Jenny was very
careless-that she wouldn't trust her
with a baby. I think I shall be better
soon. It is real hard for you; I'm
Something in her mother's soft voice
touched Laura, but she was not in a
mood to be very tender. Of course,
it was hard to have to stay in the
house all the time and give up every-
She laid the baby back in his crib,


and gave another longing glance out
of the window.
I think you might go," her mother
said, presently; "it's only four now,
and if you could be back by a little
after five. Jamie ought to take a good
long nap; he hasn't slept hardly any
"Oh, I should like to so much!"
Laura's conscience checked her.
She felt that she ought to stay in the
house, in case she might be needed;
but there was Ann down stairs, and
if the baby would sleep !
"Yes, you can go."
Mrs. Preston felt that Laura had
been confined a great deal lately, and
the frowning face did not promise very
pleasant companionship. However, it
cleared up wonderfully now.
Oh, thank you, mamma! I'll be
back real early."
Laura ran up stairs and slipped on


her white dress. Ann had begged her
to save it nice for another Sunday-
" the ruffles were so botherin' to iron;"
but it was the very ruffles that she
liked. Then she gave her hair a
brush, tied on her blue sash and went
down. 'She ought to go in and kiss
poor, pale mamma; but then she
might wake the baby. So she stole
softly along, lingering a moment on
the porch. Was that sound the little
rascal Jamie waking up again ? No,
she guessed not, and down the walk
she ran.
They had played one game when
she reached Bell's handsome house.
She was very glad that she had
dressed herself so prettily, for here
were Bell's cousins, and Mrs. Cum-
mings and some lady visitors were
looking on.
"I'm so glad you've come!" ex-
claimed Bell: "we had to take that


stupid Sarah Gaines, who hardly
knows a mallet from a bean-pole.
Now we'll have some fun."
"It's your day out, I suppose,
Laura," drawled Bessie Livingston.
"I heard that you'd turned child's-
That vexed Laura, and a heat
flashed to her face.
"I take care of my little brother
sometimes," she said, haughtily; yet
she wished in her heart that she
didn't have it to do.
Come, Blue, run to your place!"
said Bell.
They all went at it in great earnest.
Laura was a capital player generally,
but this afternoon her hand didn't
seem very steady. She lost her pa-
tience easily; she felt flurried, and
nervous, and warm, and found she
was on the losing side. And then
there was an uncomfortable misgiving


tugging at her heart. If the baby
should wake, if Ann was busy or out,
and poor mamma did look unusually
pale! She might have guessed that
mamma had been worrying with the
baby all day when she said he had
not slept any; but just then she did
not want to think of any one besides
herself. And now she couldn't help
thinking, and the balls became con-
fused in her mind.
Until ten months before, Laura
Preston had been an only child, and,
of course, indulged a good deal. She
seemed so sweet and good-tempered
always, but it was because there had
been nothing to try her. At first she
pronounced the baby splendid, and
cared for nothing else-tended him,
caressed him, did yards of tatting,
crocheted him a blanket and a cap,
and worked him a little shirt. Then
her interest began to flag; he took so


much time, and was really a great
deal of trouble.
For the last month Mrs. Preston
had been quite poorly, and the baby a
greater charge. Laura grew tired of
him, she secretly confessed to herself,
though it did seem wicked. But it
was hard to give up every moment.
Mrs. Preston saw with pain that
Laura was developing many selfish
and unamiable traits. Sometimes she
wondered whether it would be best to
relieve her of all charge of the baby,
or persevere until she had learned one
of the hard lessons of life-to think of
others for something beside pleasure.
Yet, to do Laura justice, she had never
been quite so cross as on this day.
She didn't enjoy the playing half as
much as she expected. Bell thought
she wasn't trying at all and did not
care how she played, and presently
the game came to an end. Laura said


she must go home, but Bell begged
her to come in and see her new
"How beautifully yours is made !"
Mrs. Cummings said. "Bell, Miss
Lang must see this waist; I'd like
one of yours puffed in that fashion."
So Bell took her in to the dress-
maker, and, somehow, the time passed
rapidly. The clock struck six.
"Oh I must go;" and Laura made
a fresh start.
Flying out of the gate, her skirt
caught, and, in her haste, she couldn't
stop, so her beautiful dress that she
was so glad of having worn five min-
utes ago now had a great, unsightly
rent across one breadth.
Laura uttered a passionate cry,
more in anger than sorrow. The
whole day had gone wrong, for that
matter; but, first, a little girl had not
been quite right in heart.


The doctor's carriage was standing
before the door. He generally came
in the morning, and a sudden fear
seized the child. There was one of
the neighbors with little Jamie in her
"Oh!" she said; "mamma-!"
Hush, dear; mamma is much
worse; she has been bleeding at the
lungs. This great baby is altogether
too much for her; the doctor says she
must have a nurse."
Poor Laura! She seemed turning
to stone. If she had not gone out!
and now, if mamma died, it would be
all her fault, and it seemed to her as
if the thought would kill her.
Jamie held out his dimpled hands
with a smile. She felt then as if
her heart would break. Two hours
ago she had thought him such a trial,
and would have felt relieved if there
had been no Jamie in the world. He


loved her so much, too! She hid her
face in his dress and wept bitterly.
Don't cry, dear; she isn't danger-
ous. I don't exactly know, but if she
keeps quiet and isn't worried, she
will get well again. Poor sister! tell
her not to cry, Jamie."
Jamie patted the soft, curly head,
and said, "Ta-ta," as if he would
comfort her. But Laura's heart was
so full that she ran off to her room
and buried her face in the pillow of
her own little bed, wanting to beg God
not to punish her as she deserved, but
afraid even to pray. Presently, some
one called her; it was Ann's voice,
and, changing her dress, she went to
the kitchen.
Oh, Miss Laura!" and Ann stopped
as she saw the pale, tear-stained face
and swollen eyes.
When was mamma taken so bad ?"
she asked.


"About an hour ago. The baby's
been very troublesome all day, and
he's a heavy lift for a sick woman. I
was going to ask you to do some er-
rands, Miss Laura, but, if you'll set
the table, I'll go."
Laura was glad enough to do any-
thing. Before she was through, the
doctor went away, and Mrs. Brown
came out with the baby. Then Laura
heard a quick, familiar step. She
waited with a beating heart; but Ann
returned, finished preparing the sup-
per, and yet papa had not left the
room. Baby began to worry, and
Laura took him. When the dear
little arms tightened round her neck,
the quick tears rushed to her eyes
again. How could she have thought
him a trouble and been glad to get
When Mr. Preston came in, he
kissed Laura and baby Jamie asleep


on her shoulder. She couldn't eat or
hardly speak, but listened to Mrs.
Brown and papa. They didn't seem
to think Mrs. Preston so very ill, but
Laura really was afraid she would
die before morning; and what if she
never kissed her again! Then she
remembered how she had slipped
away in the afternoon, and her heart
smote her bitterly enough.
A long while after, everything in
the house was quiet-baby sleeping
soundly in his crib, Mrs. Brown and
the nurse in Mrs. Preston's room, and
Ann gone to bed-only poor Laura
sitting in the kitchen alone with her
own sad thoughts.
"My dear child!" her father said,
entering the room.
Oh, papa!" She sprang up, and
was clasped to his breast.
"Hush, my darling. Mamma is
very comfortable, and not in any


danger. All she needs is good care.
She has worried too much with the
baby, but we will have a nurse for
Oh, papa, that is what I want to
talk about. I've been so wicked I
don't know as any one can ever for-
give me; and, if mamma had died, I
should always have felt as if I had
killed her."
"Why, my child-" Mr. Preston
began, in astonishment.
Yes, I ought to have stayed and
taken care of the baby. I knew
mamma was weak and sick, though
she didn't say that she had worried
with him all day; but it seemed to
me that I hadn't been anywhere for
ever and ever so long, and I did want
to play croquet with the girls. I
didn't enjoy hardly a moment of it,
though, and now I am so sorry that I


Laura's voice broke down entirely
then, and she was sobbing in her
father's arms.
My little girl," he said, gravely,
" this is a hard lesson indeed. It is
doubtful if mamma would have been
quite so bad if she had not overtasked
herself; but the doctor said the bleed-
ing was not from her lungs, and that
it is really better she should give up,
and have good care taken of her.
We shall have a nurse for Master
Jamie. I proposed this some time
ago, but mamma thought it was best
for you to have some little charge of
him, seeing that 'he was your only
brother. But it does confine you
very much, so long as she is not well.
Only, my little daughter ought to
learn to think for others, or she will
be in danger of growing up a selfish,
unamiable woman."
Oh, papa, I don't believe I ever


shall forget again," sobbed Laura.
"And if mamma gets well-"
"I think she will. Let us both
pray earnestly."
Laura did not ask to see mamma
that night. She determined to bear
bravely the punishment she had
brought upon herself, and she prayed
a long while that she might be kept
purer in heart and learn to be un-
She did not forget the next morning.
Laura was a neat, handy little girl,
and could do a great deal when she
chose. She helped Ann now, and
took care of her brother in such a
pretty, winsome manner that Ann
quite forgot the scolding she meant to
give her, for the maid felt herself one
of the family, she had been with them
so long.
Laura was glad at last to be able to
go in and see her mamma. They had


a tender talk about the incidents of
the day before, and Mrs. Preston felt
satisfied that they would make a last-
ing impression upon her.
I do not mean that Laura was al-
together perfect after that, for every
one has to try daily and hourly as
long as he or she lives; but she tried
to think of others and to make them
happy, and she found, as people al-
ways do, that she was the happier for
it herself.
Mrs. Preston recovered, to Laura's
unbounded delight. Theyhad a nurse
for Jamie, but the little rogue thought
his sister much more to be preferred,
and Mrs. Preston was thankful to see
so cheerful a spirit growing up within
her. If ever she felt tempted to fret
or felt a frown rising to her .sunny
brow, she tried to check it immediately
by remembering the sad night she had
passed when mamma was so ill.


Ann could not help scolding about
the torn dress, and Laura took it very
meekly. It was part of her lesson,
she admitted-the one all children
have to learn-that their own way
may not be the best, even if they can
be indulged in it.


" 0H dear !" and KathieAlston closed
Sher book with a sigh; "if there
only were real fairies! If one could
wish for a thing and have it !"
Then she looked around the room.
It was altogether unlike an enchanted
palace, A faded and well-worn car-
pet, cane-seat chairs, the chintz cover
on the lounge worn at the edges, two
or three old-fashioned pictures, and


two women, who should have been
fairy princesses instead. And just
then it came to Kathie with renewed
force how very hard their life was:
her mother sewing wearily day after
day to lengthen out their scant in-
come, and poor, pale Aunt Ruth,
never strong enough to make any
great exertion in the way of working.
If she only had a magic lamp to rub,
or a purse in which, open it often as
she might, she would find a piece of
gold, what splendid things she could
do for her mother, and Aunt Ruth,
and Rob, and Freddy! But she was
only a little girl, and could not do any-
Kathie," her mother said, pres-
ently, you must go to the store; and
now it is so dark you will not have
time to run up to Mrs. Grayson's."
Kathie started. Why, the clock
was striking five, and the room was


already in a haze of twilight. She
had been reading just an hour and a
half. Twice her mother had spoken
to her about going to Mrs. Grayson's,
and she had intended to after she read
just that page; and so she had gone
on and on.
"Can't I do it in the morning,
mamma ?" she asked, soberly, a little
troubled in her conscience.
"No; it would make you late for
school. I'll go this evening. Run to
the store now, and remember all the
things I tell you. Look if you see
the boys, and call them in."
Her mother's tired and tender voice
touched her, for Kathie had a warm,
generous heart.
Oh, mamma, I wish I was a fairy
for your sake;" and Kathie clasped
her arms around her mother's neck,
kissing her fondly, in a repentant


"There are many kinds of fairies,"
Mrs.. Alston said. "They don't all
live in enchanted palaces." Then she
gave Kathie the basket and some
money, and repeated the list of arti-
cles she needed.
The little girl trudged along in the
cold, thinking of all the wonderful
things that might be done if one had
the power; and then she wondered
what her mother meant by saying
there were different kinds of fairies.
Of course, no one really believed in
them, charming as the stories were.
Money could do a great many things
that seemed almost like magic, but
she had no money, perhaps never
would have. Little girls couldn't
earn any, and women never became
rich. When Rob and Freddy grew
to be men- But that was a long
way off.
There was a bright little star twink-


ling up the sky. It looked so oddly
at her out of its one golden eye that
she couldn't help saying, Oh you
lovely fairy star!" and somehow it
seemed as if the fairies were not all
dead. But she was at the store be-
fore she knew it, went in and made
her purchases, and started for home,
watching the same beautiful star until
she came in sight of the cottage.
Then she drew a long breath of dis-
may. Mamma had put a little tin
pail in the bottom of the basket, and
told her to leave it at the baker's go-
ing and stop for it coming back.
"Oh dear!" sighed Kathie. "I
ought to have a fairy named Mem-
ory;" and for an instant she felt
tempted to cry. Should she go home
first, or carry the heavy basket back
to the baker's?
Go back to the baker's," said the
star, though I think that it was a


fairy inside of the little girl, called
"It will teach me a lesson, for I am
heedless;" and she turned round in-
stantly. Then at the baker's she had
to take nearly all the things out of
the basket, and afterward she hurried
home to make up for lost time.
How quick you have been," her
mother said, with a smile. Kathie,
like other children, was sometimes
given to loitering. Did you see the
boys ?"
"Oh, I forgot, mamma; but I
didn't see them nor hear them. I'll
go look for them."
Looking for the boys was one of
Kathie's hardships. It wasn't pleas-
ant to go out in the cold and hunt
round for them; but the star up in
the blue sky seemed to challenge her
to a race, and in a few seconds she
had reached the hill where the boys


coasted. Rob knew that it wasn't
supper-time, and didn't want to come
She took Freddy by the hand, and
then Charley Darrell wanted her to
try it just once on his new Christmas
sled, but she declined cheerfully,
though it was something of a strug-
gle to put the temptation by. Rob
soon followed them.
I mean to tease mother to let me
go out again to-night," he exclaimed.
"All the boys will be there."
"Rob," Kathie said, with her heart
in her throat, "I wish you'd do some-
thing partly for me instead."
"What?" rather crossly.
"Mamma will have to go to Mrs.
Grayson's this evening, and I wish
you would go with her. It will make
the walk seem shorter, and it is my
fault, for I read in my fairy-book this
afternoon when I should have gone."


"Bother! I wish you to attend to
your own business."
"I'm very sorry, Rob," with an
effort. "You may have my paint-
box on the first rainy day."
Rob said nothing then, and ate his
supper rather soberly. Afterward,
Kathie proposed washing the dishes,
so that her mother might go immedi-
ately. Mrs. Alston looked pleased,
and put on her shawl.
"I'm going along, so that no one
will run away with you," Rob an-
nounced, with an assumption of man-
"Are you? Oh, thank you."
Then Freddy thought he ought to
go, though the warm room and the
warm tea made him look rather
sleepy; besides, he was too small a
boy to take such a long tramp after
"I'll put you to bed and tell you a


story," kathie whispered as the others
went away.
Kathie hated washing dishes, but
she went at it cheerfully now. It vas
surprising how soon she seemed to get
through. Then she brushed up the
room, drew Aunt Ruth's chair up to
the table-for she was an almost help-
less invalid-and found all her sewing
materials. Fred was nodding in the
corner by this time, and was rather
cross when she roused him, but by the
time she had him snugly tucked in
bed he remembered the story. She
wrapped, a shawl around her, and
commenced in a bright, happy voice.
Why, you're almost a fairy your-
self," Fred said, presently, and a warm
glow came to her face as she recalled
her mother's words.
She couldn't transport them all to
an elegant palace, she could not sur-
round them with luxury, nor have


servants come at her call, but she be-
gan to think of the real fairies that
were in the world-love, to begin with,
a spirit who was tender, patient, self-
sacrificing, never cross when things
went .,r,,i, never indolent when
others around could be saved any toil
or burden.
"Oh," she said, with a sigh, I
can never be such a fairy;" and she
felt very humble. But I will try to
do a little."
S"What are you looking for?" Aunt
Ruth said, as she entered the sitting-
"Rob told mamma his mittens
wanted mending, and I thought I
could do it;" and so she did, darning
very well for a little girl; and she
was very glad the next morning when
she heard Rob remind mamma that
she had forgotten all about his mittens.
Rob came home in a state of felicity.


I had a splendid talk with Dick
Grayson," he said, and he isn't half
so proud as the boys make out, al-
though he does go to the academy.
He asked me to come over some even-
ing; and oh, Kathie, he has such
lots of books, and a little study all by
himself, where he reads and tries ex-
periments, and his father is so pleas-
ant and kind Mrs. Grayson praised
me for not letting mamma go out
alone, and I wanted to tell her that
it was your thought, not mine. I
ought to do it always. And, Kathie,
I shall not want the paints-at least,
not for pay."
"You can have them to paint your
boat," she rejoined, yielding of her
own free will a point that she had re-
fused Rob several times.
"You're a darling," exclaimed Rob,
She took a long look at the star be-


fore she went to bed. Did it never
get tired shining steadily on and on ?
Didn't it want to go to some other
place or do something else-become a
sun or moon for instance-as any little
boy or girl would in its place? God
wanted it just to shine, and it did its
duty. And he wanted her to--be a
helpful little girl, or else he would
have given her a beautiful house,
plenty of servants, and plenty of
money, and nothing to do. There
were princesses in the fairy stories
who had everything they called for,
but the real fairies ran to and fro, did
as they were bidden, and never com-
plained of the hard work; and a little
while ago she was wishing to be a
fairy. One of the working kind it
must be.
Kathie did not forget her resolves
next morning. I don't mean you to
think that she did everything without


a bit of trouble, and that it was easy
for her to give up her own wishes and
pleasures. Sometimes it seemed very
hard, and it was difficult to think in
time, even when she was quite willing
to perform a good action; but she re-
membered the star going on and on,
and prayed for strength, for love, in-
stead of wishing for idle things no one
can ever have.
But one day, a long while after this,
something just like a fairy story did
happen to Kathie. Coming home
from school, she found a tall, foreign-
looking gentleman in the sitting-room,
talking very familiarly to her mother
and Aunt Ruth. Cousin Robert they
called him; and then Kathie remem-
bered the stories she had heard of
Cousin Robert going to China years
and years ago. He took her up on
his knee and studied her face.
"What a charming little fairy you


are!" he said, kissing her; and the
warm color came to her cheeks. "I
think I shall spirit you away to a
palace I am going to have, and if
your mother and Aunt Ruth ever
want to see you again they must
come too."
It wasn't a palace exactly, but a
delightful home, and Cousin Robert
insisted upon their sharing it with
him, as he was all alone in the world.
Mrs. Alston grew young and rosy
again when relieved from the neces-
sity of constant toil, and Aunt Ruth,
always sweet and patient, enjoyed
many things in the new life. But
Kathie gave a wonderful charm to
the household. She did not forget
the lessons she had learned in ad-
versity, and I think she proved a
fairy to many outside of her home-



" ET you gone, you howling cur!"
u cried the porter of a work-house,
as he kicked from the great door a
poor dog that had vainly tried to
creep through. The creature looked
very thin and wretched, and yelped
with pain as it limped away.
Little Charlie Rolle, who was pass-
ing that way with his mother, grew
red with anger when he saw the cruel
act and heard the rough words. "How
could you treat the dog so ?" cried the
"He has been prowling about here
these three days, and yelping all
night," said the porter.
Perhaps he his lost some friend
who has entered the house," suggested
mild Mrs. Rolle.

II _




a' 6~


"Ay, that's it," replied the porter;
"he belonged to an old blind woman
who has come in, and don't want a
dog any more. We've enough of
mouths to feed, without keeping
curs," he muttered as he shut the
large, heavy door.
Poor, faithful dog!" cried Charlie;
" so he has been trying for three days
and nights to get to his old mistress,
and has braved cuffs and kicks for her
sake! And he may never be with her
more. See! here he comes again.
Oh, mamma, how thin he is! how
his bones seem ready to break through
the skin! I do believe that he has
not eaten anything all day; poor fel-
low, poor fellow!" At the voice of
kindness the wretched dog looked up
and w-.:,_d his tail.
Mamma, our house is not far off;
may I run on before you and ask our
cook for a bone ?"


Indeed you may, Charlie," said
the lady, who had a heart as kind as
his own, and who felt pity for the
helpless creature that had lost his
only friend.
Charlie ran so fast that he arrived
quite breathless at the door of his
home, and he rang so loudly that he
brought up the servant in a hurry.
"A bone," he cried out; "a bone for
a poor starving dog !" And he could
hardly bear to wait till Mary brought
it. Then he darted off with it in
haste, meeting his mother halfway.
They both returned to the spot
where the hungry dog still lingered,
with his eyes fixed on the closed door
which shut him out from his friend.
"Here, poor fellow, here!" shouted
Charlie, throwing the bone to the dog.
The famished creature sprang. at it,
and began eating it as eagerly as if
he had not tasted food for a week.


Charlie stood looking on, and feeling
more pleasure than he would have
done had he been himself enjoying a
"Mamma, I am so glad, so very
glad, that we met that poor dog," said
C'(ilie as he walked toward home
with his mother. "It is so pleasant
to feed the hungry. Look, look! he
is following behind us. Poor doggie!
he knows his friends."
The dog indeed followed the lady
and her son to the gate of their lawn,
and then right up to the door of their
house. He did not attempt to go in,
but lay down on the door-step, wag-
ging his tail, and looking at C1irl'i..,
as the boy entered the house, with
eyes that seemed to thank him.
Charlie could hardly speak or think
of anything for the rest of the day
but the half-starved, faithful dog.
The next morning he burst into his


mother's room with, "Oh, mamma, the
dog is still at our door. I do believe
that he has been waiting there all
night through. May we not take
him in? may we not keep him in our
yard? Since poor Rollo died the
kennel has been quite empty. If I
might only have this faithful dog, I
would treat him so kindly and feed
him so well; and what a jolly life he
would lead!"
We might try what sort of a
watch-dog he would make," said the
lady, kindly.
"Oh do-do !" cried Charlie, catch-
ing hold of her hand; "he will be
kicked and beaten and starved if
left to wander about all alone."
"He is a Newfoundland dog," ob-
served Mrs. Rolle.
"And I dare say that he will turn
out a fine, handsome fellow when he
is properly fed and cared for. Only,"


added the boy more gravely, as another
thought crossed his mind, "have we
quite a right to keep him ? You know
that he is not our dog."
"I am glad, my boy, that you re-
member to be honest as well as kind,"
said Mrs. Rolle, with a smile; but
there will be little difficulty, I think,
in this case. I will go myself to the
work-house, see the poor blind woman,
and tell her about the dog. No doubt
she will be too glad to know that he
is in safe hands."
Mrs. Rolle was as good as her word.
Her kind visit sent a gleam of joy
into the heart of poor blind Bessy.
When the old pauper heard of her
dog tears came into her sightless
eyes, and her voice trembled a little
as she said, Oh keep him, kind
lady, and welcome. I'm thankful
poor Frisk has found such friends.
He'll be faithful to you, I'm sure, as


he has been faithful to me. 'Twas a
sore trouble to part with him; he was
my only comfort on earth. But he'll
be better off with you than he ever
was with poor Bessy, and I could not
have him in here."
When you have leave to walk out
for a little you may come to our
house," said the lady, "and have a
warm cup of tea, and let your faithful
dog have a sight of his dear old mis-
tress again."
The thin, wrinkled face of Bessy
grew quite bright at the thought; and
never did a w.:,.k pass from that time
without her finding her way to Mrs.
Rolle's house, and receiving a loud,
barking welcome from her rough-
coated friend.
Mrs. Rolle's house was but a very
short distance from a large country
town, but it had a nice lawn in front,
with grass as smooth as velvet. Charlie


and his sister Lucy were playing there
one day, and Frisk was sporting beside
"Lucy," cried Charlie, "I have not
paid you back the penny which you
lent me to give blind Bessy on Friday.
Here it is; will you catch it if I throw
"No; don't throw it, Charlie," said
Lucy, who, seated on the grass, was
making a chain of daisies. Put it
into that basket beside you, and see if
Frisk will be clever enough to bring
it to me."
"Here, Frisk, take it," cried Charlie,
throwing the penny into the basket.
Frisk looked up eagerly, wagged his
tail and lifted the basket, as if he had
been accustomed to carry one all his
life. But great was the surprise of
Charlie when, instead of taking the
penny to Lucy, the dog turned round
and trotted off through the open gate,


down the road, right toward the town,
never looking behind him.
"Oh holloa stop thief!" shouted
Charlie, jumping up from the grass.
Oh,Charlie! where can he be go-
ing?" cried Lucy, looking in wonder
after the dog.
I'll be off and see!" exclaimed
Charlie, running after Frisk as fast
as his legs would carry him, without
stopping to put on his cap, which he
had thrown down on the lawn.
Frisk, as proud of his basket and
penny as a soldier might be of his
ribbon and medal, trotted on at a
famous pace until he reached a ba-
ker's shop, while Charlie ran panting
and laughing behind him. A good-
natured-looking woman was standing
beside the counter.
Why, if this is not poor old Frisk
here again !" she cried, in a tone of
pleasure; and he has brought his


basket and penny, as he used to do
months ago. But, dear, how fat he
has grown!" She came forward,
stopped and patted the dog, who
rubbed his nose against her gown,
and seemed as glad to see her as she
was to see him again. The woman
then took the penny out of the basket,
and put in two stale rolls instead;
Frisk, her four-legged customer, look-
ing on as if he understood all about
Why," cried Charlie, bursting into
laughter, "if Frisk is not buying two
stale rolls with my penny !"
I did not know, little master, that
the penny was yours," said the woman,
smiling. "I never ask Frisk how he
comes by his money. He has been
accustomed to trot here and buy bread
for a poor blind woman, and he is as
honest and steady as any customer
can be."

Oh, you clever old fellow!" cried
Charlie, patting Frisk's h--:l_-y coat,
for he was much delighted with the
dog. "But remember, the next time
that you go shopping for me, that I
like fresh buns with plums better
than stale rolls without them; and
don't suppose, old friend, that I'll for-
get to give you your share."


O N the top of the mountain-range
which separates Saxony from Bo-
hemia there stands a house in the
midst of the forest. There is no
other house within a long distance
of it, and though it is very small and
insignificant in appearance, it has a
remarkable history. There once lived


in it a young weaver, who went by the
name of Luke, who supported his wife
and child by weaving damask goods
for merchants in Vienna. But times
became very hard, labor cheap and
the merchants unwilling to take
Luke's damask goods. He and his
wife tried every possible means to
support themselves, but it seemed
that every new day they must either
starve or beg.
One evening Luke came home al-
most in despair, for he had taken a
piece of his best goods to the agent
of a merchant in Vienna, who gave
him so little money for it that he only
made a few pence by the whole piece,
which contained a great many yards.
Luke sat on his rough bench, and
looked at the smouldering coals in the
fireplace and heard the storm beating
about the house, and his heart fairly
sank within him. In the midst of


his unpleasant thoughts, the brother
of his wife came into the hut, and
saluted them in a very pleasant and
cheerful manner. He was a tall,
strong and .wild-looking man; his
face was browned by the sun and the
wind, and his features did not indi-
cate a very good heart. That brother
belonged to the company of smugglers
infesting the mountains separating
Saxony from Bohemia, who carried
goods back or forth over the line,
secretly by night or in storms, thus
escaping the attention of the police,
and selling the goods to dishonest
merchants at a price by which all
parties were enabled to make a fine
profit. Luke knew that smuggling
was a great crime, and he did not fail
to express this opinion of it. But
this evening his prospects seemed to
be especially gloomy, and he was will-
ing to do almost anything sooner


than endure the poverty which he and
his family were then suffering.
"Horrible weather this evening,"
said smuggler George, as he placed
his bundle of ten cigar-boxes on the
bench by the door and brushed the
snow from his long whiskers and locks.
"The snow and wind scarcely let a fel-
low open his eyes!"
"I have just been in the storm,"
Luke gloomily replied.
"Indeed! you have been making a,
bad bargain again, have you? You
will never make any money, Luke, as
long as you carry on business in this
slow way. You and your wife and
your little child will starve to death
if you do not do better than this.
Come, take a drink." With that,
George reached out his brandy-flask
to Luke, and Luke took at least a
half a glass of strong brandy.
"See here, Luke, I have brought


something for your wife," continued
George. "Here are stockings and
caps, and several suits of clothing for
your little child. There is nothing
better of the kind in all Bohemia.
See here, Luke, let me tell you some-
thing. I have never wanted money
in my life. Wouldn't you "like to go
with me to-night? Splendid weather
for such business as I carry on!"
Luke began to think the matter
over, and becoming excited by the
brandy and thinking it a very easy
thing to make money in this way, he
accepted George's proposition, and im-
mediately began to get ready to go
out with him. No sooner did Luke's
wife first hear her brother George
make the proposition to her husband
to go out smuggling that night than
her eyes filled with tears. She was a
good woman, and saw not only the
danger, but the wickedness, of such an


act, even though her husband should
not engage in it.
"Come here, Luke," she said, "and
look at our dear little child in the
cradle. How would you like that
child to say, if God will spare him to
become a man, that his father was a
smuggler? A smuggler, Luke, is a
thief, for he steals the money that be-
longs to his country. If you engage
in this business with my wicked
brother George, and make millions
of dollars, it will never do us any
good. We shall never enjoy a cent
of it, for it will only be the fruit of
But there was no doing anything
more with Luke, for he was resolved
to go with George. All his wife's
good advice, and the tears that
streamed from her eyes, and* their
innocent little child in the cradle, had
no effect upon him. Luke kissed his


wife and child, and he and his brother-
in-law were soon out of the house in
the storm.
They had not been out over twenty
minutes when a shot was heard.
Luke's wife heard the sound, and
said: "There, now! He has died, I
fear, already, because of his wicked-
A short time after this the wounded
man was brought into the cottage,
though it did not prove to be either
George or Luke, but one of the officers
who were that night suspecting some
foul play, and were on the lookout for
smugglers. The man looked around
him as he lay there on Luke's own
bed, and said: "This night-smug-
glers carrying tobacco-across borders
-George is among them-some one
else-I believe it was-but I cannot
say any more-Lord help my poor
wife-my children-now I die!" He


could not speak any longer, closed his
eyes, and thus he died.
This was a fearful moment in the
life of Luke's poor wife. At first, she
had been afraid that the wounded man
was her husband, and now her fear
was that her husband had killed him.
The men who had brought in their
wounded associate, and stood before
him as he died, declared that they
would avenge his death. "G-eorge,"
they said, that dangerous man, shall
never trouble us again."
Then the officers hastened out of the
cottage into the storm, though they
left the body of their companion in
Luke's house. Luke's poor wife was
now alone-alone with the corpse of
the man whom her brother or her
husband had murdered. The storm
raged out of doors as violently as
ever, but it had no effect in keeping
Luke's wife at home, for she had re-

solved to go immediately to the spot
where she knew that George and Luke
had declared that they were going to
be to warn them of their danger, as
she heard the officers say they were
going to the very place. She thought
that she knew a shorter way than they
did, and, besides, the officers might
stop somewhere on the way. She was
determined to get ahead of them if
possible; and seizing her little child in
her arms and tying it around her
with a shawl, she went out in that
furious storm to warn her brother and
her husband of their danger.
She was pelted by the snow and
hail for three, long hours, when she
was doing the best she could to save
her husband and brother from the
hands of the law. Sometimes her
little child cried, but she did her best
to quiet him, and hastened on as fast
as she could. A woman of less per-


severance could not have .passed
through what she did; but these two
men were very dear to her, and she
wanted to save them from a felon's
grave if she could, though she knew
that they richly deserved it. She
finally came to the little hut, which
contained but a single room, and
knocked at the door. It was about
three o'clock in. the morning, and she
saw no light inside of it. She knocked
again, when some one said: "Who's
there?" She recognized it as George's
"Luke, I am here-your wife!"
As soon as the door was opened,
she sank nearly senseless at the feet
of her husband, with her child in her
"What on earth are you doing
here?" exclaimed Luke. "What
would you have me do? It is now
getting to be morning, and here you


have come all the way in the storm
with the child."
Though she was almost out of
breath and out of mind, she related
to the two smugglers the reason why
she had come there at that unexpected
time. "I fear," said she, "you are
lost, for the whole forest is now filling
with officers in search of you. One
of you killed a man, and officers
brought him into our house, where he
died soon after he was laid upon the
bed. I then heard them say that they
were going to this very place, where I
knew you were to be, and for that
reason I have come through the storm
to warn you that you may expect the
officers if you stay here."
"Thank you for your goodness," he
exclaimed; when George immediately
arose from the corner where he was
-1.-.l.in.g, got ready his gun and the
smu-.- l.- silk articles that he had in


a bundle near by him, and the two
men made immediate preparations to
leave. But before leaving, Luke's
wife made one more effort to persuade
her husband to forsake that wicked
life in which he had just engaged for
the first time.
"But," said he, in reply, "it will
bring us money, and that is what we
are needing."
"A poor argument," she replied.
"It is a disgrace to have such money,
for it is that which robbery and mur-
der bring. Luke, you may get all the
money in this way that you can, but I
will never use it, and God will visit
his judgment upon us for your crime."
Luke's wife started home again
with her child after she had eaten a
little lunch, and Luke went with her.
George was the one who had fired the
gun and killed the officer, and he knew
very well now that if he was caught


he would have to suffer for his crime.
There was more hope for Luke, as he
had never engaged in smuggling be-
fore, and he was known as a quiet,
honest weaver.
Many months passed by, when a
scene of remarkable interest was pre-
sented in the court-room of Vienna.
George, the smuggler, was on trial for
his life. The result was, that he was
convicted and hung for killing an offi-
cer of the government. Luke was one
of the witnesses of the trial, when it
came out that he was a companion of
George at the time the wicked deed
was done. So Luke was sent to the
penitentiary for three years, during
which time his wife suffered pain of
mind and body beyond my power to
describe. Strange to say, on the day
when Luke's term of imprisonment
expired and he returned to his home,
he found his little child lying dead.


His grief knew no bounds, and when
his wife, who still loved him as dearly
as ever, though she had disapproved
of his crime, told him that their dear
boy had died of consumption which
was first caused by that night of ex-
posure to the storm, his grief was
ten-fold greater. He kissed his little
boy, for he loved him as his own life.
But his love could not bring him back
again. Luke sat down beside him,
leaned his head upon his hands and
wept; and in the agony of his grief
he said: "Thus it is that a man must
suffer for a single crime! But God
is just, and I cannot utter a word of


" EAN on me, mother dear."
1u "You are not strong enough to
bear me, Ernest."

"Yes, I am, mother; and if I were
a man, I would carry you instead of
letting you walk."
"It will do me good to walk, thank
you, my boy."
Well, lean as heavily on my
shoulders as you can. I shall be glad
when I am tall enough for you to take
my arm;" and Ernest straightened
himself proudly, and looked as much
like a man as he possibly could.
Mrs. Fletcher had been ill. For
several weeks she had not left her bed,
and the house had to be kept quite
still for fear of her being disturbed.
The doctor came to see her every day,
and for a long time he always went
away with a very grave face, for she
seemed to get worse instead of better.
But at length, when Ernest had feared
and prayed and waited for a long time,
a change took place, and the doctor's
face looked brighter, and he told the

S ---- i .


,' I 'I
N--- i_;s UIUIIIIIIb


nurse that he thought Mrs. Fletcher
would recover now if great care were
taken. She soon told Ernest, for she
knew that he loved his mother, and
he was so glad and thankful that he
could not say so often enough.
Mrs. Fletcher had no daughters,
and only one son. It would have
been very sad indeed if he had been
a bad boy. But he was too fond of
his mother for that; he loved her so
well that for her sake he tried to do
the right always; and though that was
not the best motive he could have had,
it was one which all boys should feel.
Ernest waited upon his mother as
quietly and tenderly as a girl could
have done it. He brought her fresh
spring flowers, primroses and violets,
and everything he could find. With
his own pocket-money he bought her
some oranges and grapes, and any
nice thing which he fancied she would

like. As soon as she was well enough
to listen he bought a book and sat by
her bed-side reading it to her; and
when she was tired he sat quite still,
and did not disturb her. When he
had learned any fresh pieces to sing
he sang to his mother; and if any-
thing happened that he thought she
would like to hear, he always told her.
The boys wondered that Ernest did
not come out to play more frequently,
but he was quite happy to stay with
his mother.
"You are the best mother in all the
world," he said, "and I would rather
not leave you."
But the very happiest time was
when Mrs. Fletcher was well enough
to take a short walk. As she was
still very feeble and weak, she asked
Ernest to go with her, and it was then
that he said, "Lean on me, mother."
They did not walk far, but Ernest


thought a good deal. It was so nice
to feel his dear mother leaning upon
him that he thanked God who had
spared her, and he made a resolution
which he intended to keep. It was
that, whatever else he failed in-and
he would do his best in all respects-
he would never be any other than
kind and loving to his mother.
She noticed how quiet he was, and
spoke to him presently :
"What are you thinking of, Er-
"I am thinking that I should like
to be mother's staff as long as I live,"
he said.
"If you remain as you are now,
my son, I think you will be," said his
mother. "I hope that God will spare
you to become a good man, and to
live an upright life, so that your
mother may never have to weep over
your wrong-doing."


I hope so too, mother," said Ernest,
This was when he was about ten
years old.
When he was twelve his father
died. It is a sad thing to lose one's
father, and Ernest felt it so. But I
think it is sadder still for some boys
when the mother dies. Ernest had
his mother left, and as he stood by
his father's grave, he thanked God for
"Dear mother! she has only me left
now," he said to himself. "I will be
all I can to her. I will try to make
up as much as possible for my father's
When he went home he found his
mother on the sofa weeping bitterly.
Ernest went to her and put his
arms around her, and lifted her head
on his shoulder.
"Dear mother, don't cry," he said.


"Lean on me. I will try to be a good
son to you always."
And his words comforted his mother
and made her sorrow the easier to bear.
Besides, he kept his word. He took
his mother out when she wished to
go; he stayed at home with her when
she preferred doing so. He saved her
as many steps as he could; he almost
knew what she wanted before she
asked for it because he watched her
so anxiously.
She used to say sometimes, Oh,
Ernest, I do not know what I should
do without my son."
When he was fourteen years old
another trouble happened to his
mother. Nearly all the money that
she had, was lost. She had given it
to some one to take care of for her,
and through some carelessness the
money was wasted. She was very
much distressed about it.


"I do not know what is to become
of us; the money that is left is not
enough to keep us, and I cannot see
what we are to do."
And again Ernest said, "Lean on
me, mother dear."
He left school directly, though he
had hoped to stay several years
longer, and then go to college.
That idea, however, was given up
at once, and Ernest tried to get a
situation. His teachers all recom-
mended him, and Ernest had so many
friends to speak good words for him
that he had no difficulty. He became
a clerk in an office. At first, of course,
he did not receive much money, but
only a fortnight passed before the
gentleman who employed him said,
"He is so diligent and clever that he
can do a man's work, and therefore
he shall receive a man's salary."
Think of that! He was able to


provide his mother with the comforts
which she had been used to, and even
more. God prospered Ernest Fletcher
because he feared him and always put
his mother first. Once he had a large
sum of money offered him if he would
go abroad. He thought he would very
well like to do so; but his mother said
she did not wish him to go, and Ernest
gave it up directly. But he lost noth-
ing by it. Whatever he did was suc-
cessful, and even when he was quite a
young man he was able to buy a car-
riage for his mother to ride in. He
was a very good man, and when his
mother grew quite old, she died bless-
ing him. As for Ernest, he lived a
great many years, and won the re-
spect and love of all who knew him.
Do you know why? There was one
commandment which he never forgot:
"Honor thy father and thy mother,
that thy days may be long in the


land which the Lord thy God giveth


A LITTLE over a century ago,
when that part of the country
now known as the State of Maine was
almost a wilderness, two little boys,
aged eleven and nine years, might
have been seen at the close of a long
summer's day slowly wending their
way through a dense forest of that
The State then formed a part of
Massachusetts, and was called the
District of Maine. Indians were
very plenty in the District in those
days, and each settlement was sup-
plied with a rude fort or block-house,


in which the settlers could protect
their families from their red foe.
The little boys above mentioned
were going to the adjoining settlement,
which was situated beyond a thick
growth of timber, and at quite a dis-
tance from their home, in quest of a
doctor. Their father had been absent
from home several days on a hunting
excursion with others from the settle-
ment, and they were left with their
mother and younger brother on their
farm at some distance from the block-
house. Before going, their father told
them that if any of them-were sick, or
the Indians were found to be in the
vicinity, to hasten immediately to the
block-house for aid, or seek it as a
temporary home. A short time after
their father's departure, their little
brother Willie was taken dangerously
ill, and no medicine which their mother
then had in the house would in the least
7 -


allay the ravages of the disease. At
the close of the third day, having lost
all hope of his surviving unless the
aid of a physician was procured, Mrs.
Sawyer (for such we will call their
mother), there being no physician at
the nearest settlement, determined to
send her two sons., Henry and Charles,
to the one beyond the timber for the
required aid. After partaking of
their supper of bread and milk, they
set out accompanied by their faithful
dog, Bunce. Mrs. Sawyer hesitated
somewhat in her resolve when she
saw them depart, but the thought that
by their going her darling boy might
be relieved stilled the remonstrance
that was being framed upon her lips.
She watched them from the open win-
dow till they disappeared in the forest;
then with a heart heavy with gloomy
forebodings, she returned to the bed-
side of her sick child.


And here it is in the forest we find
the boys at the commencement of our
story. Darkness came down upon
them before they had completed half
the distance, but still they pushed
manfully on, not once stopping to
rest, although they were very tired.
Several times they wandered from the
path, but under the guidance of faith-
ful Bunce they were enabled to re-
gain it. Some time after they passed
the half-way elm, they espied a light
through the trees, and hearing voices,
they thought some settlers were near,
arranging traps for wild beasts, and
they hastened on as fast as their feet
would carry them. The noise they
made in going through the brush and
trees attracted the attention of the
supposed settlers, and very soon they
saw the light approaching them, which
wavered and flickered as if it were
carried in the hand of a person. The


boys shouted, and, to their astonish-
ment, were answered by Indian voices.
They were gazing about in the dark-
ness in search of some place of con-
cealment, when the moon suddenly
burst through the clouds and revealed
to them two Indians within a short
distance of them. As they were ob-
served by the Indians it was of no
use to try to escape, for escape was
impossible. The Indians came up,
and taking each of them by the
shoulder, jabbered something in their
Indian tongue, and then led them
away in the direction from which
they came. They had gone about
five miles, sometimes walking and
sometimes riding on the backs of the
Indians, when they came to a large
rock. Behind this they were taken
and placed in the midst of a circle of
Indian warriors. The Indians were
surprised to see two white boys among


them, but the Indians who captured
the boys explained to them how they
came in their possession, which ap-
peared to satisfy the warriors, for
they returned immediately to the con-
versation in which they had been en-
gaged. This tribe was one for a long
time hostile to the English, and its
members would seek every opportu-
nity of wreaking vengeance upon the
unsuspecting settlers. Many ques-
tions were asked the boys, most of
which concerned the little settlement
of Yarmouth. They answered these
as well as they could, and to the sat-
isfaction of their interrogators. From
the broken English and gestures of
those engaged in the conversation, the
boys soon found that an attack was to
be made that night upon the settle-
ment of Yarmouth. They well knew
that if the Indians were successful in
surprising the settlers, not one would


escape death. At about twelve o'clock
all the Indians but one left their camp
to make the proposed attack upon the
settlement. The Indian that remained
to watch over the boys soon began to
grow sleepy, and, thinking the boys
would not attempt to escape even if
their hands and feet were not secured,
laid himself down to sleep with only
one arm over each of them. He was
soon fast asleep. The boys were any-
thing but sleepy. The thought of the
fate of the settlers and their own sit-
uation drove sleep from their eyelids.
An idea occurred to Charlie, and he
whispered to Henry, "Oh, Harry, we
have not said our prayers to-night.
Perhaps if we pray to our Father in
heaven, he will send some one to take
us home; for you know mother says
God always answers prayer." With
this they disengaged themselves from
the arms of the sleeping Indian, and


knelt down upon the ground. In
their childish language they asked
God that he would send some one to
take them home in safety, that their
little brother might recover, and that
the settlers so soon to be attacked
might be warned of their danger.
Satisfied that God would answer their
prayer, they lay quietly down by the
side of their sleeping guard. The)"
were both falling asleep, when Henry
was suddenly roused by something
cold being pressed against his cheek.
He started up much frightened, but
to his great joy found it to be Bunco,
whom they had not once thought of
since their capture. He immediately
awoke his brother, being very careful
not to rouse the Indian. From the
appearance of Bunce they soon found
that he wished them to follow him
-into the forest. He would plunge
into the forest, remain a few moments


and then return, and endeavor to pull
the boys in that direction by their
clothes. They at last got up and pre-
pared to follow. Before going they
seized the gun of the Indian to use in
case they were pursued, as they were
well used to handling firearms.
The moon shone brightly, and,
guided by Bunce, they were enabled
to walk quite rapidly. Three or four
miles had been passed and still they
pressed on, the fear of the Indians
strengthening their fast-failing limbs.
They soon after gained the top of a
slight eminence, when, looking down
into a small clearing in the valley
below, they saw a smouldering fire and
persons in a reclining position clus-
tered around it. They approached
this camp cautiously, not knowing
whether it contained enemies or
friends. They had got within a few
yards when Henry espied something


white lying upon a log. They went
up to it, thinking that perhaps it
might be something by which they
could tell whether those by the fire
were Indians or white persons. It
proved to be a straw hat, and to their
joy they discovered, after a close in-
spection, that it was their father's.
They then knew that one of those by
the fire must be their father. They
hastened to the camp, and were soon
in the arms of that dear parent.
They told the settlers of their capture
and escape, and of the attack to be
made upon the settlement.
A part of the settlers started with-
out delay to the assistance of the set-
tlement. They arrived soon after the
arrival of the Indians, and helped to
repulse them. The rest of the set-
tlers, including Mr. Sawyer and the
boys, set out for Mr. Sawyer's clear-
ing. When they arrived they found


Willie much better, the time he began
to amend being about the time the
boys were engaged in prayer. In
this single instance we see the efficacy
of prayer illustrated.
"Ask and ye shall receive" is the
pleasing invitation to all to come to
God and ask in the name of Christ
for all needed benefits. Though you,
my young readers, may never have
occasion to ask God to send the
ravens to you with food, or some one
to guide you out of a solitary forest,
yet if you ask him in sincerity of
heart for anything you need, he will
surely answer your prayer, for in the
Holy Book we find that those who
seek shall find, and to those who
knock it shall be opened unto them.



( NE who lives in a beautiful section
of the country has an opportunity
to see the flowers bloom and the trees
bear red and yellow fruit. The birds
never grow tired of singing, and the
bees and butterflies play all through
the summer days.
Little Edward, the boy whom I am
going to tell you about, did not enjoy
such beautiful things as these. He
lived with his father out in the sea-
in the lighthouse, which was so far
from the land that the shore could be
seen by them only in the distance.
Sometimes it was calm around the
lighthouse, and sometimes the waves
beat very heavy against it. But the
view was very monotonous-water,
water, always water.


The lighthouse stood upon a rock
that arose out of the sea, and every
night the big lamp burned at its very
top, in order that the vessels sailing
in that part of the sea might be di-
rected in the right way, instead of be-
ing cast upon the dangerous shore in
the darkness.
A dark stone staircase led to the
top of the lighthouse, where the lamp
burned, and away up there was a little
room in which Edward lived with his
His father was old and weak, and
because he was compelled to stay up
all night and watch the lamp, he
usually slept through the day.
When Edward sat in the little room
and thought of the pleasures that
other boys had, he formed a resolu-
tion in his own mind that he would
become a useful man in the world,
and do as much good as he could for

s~ 27


~' '''r~


University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs