Front Cover
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Prying Polly
 The true coward
 Jessie’s holiday
 Sulky Susie
 Winnie’s revenge
 The fisherman’s daughter
 Fred’s temptation
 How Martha paid the rent
 Elsie’s half-crown
 Back Cover

Group Title: Prying Polly : and other tales for boys and girls
Title: Prying Polly
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00066159/00001
 Material Information
Title: Prying Polly and other tales for boys and girls
Physical Description: 96 p. : col. ill. ; 16 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Religious Tract Society (Great Britain) ( Publisher )
Unwin Brothers (Firm) ( Printer )
St. Martha Printing Works ( Printer )
Publisher: Religious Tract Society
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: Unwin Brothers ; St. Martha Printing Works
Publication Date: [1872]
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1872   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1872
Genre: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
England -- Chilworth
Statement of Responsibility: by Mary-Emily.
General Note: Frontispiece printed in colors.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00066159
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 - 002227819
notis - ALG8121
oclc - 60400371

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Title Page
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Table of Contents
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Prying Polly
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
    The true coward
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    Jessie’s holiday
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    Sulky Susie
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
    Winnie’s revenge
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    The fisherman’s daughter
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
    Fred’s temptation
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
    How Martha paid the rent
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    Elsie’s half-crown
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

i 1.i ,1 ,









I. PRYING POLLY ... ... ... ... .. 5
II. THE TRUE COWARD ... ... ... ... 20
III. JESSIE'S HOLIDAY ... ......... 32
IV. SULKY SUSIE ... ............. 40
V. WINNIE'S REVENGE... ... ... ... 49
VII. FRED'S TEMPTATION...... ...... 70
IX. ELSIE'S HALF-CROWN .. ... ... 88


H . will you please to take
C. h :R :!-e of the key of my room
ej thi i afternoon? I dare not
leave it in the door while that child is
at home, or some of my things will
suffer, I am quite sure!" So said
George Dutton, as he entered the par-
lour where his mother was sitting, and
threw down on the table before her a
large key.
Mrs. Dutton looked up, but smiled
sadly, as she replied, "It is wise,
doubtless, as far as possible, to keep
temptation from those who have not yet
acquired strength to resist it; and such


it seems is your little sister's case. I
will see that your key is safe. Look, I
will put it here, and Polly will not know
anything about it, and so will have no
inclination to pry."
So saying, Mrs. Dutton lifted the lid
of a large covered basket standing on
the table, and there placed the key;
while George, satisfied that his room
and its contents were safe, gave his
mother a good-bye kiss, and went off to
join a boating excursion.
But where was Polly all this time ?
Ah you may well ask. Polly, from
the nursery, had seen her brother enter
the parlour, and had noticed how care-
fully he shut the door; her curiosity
was at once aroused, and she determined
to hear what George and her mother
could have to talk about. So, stealing
on tiptoe into the passage, she placed
her ear close to the door, and listened to
all that passed. Disgraceful conduct !
When she heard Mrs. Dutton saying, I


will put it here, and Polly will never
know anything about it," the naughty
little eavesdropper eagerly strove to
glance through the key-hole, so as to
note, if possible, where the coveted
treasure was hidden; but the door key
filled up the lock, and she could see
nothing. Thus disappointed, she was
obliged to content herself with what she
had heard, and with the resolution that
she would find George's key somehow
before the day was out.
It may be a matter of wonder that
George was so anxious to have his room
safely locked up, and that Polly was so
equally concerned to enter upon its for-
bidden pleasures.
George Dutton, since the commence-
ment of his long summer holidays, had
been studying Natural History, and had
become much interested in what he had
read of the instincts and habits of beasts
and birds, fishes and insects; and being
wishful to acquire a fuller knowledge of


their nature and character, he had taken
great pains to fit up a small room which
his mother had spared him for the pur-
pose. This place he took untiring care to
render suitable for the well-being and
comfort of such living studies of Natural
History as he could get together; and
many an hour was spent by George in
the construction of ingenious and com-
modious abodes for the various tenants
of his little menagerie.
True, the number of his pets was
nothing to the number of his wishes ;
but his supply of pocket-money was
limited, and had it not been for the
kindness of neighbours, who often sent
in from orchard or kitchen garden, stores
of provision for the support of the varied
live-stock under George's care, the poor
little creatures would have suffered
from famine.
As it was, however, they were happy
and contented, learning by degrees to
know and love the hand that fed them,


and becoming objects of interest to
many of George's own friends, as well
as to our prying little Polly. But it
must not be supposed from all this that
Polly had so very rarely been suffered
to enter George's den, as it was usually
called. It was only that her curiosity
and love of meddling were so strong, that
she could not be trusted there by herself.
At one time Polly's visits had been
very frequent, owing to continued obedi-
ence on her part ; but of late these treats
had been few and far between, for she
had been naughty and troublesome, and
more inquisitive than ever, her curiosity
not being diminished by the suspicion
that George had, within the last few
days, been adding some new specimen
to his little list of live creatures. No
wonder, then, that when the child slipped
slily back to the nursery from her station
at the parlour door, her mind was fully
bent upon an enterprise of discovery.
Polly no sooner heard George's re-


treating step on the gravel walk of the
garden that fronted the house, than she
began to consider as to the best way of
finding the key. She came at length
to the conclusion that the hour usually
spent by her mother in an afternoon
nap must be the time for discovering
the key, and for making use of it.
This chance came at last. Scarcely
had Mrs. Dutton gone upstairs to rest,
before the door was pushed softly open,
and Polly glided into the room, and
commenced her hunt for the key. In
every nook and corner of the parlour
she looked, but in vain; yet still she
pursued her search. At last she ap-
proached the table and peeped into the
basket-there lay the key, the Open
Sesame to all the delights of George's
room. Suppressing the cry of joy which
rose to her lips, she grasped the treasure,
and with nimble, though noiseless feet,
fled up the stairs to her brother's room.
At his door she paused for a moment,


then she fitted the key to the lock, gave
it one turn, and there before her was the
bedroom, and just beyond it the goal of
her childish ambition. In she stole
with beating heart, and closing behind
her the door between the rooms, found
herself alone, for the first time, with
George's pets.
For a few minutes she contented her-
self with merely looking around her; the
place was greatly changed since she
had last seen it. In one corner of the
room stood a little aviary, or cage of
birds; whilst opposite, upon a perch
which George had made, sat a fine
paroquet, the gift of a sailor friend. In
another cage, placed upon a box, a whole
family of white mice had their home,
and they rushed to the bars, thrusting
their little pink noses between, and seek-
ing no doubt, to discover who the in-
truder might be. A tiny globe of gold
and silver fish stood on a round table in
the window, while beneath it, bounding


about in his whirligig, a squirrel might
be seen. There was a third cage
occupied by a pair of rabbits; these
were enjoying a good meal of cabbage
leaves and turnip-tops, and did not seem
at all alarmed when Polly approached.
But'all these creatures the child had
seen before, and of them she took but
little notice; her gaze was soon rivet-
ed upon another corner of the room.
There, in a large box, the front of which
had been replaced by rude bars, sat the
drollest little monkey that ever crack-
ed a nut. With the utmost wonder
and delight, Polly stood before the box,
admiring the tiny creature's bright in-
telligent eyes and curious antics, then,
growing bolder, she drew nearer, and
even dared to touch the monkey's out-
stretched hand with her own. Sud-
denly, the longing took possession of
her to have the animal in her arms
for just a moment; he was no bigger
than a small doll, and looked quite as


harmless. No sooner thought than
Shaking each bar of the cage in turn,
she at last discovered one that was loose,
and succeeded in twisting it out of its
But the monkey, seeing his prison
door open, had no intention whatever of
waiting to be taken out; with one nimble
bound he escaped the hands which were
closing upon him, and went springing
about the room, over and under every
place, and eluding all Polly's earnest
efforts to secure him.
The time passed, and still the chase
was fruitless; and now Polly began
sincerely to repent having found her
way into George's room; she feared
lest he should return, or lest her mother
should come to seek her, and, once
more, she commenced her pursuit of the
monkey. At length, much to her de-
light, he settled upon the large cage of
birds, and Polly was about to seize him,


when she fancied she heard a step upon
the stairs. In a moment all was for-
gotten except the shame of being dis-
covered there; and she fled from the
spot, through George's bedroom, and
down the staircase. Just outside the
parlour door she met her mother, who
"Where can you have been all this
time, Polly ? I have had my nap, and
been sewing for half-an-hour beside."
Polly hung her head, and did not
answer for a moment, then she muttered
a few words about having been playing
in the garden. Thus one fault leads to
another. Polly was first inquisitive,
then deceitful, and now her deceit had
formed itself into a lie.
The child was very unhappy as she
followed her mother into the parlour;
she was miserable at the escape of the
monkey from his cage, miserable in the
consciousness of her own wrong-
doing, and miserable again while re-


membering that in her fright she had
omitted to shut the door of George's
room, and had never thought of re-
turning the stolen key to its former
She would have run upstairs now to
obtain it, but Mrs. Dutton put some
work into her hand, and told her to sit
down and do it, and Polly dared not
disobey. So there she remained, with
her flushed face bending over her sewing;
her mind painfully busy with the events
of the afternoon, and with the constant
fear of George's return. At last came
his well-known knock, and in he bounded
with glowing accounts of his enjoyment
with his companions on the river. He
sat down for a few minutes while he
gave a full description of all that had
occurred; then he rose, and, approach-
ing the table, said, "Mother, you had
better give me back my key now, for it
is quite time to feed the pets before
they go to rest."


Mrs. Dutton paused in her work, and
replied, Yes, you can take it; it is in
that covered basket, where you saw me
put it." George opened the basket and
looked in.
"Have you taken it away, mother,
for it certainly is not here ? said he;
and lifting up the basket, he turned
out its contents upon the table. A ball of
yarn, a pair of scissors, a half-made stock-
ing, and some knitting-needles-thatwas
all. Mrs. Dutton, in great surprise, rose
to seek the key, and Polly, now almost
crying with misery, looked on in silence.
George left his mother to search down-
stairs, and ran up to his room to see if
he could find out anything there which
might lead to the discovery of the lost
In a moment or two, however, he
burst into the parlour again, crying,
"Oh! mother, only think; my door
was wide open, and as 1 went in, out
rushed the cat. I knew, from the look


of her, that she had been up to some
mischief, and true enough, when I
looked round, there was more than I
could have imagined. My poor paro-
quet was hanging from his perch by the
chain round his leg, but he was quite
dead. My aviary was knocked down
and broken, and some of the birds were
flying wildly about, while others lay
wounded or killed by the cat's claws and
teeth; but, mother, this is not all, when
I looked round for my little monkey, I
found the cage empty, and so the
prettiest and newest of my pets is
Poor George, overwhelmed by grief
at the loss and destruction of the
creatures which he had loved so much,
and tended so carefully, and worked for
so busily, threw himself into a chair,
and covering his face with his hands,
burst into tears.
SPolly did not remember ever having
seen her brother cry before; and now, as


she thought of all the unhappiness she
had been the means of causing him,
she felt she could hide her fault no
longer; with a sob that seemed like an
echo of his own, she sprang to his side,
and throwing her little arms round
his neck, she told him all the truth,
while George, from sheer surprise, dried
his eyes to listen.
The kind-hearted boy, seeing Polly's
great distress, forgave her readily, and
then, hand in hand, they went upstairs
to see how far the evils there might
be remedied. Polly's tears burst forth
afresh when she saw the dead paroquet,
and the poor little birds, once so happy in
their aviary; but her sobs ceased, when,
on going to the window, what should
she see, sitting composedly upon the
branch of a tall tree in the garden, but
her little friend the monkey. George,
with the help of the gardener, managed
with some difficulty to secure him;
and from his great agility, they con-


clouded that he had escaped from the
room by means of the trailing creepers
which covered the wall on that side of
the house.
We are happy to say that Polly
profited by the severe trial which she
had brought upon herself. From that
day forward she was truly penitent, and
began really to struggle against her be-
setting sin, asking for help from God,
and praying that He would, for Jesus
Christ's sake, give her His Holy Spirit,
through whom she might overcome all
evil. The lesson she had learned, and
the trouble caused to others by her mis-
conduct, were never forgotten; and now
she has grown up to be a good and use-
ful woman, and if you could see her,
you would find it hard to believe that
she ever was a naughty, tiresome little
girl, or at any time went by the dis-
agreeable name of "Prying Polly."


Do not care what you say,
Dallas, nothing will ever change
my opinion of Arthur Howard.
He is a regular coward; a boy who won't
fight is no better than a girl, and is only
fit to stay at home and rock the baby."
The speaker was a manly-looking
youth about fourteen years of age.
Arm-in-arm with his friend and class-
mate, Robert Dallas, he was walking
up and down under the trees in the
play-ground, while at a little distance
from them, in the open space which
directly fronted the school-house, a
game of cricket was going on, joined
in or watched by a number of boys
belonging to Dr. Beta's academy.


There was a short pause before Robert
made any reply, then he said, thought-
fully, I can't feel so sure that he is
a coward, Phil; I have seen him do
things that a coward would hardly dare
to venture upon; and as for being a
spy, I don't believe he has ever been
caught tell-taleing yet "
"Well," rejoined Phil, positively,
" my opinion is, that when a boy won't
fight when he is challenged, it is be-
cause he dare not; and a boy who dare
not is a coward, and that is all I have
to say upon the subject."
"Hush! hush exclaimed Robert,
"there he is, and I do believe he has
heard what you said; just look at his
Phil looked up; there, close by them
as they passed, stood Arthur Howard
leaning against a tree, and holding a
book in his hand. There was a slight
flush in his usually pale cheeks, as his
dark eyes met those of Phil; and


though there was no anger in their
steady gaze, there was a look of pain,
which touched the tender heart of
Robert Dallas, and was not without
its effect upon Phil himself. There was
no time, however, for further remark,
for at that moment the heavy clanging
of the great school-bell put an end to the
hour of recreation, and recalled the boys
to their afternoon studies.
One morning, some days after the
conversation just recorded, Dr. Beta
was called away from the school-
room by some unexpected summons,
and as Mr. Blagden, the sub-master,
was ill in bed, the boys were for a short
time left entirely to themselves. The
worthy Doctor's departure was the
signal for a general cessation of tasks,
and for consequent confusion among
the younger boys. Even some of the
elder ones, of whom was our friend
Phil Freeman, partook of the growing


Here's a glorious chance for fun "
shouted Phil, springing to his feet upon
a form, and waving his handkerchief
like a flag over his head. What
shall we do till old Beta comes back? "
Twenty voices in reply proposed dif-
ferent amusements, all more or less
wrong under the circumstances; but
these suggestions were overruled and
put aside when Phil, now fairly worked
up, and careless of consequences, raised
his voice high above the Babel beneath
him, and said-
"You know how often, boys, we've
wanted to know what the old Doctor
keeps in that great desk of his. I see
the key has been left in; now I propose
that we carry the war into the enemy's
country, steal the ruler which he uses
to rap our knuckles, and read his letters
aloud for the benefit of the community.
Those who are in favour of my plan,
hold up their hands! "
A perfect forest of hands appeared as


by magic, and Phil Freeman, leaping off
the form, was approaching the Doctor's
desk, followed by a troop of boys, when
they were arrested by the clear ringing
tones of a voice from the opposite end
of the room. Phil turned his flashing
eyes in the direction of the speaker,
who was no other than Arthur Howard.
The boy stood alone, the only one who
remained at his post, but there were no
signs of fear about him, nor did'the tones
tremble in which his words rang out.
"Boys!" cried he, while his grave
face lighted with a sudden enthusiasm,
" I cannot stand by and see you do a
mean thing of this kind. A mere bit
of fun is one affair, but an underhand
proceeding like the plan you propose,
is quite another; take my advice, my
good hoys, and give up the idea."
You're a fine fellow to be preaching
to us, I must say!" shouted Phil,
derisively. Because you are too much
of a coward to help us, you pretend to


stand up for the Doctor; but you need
not trouble yourself; we shall do as we
please, and certainly shall not consult
a coward like you, whose tongue is the
only thing about him that can fight."
So saying, Phil Freeman laid one
hand on the Doctor's table, and looked
contemptuously over his shoulder at
Suddenly a grasp was laid on his
arm, and Bob's voice whispered, "Don't
touch the desk, Howard is quite right;
don't do it, or you'll get into trouble "
Phil turned angrily round. If you
are going to side with that sneak, Bob
Dallas, you and I can be friends no
longer-stand off! I shall do as I
choose." Once more the headstrong
boy bent over the desk, "Here goes
for it, then," cried he, "but, hallo!
what's this ? What has become of the
key?" There was a moment's hush-
a hush of suspense-then Arthur spoke
again, and Phil glancing round, saw


that his antagonist was now close at
his side. "I have got the key," said
Arthur, quietly. I reached over your
shoulder, and took it while you were
talking to Dallas just now; but I give
you my word that I will put it back
again in its right place, if you will
promise me, all of you, not to meddle
with it. I am sorry to have to interfere
in this matter, but I cannot see our
master's desk rifled, and our own re-
putation involved, without an effort to
keep things straight." Again there was
silence-this time one of breathless
expectation-then Phil, almost beside
himself with rage, seized Arthur by the
collar, and dragged him into the centre
of the room. Now," said he, throwing
off his jacket and rolling up his shirt-
sleeves, "either you give up that key,
or you fight for its possession."
"I cannot give up the key, without
the promise for which I asked," replied
Arthur, readjusting his crumpled collar;


" and you know that I never fight; so
you see I cannot accept either of your
Then if you won't fight," cried Phil,
"take that, and that, and that and
clenching his strong, hard fist, he aimed
a shower of blows at Arthur, the last of
which sent him staggering back almost
to the wall. At this moment the door
opened, and the Doctor entered the room.
He stood aghast at the scene which
presented itself. What is all this
about? he demanded, glancing from
Phil with his flushed face, to Arthur,
who was just recovering from the last
terrible blow on his forehead and eyes.
There was no answer to the Doctor's
question. Phil was beginning to look
ashamed and (must it be confessed ?)
a little frightened. Arthur was barely
conscious as yet of the master's pre-
sence; while the other boys were too
much taken by surprise to venture a
word of explanation.


"It is evident that you two young
gentlemen have been fighting," said
Dr. Beta, severely. "And pray what
is this that you have in your hand,
Howard?" continued he, glancing at
the key which Arthur still grasped, half
unconsciously, in his fingers.
The boy's lips moved as if in answer,
yet no sound came from them; he
looked beseechingly at Phil, but Phil
maintained a sullen silence, and the
Doctor went on with increasing severity.
Arthur Howard, I must say I never
expected such conduct of you, who
hitherto have been a well-conducted
youth. Such unseemly quarrelling and
fighting are unworthy of you, in your
position as an elder scholar of this
establishment; and the fact that you
have possessed yourself of the key of
my desk aggravates your offence not a
little, for whatever reasons you may
have taken it; still, as hitherto your
behaviour has been blameless since you


came to this place, I am willing to hear
an account or explanation of the whole
affair, giving you an opportunity of
justifying yourself so far as you may
be able."
Once more Arthur glanced beseech-
ingly at Phil, but the latter did not
look up or seem disposed to confess.
The Doctor spoke again.
Have you anything to say for your-
self, Howard,-any excuse to offer, any
apology to make ? "
There was a moment's silence, then
Arthur said, "No, sir, I have nothing
to say."
"Then go at once to your room,"
replied the master, sternly, "and do
not appear in the school or play-ground
again until I give you permission."
Arthur made a step forward in obe-
dience to the Doctor's command, but the
acute pain, both physical and mental,
from which he had been suffering, over-
came him at this point, and without


a sound or an effort to save himself, he
fell fainting at his master's feet.
Then, as if this were the signal for
the truth to come out, a perfect chorus
of voices filled the room-explanations,
confessions, apologies, poured from the
lips of the numerous offenders; but
even these were hushed once more into
silence, when Phil Freeman, stepping
forward, stooped beside Arthur, and
lifting the boy's head on to his knee,
burst into such sobs as drew tears from
even the Doctor's eyes.
It was all my fault," he cried, as
soon as he could speak; all my fault
from beginning to end. It was I who
wanted to open the desk, I who struck
Arthur because he would not give up
the key, or fight with me. It was I
who called him a coward and a sneak;
and now-oh dear, oh dear! I see who
has been the only coward all the way
When Arthur came to his senses, it


was to find himself the object of more
sympathy and admiration than was
altogether pleasant; and for some time
after, the events of that morning were
discussed and commented upon, while
among all his friends, none were so
warm in their affection and praise as
Phil Freeman, whose frank confession
and sincere repentance had raised him,
too, in the esteem of all who knew him.
We need scarcely add that Phil's
ideas of courage and cowardice under-
went a complete revolution from that
time forward; and in after years he
was often heard to express as his strong
conviction, that boldness in the cause
of right, and fortitude in the endurance
of personal wrong, was a nobler and
higher style of courage than that shown
by the greatest warriors that ever
wielded a sword.


AMMA, I'm very uncomfortable
and sad, in spite of this holiday !
I really don't know what to do.!
I have played with my dolls as long as
I can, and I have built castles, and
houses, and bridges with my bricks, till
I cannot think of anything else to build;
and I have looked over all my picture-
books, and read the stories again and
again, and I am quite tired of amus-
ing myself."
So sighed little Jessie Sinclair; as
she threw herself down on a stool at
her mother's feet, and laid her weary,
discontented face upon that kind
mother's knee.
Mrs. Sinclair put down her work,
and, stroking the child's flushed cheeks


with her soft, cool hand, said gently,
" Did you say, Jessie dear, that you were
quite tired of trying to amuse yourself?"
Yes, mamma," replied Jessie, with-
out lifting her face.
"Well, then," continued Mrs. Sinclair,
" if I were you I should give up trying."
Jessie raised her head in astonish-
ment, and looked wonderingly into her
mother's face. "What do you mean,
mamma ?" said she. "Am I to do no-
thing all day ? "
I did not say so, my child," rejoined
Mrs. Sinclair, smiling at her little
daughter's surprise. There is still an-
other alternative: if you are tired of
amusing yourself, suppose you try the
experiment of seeking to amuse others."
There was a moment's pause, then
Jessie said, "But, mamma, there seems
never to be anything that I can do-
nothing ever comes in my way."
No, dear," replied her mother, and
so long as you sit here and say you know

of no way in which you can serve others,
I cannot expect you to feel at all in
a mood for following my advice. You
are forgetting, Jessie, that God has
given you a head to think, and eyes to
see, and feet to run. He has granted
you not only the faculty to work for
Him, but the power to find out what
that work is; and if you are waiting
until opportunities of doing good present
themselves of their own accord, and say,
' Here we are, Jessie, ready for you to
avail yourself of us !' you will, I fear,
continue to wait."
But, mamma," said Jessie, "there
are so few things that I can do, let me
try ever so hard; it is not as if I could
go to business like papa, or work in the
garden like Peter, or cook the dinner like
Blake, or make my dresses as you do."
Jessie, dear," said her mother, grave-
ly, "when God made the tiny daisy,
did He expect it to grow into a tree and
bear fruit? Ahd when He has made


such a little girl as you are, do you
think He will claim from you such ser-
vice as papa, or Peter, or Blake can
render ? No; He says to the daisy,
'Spring here, meek blossom, in the
green grass; turn your sweet face ever
thus to the sun, and teach lessons of
cheerful humility to all who are willing
to learn.' And it is as if He said to you,
Jessie, It is true you are only a little
girl, but then that is what I made you,
and what I intended you to be; it is a
child's duty for which at present I have
fitted you, and it is such work, and such
only, that I require of you.' Remember,
darling," and Mrs. Sinclair bent over her
child and softly kissed the rosy cheeks,
"no matter how small the service done
for God, if performed in a right spirit, it
is accepted by Him. Now, my love, run
away, and see what you can find to do;
you may, if you wish, come back and
tell me, should you be successful."
Jessie jumped up. "I think I un-


derstand now, mamma," she said, and
with one bound was out of the room,
while the mother raised her heart to
God, praying that her child might learn
in youth the great lessons of unselfish-
ness and self-denial.
It was fully two hours before Jessie re-
turned. A bright, happy, contented
look shone like a sunbeam upon her
face as she entered; all weariness
seemed gone.
Here I am, mamma cried she,
joyously; now let me tell you what I
have been doing."
Mrs. Sinclair expressed her readiness
to hear, and Jessie thus commenced her
little history.
You must know, that I went up-
stairs first, and found that baby was
awake, and nurse was trying to play
with him; but nurse had such a bad
headache that she could hardly do it.
So I remembered what you told me,
and thought to myself, 'Perhaps God


will be pleased if I try to be kind to
nurse.' And I said to her, Nurse, I
want you to put baby down on the floor,
and let me play with him while you go
and rest a little-mamma always tries
to sleep when she has a headache.'
So nurse thanked me, and went to her
room; and dear little baby was very
good, and we played together for a long
time. At last nurse came back, and
said her head was much better; so she
took baby, and I ran downstairs again.
Blake was baking in the kitchen, and
when I went in to see her, she was very
kind, and gave me a cake that she had
just taken out of the oven. I thought
I should like to eat it in the garden, so
I tied on my hat and set off with the
cake in my hand; but just as I was
going to begin to eat it, I saw a poor
boy standing outside the gate. He was
very thin, and had great holes in his shoes,
and his cheeks were pale, and his eyes
were very big, and I thought he seemed


hungry. Well, I looked at him, and
then at my nice hot cake, and then at
him again. I wanted very much to eat
the cake myself, but I knew it would be
kinder to give it away. At last I made
up my mind, and would not look at the
cake again, but walked up to the poor
boy and gave it him over the gate. The
tears came into his great, big eyes, and
he said, 'Thank you, and may God bless
you, little miss, I am very hungry.'
"Then I came into the hall again
and met nurse and baby going out for a
walk, so I thought I would go too. We
started up the green lane and into the
field at the back of the house-there, as
we were going along, we saw an old
woman looking for something in the
grass. Nurse asked her what she had
lost, and she said she had lost a shilling,
the price of some eggs she had sold in
themarket. So I said to her as I passed,
'I am sorry you have lost it, and I hope
you will find it soon;' but when I had


gone by, the thought came into my
mind, perhaps helping this old woman
to find her shilling is one of the little
bits of work God wants me to do to-day.
So I turned back, and looked for it with
all my might, when, all of a sudden,
while I was feeling with my hands in
the grass, I touched something hard,
and there was the shilling 0 mamma,
you should have seen how glad the old
womar was There now, I have told
you all my story, and I am so happy,
that I am going to try always to find
such things to do."
Mrs. Sinclair tenderly kissed the little
girl; and that night, when Jessie knelt
by her bedside, her mother knelt beside
her, and together they asked God for
grace to live ever in His fear and love
and for the good of others; and that she
might become more and more like that
blessed Saviour who "went about doing
good," and who has left us an example
that we should follow his steps."


..'-'. my children, put away
i .r toys, it is just dinner-
tii-ie," said Mrs. Wilson to her
little boy and girl, Fred and Susie, who,
with their toys spread out all over the
floor, had just been spending a delight-
ful long morning in uninterrupted play.
So delightful had it been that they were
by no means willing to leave off, and
the prospect of dinner was scarcely so
welcome as usual. Fred, however, soon
reconciled himself to the impending
necessity, and set about in good earnest
to clear away the confused heap of
bricks, marbles, and toys of every de-
scription, which he and his sister had
been using.


Susie, on the contrary, was so angry
at the cessation of the game, that she
retreated to a corner of the room, and
eyed askance the efforts that her brother
was making to bring something like
order into the place, which their joint
exertions had rendered so untidy.
Presently dinner was brought in, and
they all sat down to table, Susie still
thoroughly out of humour. In silence
she ate the meat that was put upon
her plate, but did not attempt to join in
the conversation, and would not even
reply when Fred asked her a question.
For some time Mr. and Mrs. Wilson
said nothing to her, hoping that pre-
sently she would see how wrong and
foolish it was to behave thus, and would,
of her own accord, correct her evil tem-
per; but at last, seeing that no change
for the better was taking place, Mr.
Wilson turned to her, and said, quietly-
Susie, you are so naughty a child to-
day, that I cannot longer suffer you to sit


at the table ; leave your seat, my dear,
go into the next room, and do not return
until your mamma or I give you leave."
Susie started and looked up; she
had not expected to be sent away in
disgrace, and by no means liked the
idea. Full of conflicting feelings of
anger, of shame, and of rebellious will,
she again hung her head, but did not
move from her seat. Her father, who
had been watching her, spoke again,
gently but firmly, "Susie, obey at
once, get up and do as I told you."
Susie had never before dared to disobey
her father, but to-day she had yielded
to her naughty temper until it had
quite obtained the mastery over her;
and now, instead of promptly doing
as she was bid, she settled herself yet
more firmly in her chair, and looking
defiantly up, while the blood rushed in
a deep flush over her face and neck, she
muttered, "I won't! "
There was a moment's silence, far


more painful to all present than any
words; then Mr. Wilson rose from his
seat, lifted the naughty child from her
chair, and led her into the adjoining
room, where she stood, sullen and ob-
stinate still, though half frightened at
what she had done. The door was
open between the rooms, and she could
distinguish every word that was said;
presently, too, she heard the servant
enter; she knew that she had brought
in the pudding, and Susie began to
regret that she had so misbehaved her-
self as to be obliged to lose what she
liked so much; but this was not the
kind of sorrow to make her try to be
good another time, only a selfish sort
of regret, which left the heart as hard
as ever. Meanwhile the dinner-table
was cleared, and Mr. Wilson returned
thanks, and then Susie heard Fred say,
very softly, "Mamma, may I go to
Susie? I am sure she must be sorry.
Please let me go, mamma." "No, my


love," replied Mrs. Wilson, she must
be left by herself for some time, in
order that she may think over her fault;
it is better that you should not go to
her yet." Fred said no more, but went
quietly away, and sat in a corner of the
room with a book; in about half-an-
hour, however, he returned to his mother
with the same request: Mamma,
may I not go to poor Susie now? I
am sure she is good; she has been
there so long." And Mrs. Wilson, see-
ing the child's real distress, gave him
leave. In a moment the kind-hearted
little boy was at her side, and putting
both arms round her neck, he said,
" Susie, dear, you are good now, are you
not ? Come and tell mamma and papa
you're sorry." But Susie was by no
means melted yet. Satan hadbeenwhis-
pering wicked thoughts into her heart
while she had been there alone, and she
had listened to his voice, and was further
off than ever from being truly repentant.


"Get away, Fred," she muttered
peevishly, pushing her brother im-
patiently from her; you know you
don't care a bit that I am punished, so
long as you are not. Get away, I don't
want you here."
But Fred was not so easily repulsed;
he approached again, saying earnestly,
" Indeed, indeed, dear Susie, I am very
sorry; I haven't been happy at all since
papa brought you in here, and I am
just as miserable now. Do try and be
good, sister dear, and he will let you
come out-let me tell him you are
sorry." And once more the affectionate
child threw his arms round Susie's neck,
almost crying with eager sympathy.
But Susie's temper, indulged to the
utmost, and now beyond her control,
became suddenly desperate. With a
force which rage alone could have given
her, she pushed her brother away, and
he, taken completely by surprise, and
frightened at her angry face, fell back,


and came heavily to the floor, striking
his head violently against the leg of a
table near.
For an instant Susie stood motion-
less, expecting to see him rise, and
never dreaming that he was much hurt;
but when she saw him lying as still as
if dead, she forgot all her passion in
horror and remorse, and, throwing her-
self on her knees by his side, she cried,
" 0 Fred, Fred, my darling brother,
what have I done? Oh what have
I done to you?" Ah! whatindeed. Dear
readers, we little know the harm that
our passions may do when we permit
them to run away with us; and this
poor Susie learned-a sad, sad lesson,
when she heard that her brother's fall
would probably bring on a severe illness.
He had never been a strong child, and
the terrible blow on the head which he
had received from striking it against
the leg of the table, might be the cause
of a fatal disease. It would be im-


possible for us to describe the suffering
of Susie Wilson during the night follow-
ing that miserable afternoon. She
could not sleep; conscience was busy,
and self reproach, and bitter grief, and
anxiety about Fred, and love for him,
such as she had never felt before-all
these feelings took possession of her,
and in her sorrow she wept and sobbed,
and, with a truly penitent heart, prayed
to God to forgive her, and to save little
Fred from the further consequences of
her evil temper. And God heard poor
Susie's earnest prayer. With the morn-
ing came a change for the better in the
symptoms of the child, and the doctor
hoped that, with care and the utmost
quiet, the danger might now be averted.
Time passed on, and Fred became
quite well, and, childlike, forgot all
about his accident. But Susie did not
thus forget; for a long while she was
haunted by the remembrance of her
brother's white face and motionless


form, as she had seen him in the first
moment after his fall; and whenever
she felt inclined to yield to her passion,
her sulkiness, or her obstinacy, the
memory of that night of sorrow and
anxiety would come back to her, and,
distrusting her own strength, which was
but weakness, she would look up to
God, whose willingness to help is not
surpassed even by His infinite power,
and pray for grace to conquer self, and
to grow more and more like the meek
and lowly Saviour. She was indeed a
true penitent, and sought for pardon
through faith in the precious blood of
Jesus, which cleanseth from all sin.
And this is the only way by which the
guilty can obtain peace of conscience.


INNIE WOOD was the child of
poor parents; so poor, that they
could not afford to buy toys and
picture-books for her amusement, as
many parents are able to do for their
children; but Winnie had one of those
sweet, contented dispositions which are
satisfied anywhere and with anything,
and poverty did not prevent the little
girl from being as happy as the day was
long. She was not an idle child, it is
scarcely necessary to say, for lazy
children can never enjoy anything like
real happiness. Oh no, Winnie was
always trying to help her mother, or
wait upon her father, or take care o,
her baby brother, and these empfoy-


ments, as well as going to the village
school every day, made her as busy as
a working bee.
Not that we would have you think
that Winnie was perfect, dear young
readers, nor on any account would we have
you say to yourselves-" Oh yes, that's
just the way with all the little girls one
reads about-they are all so very good !
It's no use trying to be like them "
You will presently see, if you take
the trouble to read this story through,
that Winnie had faults and temptations
just as you have, and if she resisted
and overcame them, it was only through
the grace and strength given her in an-
swer to prayer, and which will surely be
granted to you also, if you earnestly
seek them.
We have said that Winnie had no toys
and books, but we must tell you that she
had what perhaps she valued more than
she could have prized the most costly
playthings, the most brilliant pictures.


Some little time before that in which
our story commences, a neighboring
farmer's daughter, in return for some
trifling service rendered her by the child,
had presented her with a beautiful cock
and hen.
The cock was white, with a bright
red comb, and long feathers in his tail;
the hen was nearly black, but very
pretty, and growing daily more tame.
Winnie called them Jack and Jill, and
her great delight was to feed and watch
them, the few moments that she could
spare from her busy little daily life.
One evening, while Winnie and her
brother were on the door-step feeding
their pets as usual, a stone whizzed
suddenly through the air, and struck
poor Jill on the head. The bird toppled
over and lay upon the earth as dead,
while a shout of derisive laughter arose
from the other side of the fence which
divided the little yard from the road.
Winnie looked up, and saw, between


two bushes that grew slightly above the
fence, the coarse features of a great
rough boy-a boy well known in the neigh-
bourhood for his abandoned character and
bad habits, and who generally went by
the nickname of "Tattered Tom," his
real name being Thomas Garry.
Snatching up the hen, and folding it
in her pinafore,Winnie darted one glance
of bitter indignation at Tom's hard grin-
ning face, then, sobbing with anger and
sorrow, she carried her favourite in-
doors, and did all she could think of for
its recovery. But it was of no use; the
hen lay quite still for a long time, then
came one short convulsion, and then all
was over, and the child hung weeping
over the dead body of her poor little pet.
We suppose it was natural that Winnie
should be very angry with wicked Tom
for his cruelty and heartlessness. We
suppose it was. not wonderful, though
it certainly was wrong, that for a time
she should feel even revengeful, so that


she would gladly have done anything
in her little power to repay the bad boy
in his own coin : but at last, after a
great struggle with her own heart, and
many earnest prayers for strength to do
right, she managed to forgive Tattered
Tom," making the excuse for him that
perhaps he did not know any better.
Winnie greatly missed her pretty Jill,
and the nice eggs which the hen used
to lay; and as for the bereaved Jack, he
wandered disconsolately over the yard,
and never seemed inclined to crow, now
that his wife was not there to hear him.
Time passed on, and Winnie was
her own happy bright little self once
more. Her kind friend the farmer's
daughter, hearing of her sad loss, had
given her another hen, and now the
spring was come, and Winnie was
saving the eggs that the new hen laid,
hoping soon to have some dear little
chickens. One afternoon, as Winnie
was sitting on the doorstep sewing, a

neighbour came in for a chat with Mrs.
Wood, and, among other things that
were said, the child caught these words,
-"Yes, it'll go hard with him, I'm
sure, considering the life he's been lead-
ing, for he's been a bad fellow, and no
mistake. It would have been better for
anybody else to have been took with
the fever than for him, for he hasn't the
strength of a kitten now he's down with
it. The doctor says they must force
things down his throat, or when the fever
leaves him he'll die from weakness."
And," said Mrs. Wood, I suppose
it's little enough his mother can get for
him. We're poor I know, but she's
poorer far, and a widow beside: is there
anything I can do for the boy, think
you, neighbour ?"
"No, I don't know as there is," re-
plied the visitor; "the doctor says he
may have new-laid eggs beat up with
milk, but new-laid eggs are dear to buy,
and the farmers know better than to


make a present of them to such people,
so it's not likely he'll get any. Poor
lad though he is a bad one, I'm sorry
for him !"
Sorry for him Ah so was our little
Winnie as she listened to the sad story.
Sorry ? Yes, very sorry; but it was
not sorrow only that sent that quick
rush of bright red to her round cheeks,
or that tearful yet glad expression to her
sweet brown eyes. She rose quickly but
noiselessly to her feet, ran up the narrow
staircase to her own little room, and re-
turned with a small covered basket.
She half lifted the lid, and looked in just
for one moment; during that moment,
two hot tears fell upon the smooth white
eggs that lay in their snug resting-place,
but they were quickly wiped away, and
the struggle in the child's heart between
duty and pleasure was over. She
thought no more of the dear little chick-
ens which she had hoped to call her
own: she thought only of the sick


lad lying upon his couch of pain,
and of the text which she had so often
read in her Bible-" If thine enemy
hunger, feed him." Then she shut the
basket, and entered the room where
her mother and the neighbour were still
Placing her little burden, so precious
to her childish heart, in the hands of the
woman, she said-" I have some new-
laid eggs, and here they are. Will you
please give them to poor Tom with my
love,-and I'm so sorry to hear he is ill."
"Why, Winnie," said the mother,
" weren't those the eggs you were keep-
ing for yourself ?"
Hush, mother dear," replied the
child. I don't need the chickens as
Ti-n does the eggs, and I want him to
have them."
Mrs Wood said no more, and the
neighbour left almost immediately, and
bent her steps to the miserable home of
" Tattered Tom."


Do not imagine that this giving up of
inclination to a sense of right came na-
turally to our friend Winnie. No, in-
deed; self-denial is not easy, even to
those most accustomed to its exercise;
but however difficult, it brings with it a
peace and happiness that self-indul-
gence can never know; and such was
the peace and happiness felt by Winnie
Wood, who not once repented of the
sacrifice she had made, but experienced
the truth of the divine words, "It is
more blessed to give than to receive."
But what of poor Tattered Tom" ?
Well, it would make our story much too
long to tell in detail just what passed
between the kind neighbour and Tom
when the little basket was presented;
suffice it to say that the hard heart was
touched at last, and that, burying
his hot face in the coarse pillow, Tom
burst into such tears as he had not
shed since he was a tiny child, and
sobbed out such repentance and thanks


as Winnie herself would have wept
to hear.
The first walk that "Tattered Tom "
ventured to take after his illness, was
to the cottage of Mrs. Wood. The
meeting between him and Winnie we
shall not attempt to describe; we fancy
it was marked more by tears than by
anything else; but, be this as it may,
from the time of Tom's recovery he was
a different boy-he left off his evil ways,
learned an honest trade, and became a
credit instead of a disgrace to the vil-
lage; but Tom never took any praise to
himself for the change that had been
wrought in him, but was often heard
to say,-" All this new life and happi-
ness would never have come had it not
been first for God's great goodness in
showing me my sin and folly, and then
for dear 'Winnie's Revenge.' "


'F7FI GOOD many years ago, in a small
("f' village on the Suffolk coast,
S- there lived an old fisherman and
his little girl.
Well known, for boldness and skill in
his trade, was Mike Waters; and both
known and beloved was his daughter
Margaret, or Maggie, as the neighbours
familiarly called her.
Maggie's mother had died some years
before the time that this story com-
mences; and now Maggie was her
father's great comfort and solace, the
very light of his eyes, and the chief
attraction of his home.


Scarcely the only attraction, how-
ever, for if ever a poor fisherman's cot-
tage could be attractive, that of Mike
Waters was so,-not in such luxuries
and beauties as those to which others
may have been accustomed, but attrac-
tive in its cleanliness and order.
The well-scrubbed floors, the polished
furniture, the unstained windows, the
shining hearth, all spoke welcome to the
weary, weather-beaten fisherman, when
he came in from his ocean toil; but ever
brighter and fairer than these to him,
were the bonny red-brown cheeks and
loving eyes of the child, who tried so
hard to make up for the widower's great
loss, and devoted herself so sweetly and
contentedly to his happiness and comfort.
When fish was plentiful, and Mike
had brought in a large supply, Maggie
might often be seen with a basket on
her arm, and a straw hat upon her head,
going round the neighbourhood, and
selling at the great houses near, and


sometimes at the cottages, as many as
possible of the freshly-caught fish. But,
occasionally, fish was scarce, or storms
prevailed and no fishermen could ven-
ture out to sea; then Mike and his child
were obliged to live upon the little sav-
ings of the past. It had more than
once happened that these had dwindled
down to a mere nothing, before more
money could be earned. Maggie, how-
ever, always tried to keep up a brave
heart, and would deny herself everything
at such times, to continue to her father
the little comforts to which he was
accustomed. On the whole, they man-
aged to live without ever suffering
from actual want, and very thankful
they were for this blessing, when others
were so often suffering around them.
But trial came at last to the old fish-
erman and his daughter, as it comes to
everyone at some point or other of their
lives; and when Mike came home one
night so ill that he could hardly speak,


and Maggie, full of distress, had first to
get him to bed, and then to run for
the doctor, the poor child felt as if a dark
cloud had gathered over her bright
young life, and as if all happiness were
gone for ever.
The doctor pronounced Mike's illness
to be rheumatic fever. And day and
night, only relieved occasionally by the
kindness of a neighbour, Maggie watched
by the sick man's bed-side, while the
little sum of money she had laid by be-
came smaller and smaller, as it paid
for medicine, and such light nourish-
ment as her father could take. At
length the last penny was spent, as also
a shilling lent her by a fisherman's
wife; and now there seemed no resource
but to apply for help to some of the
rich families in the neighbourhood.
At first, the idea of asking for charity
was almost intolerable to the girl, but the
sight of her father's suffering face over-
came her pride, and kneeling down in a


corner of the room, she sobbed out all
her trouble to the kind Father in heaven,
and asked for strength to do her duty;
then she dried her eyes and put on her
hat and cloak, fully resolved what to do.
Mike had fallen asleep, and Maggie,
with one loving glance at his sunken
cheeks, and his grey hair tossed back
on the pillow, softly opened the cottage-
door, and stole out into the cold night-
air. She called at the cottage of a
neighbour, to beg her to sit beside the
sick man for half-an-hour; and then
mounting the cliff by a narrow path, she
turned her quiet resolute face, pale and
weary with long watching, and her tired
steps which only love made nimble, to-
wards the mansion of the squire of that
place-a house where she had often been
to sell fish.
Surely, the squire's lady will help
us," said Maggie to herself, as she pat-
tered along the moonlit sandy road. "I
couldn't ask for anything for myself,


but father must have food and a doctor,
too; and how am I to get them for him
without money ?" But in spite of all
this reasoning with herself, Maggie's
heart began to beat quickly, and the
blood rose to her young cheek, as she
neared the stately Hall; and so great was
her excitement that she remained pant-
ing on the door-step for several moments,
before she could make up her mind to
take the knocker in her trembling hands.
She had just done so, however, and
was about to knock timidly for admit-
tance, when her eye was caught by the
glitter of something lying on the door-
step, and shining with a yellow lustre
as the clear light of the winter moon
fell upon it. Maggie stooped and pick-
ed it up, and her heart gave a great
bound of joy, and throbbed more wildly
than ever, when she saw that she held
within her hand a bright golden guinea.
Scarcely knowing what she was doing,
she sprang from the door-step, ran down


the carriage-drive, and was out in the
road in a minute. Her first thought
was of relief, that she should not be
obliged to ask for charity; but her
second thought was one which sent a
shudder through her whole frame.
Oh dear me," sighed the poor girl,
"how wicked I must be This money
is not mine, and it would be stealing if
I kept it-I must take it back to the
Hall; perhaps it belongs to the squire
himself, and he may have dropped it."
So saying, Maggie retraced her steps
till she once more stood by the door,
with the knocker in her hand. Once,
twice, thrice! Oh, how those knocks
seemed to sound in the still night-air!
But she had not much time to think
about this, for soon the door opened, and
a footman asked her what she wanted.
" If you please, sir," said Maggie, "may
I see the lady?" My mistress is in
the drawing-room," replied the man,
crossly, and I'll answer for it she won't


like to be disturbed; you had better leave
your message with me, and go."
Maggie felt rather frightened at his
manner and words, but she contrived to
answer firmly : No, thank you; I must
see the lady herself, will you be so good
as to tell her that it's Maggie Waters
that is here."
The footman slammed the great door
in the child's face, and went away; but
in a minute or two he returned, opened
the door and let her in, saying sulkily,
" Mistress says she will see you; will
you walk this way ? Maggie obeyed
in silence, and shortly found herself in
a beautiful room, where a lady and
gentleman were sitting. Maggie ad-
vanced towards the lady, encouraged by
the kind smile that greeted her; and
holding out the hand that grasped the
guinea, she said, If you please, ma'am,
does this money belong to you ? "
The squire now rose, and taking the
guinea from Maggie's hand, said, turning


to his wife, My dear, I think I can save
you the trouble of replying, for I missed
a guinea this evening, and could not
think what I had done with it. Where
did you find the money, my child?"
and the gentleman once more glanced
at Maggie, who stood with flushed
cheeks, but fearless eyes, quite ready to
explain all. I found it on your door-
step, sir, and so I thought it must be-
long to some one here."
"But how came you on my door-
step ?" asked the squire, good-naturedly.
"What business brought you up here ?
You live in the village, do you not ?"
Yes, sir, we do," said Maggie,
"but"-and here the child's voice drop-
ped, and her eyes filled with tears, "my
father has been ill with fever for a month,
and all our money that we had laid by
is spent, and I could not see him want;
and I came here to-night to ask if you
would help us a little, just till father is
able to work again. We never asked


for charity before, sir, and-and-"
Here Maggie's voice fairly broke down,
and she burst into tears.
The squire and his lady let her cry in
silence for a few moments, then she
looked up and dried her eyes, and the
squire asked, "What made you bring
that money back, when you wanted it
so badly ? I should never have found
you out."
"Oh, sir replied Maggie, "that
would have been a sin. In the first
minute after I found it, I was ready to
carry it away, forgetting that it must
belong to some one else, but I re-
membered in time, and God helped me
to resist the temptation."
"You are an honest child, and shall
lose nothing by your conduct," said the
squire; "here is the guinea, it is yours
now; my wife and I will come and see
your father to-morrow, and you may
tell your doctor (for I suppose you have
had one) to send in his account to me,"


Yes," added the lady, "and you
shall have a basket of good things to
take back with you." Then, as Maggie
tried to thank her, she said, There,
never mind thanks now, dear child;
your own honest heart, and the wish to
do His will, are the greatest blessings
God has given you. Run home, and
remember as long as you live, that the
pathway of truth and honesty is the
only safe way, and that the 'fear of the
Lord is the beginning of wisdom.'"


'i' was Sunday evening, and Fred
i Newman was sitting by the open
i.-- window, and looking up into the
soft summer sky.
He was quite a little boy, not more
than six years old; but there was an
earnest, thoughtful look in his eyes,
which showed that, child though he
might be, his mind was taken up with
a subject that seemed to him of grave
After a while, however, he roused
himself, and turning his head, glanced
towards a gentleman who was reading
at the other end of the room, and whom,
from the strong likeness that Freddy
bore to him, you would have had no


trouble in recognizing as the child's
father. Mr. Newman looked up from
his book, and met the boy's gaze with a
smile. "Well, Freddy," said he, "what
are you thinking about ? "
"Oh, papa," replied Fred, with a
sigh, I do so wish I were a grown-up
man instead of a little boy "
"And why do you wish this ? asked
Mr. Newman. "Are you not happy as
a child ? have you not a nice home, and
friends who love you ? "
"Oh,yes, papa," replied Freddy; "but
when I read about great men who used
to do all sorts of wonderful things, and
even those people in the Bible who loved
God so much, who went through trials
and troubles to please Him, and over,
came such temptations, and were so
good, it makes me wish I were a man,
for I cannot do anything great, and I
never have any temptations and trials.'
"Think again, Freddy," said Mr.
Newman gravely, "think again, my


child. Is it quite true that you have no
duties to perform faithfully, no evil tem-
pers to conquer ?"
Freddy hung his head. Oh, papa,"
replied he, "you know that is not what
I meant; of course I am often naughty
and do things that I am sorry for, but I
think that if I were a man and had big
trials and temptations, like Abraham,
and David, and Elijah, it would be so
grand to overcome them as they did !"
Mr. Newman smiled at his little boy.
"So you think, Freddy," said he,
" that though you find your small trials
and faults often too much for you, you
could, when you became a man, at once
turn great and good, like the men you
have mentioned Did it ever occur to
you, my boy, that the way to goodness
and greatness is a slow one, and that
people do not always become either
good or great when they grow up.
Depend upon it, Freddy, if you strive
against your childish failings now, and


seek by God's strength to overcome the
evils of your own heart, and the tempta-
tions of Satan, this will be the best and
surest way to grow into a good man;
and as to being great, God will take care
of that, and will make you so if He
see fit., Your own trials are as much
as you can bear, Freddy, but just as you
beai them in a proper spirit, these happy
effects will be seen in your future life.
Now, my child, don't make yourself un-
happy because you are not a man, but
set about the child-work that your
Heavenly Father finds to be good for
Mr. Newman said no more, but after
he had left the room, Freddy sat quite
still, turning over in his mind what his
father had been saying to him; but
though the child felt the truth of Mr.
Newman's words, he could not altogether
divest himself of the wish that his
temptations and troubles were a little
greater, and a little more worth while


overcoming. The truth was, that
Freddy had not yet learned the lesson
of his own weakness, but this lesson
was taught to him in a very sad way,
as you will soon see.
Freddy had a little sister, whose name
was Maud, and of whom he was very
fond. She was just able to run alone,
and Freddy's great delight wasto lead her
about over the nursery floor, and to play
with her whenever he was not doing
his lessons with his mamma. But one
day little Maud was not quite well, and
when at last she turned fretful and
sleepy over her toys, her nurse laid her
down on the nursery sofa, where she
was soon asleep. But though the child
had cast all her playthings aside when
she was wearied, there was one thing
which she still kept clasped in her tiny
hand, even after her eyelids drooped, and
she had fallen fast asleep.
This treasure was a large rosy-
cheeked apple, which nurse had given


her that morning, and from which she
could not be persuaded to part for a
moment, though Freddy had wanted it
very much, and would have enjoyed a
big slice from its rosy cheek not a little.
Maud was still sound asleep when
Freddy went into the nursery, having
finished his reading-lesson with Mrs.
Newman; nurse had gone downstairs,
and the two children were quite alone.
The first thing that Freddy saw was
the bright large apple in his sister's
hand, and in a moment the thought
flashed upon him that he might take it
now, for no one would see him. It
will taste so good," said the Tempter in
the boy's heart; it was greedy of
Maudie not to give you some of it before.
You had better take it,-it will be so
ripe and juicy "
Nearer, and still nearer, stole Freddy,
his eyes fixed upon the fruit. In vain
Conscience spoke her loudest, appealed
to his love for his little sister, to his


sense of right-all in vain, for in one
moment more his hand had grasped
the rosy apple,. had quietly taken it
from Maudie's keeping, and he had
slunk out of the nursery like a guilty
In the garden, behind a gooseberry
bush, Freddy ate the apple, all in haste
and trembling, scarcely tasting it be-
fore it was swallowed.
Then, when the core had been thrown
away, and the juice wiped from his lips,
Freddy's thoughts began to trouble him,
and there came back to his mind the
recollection of the talk with his father,
and his wish for greater trials and
temptations than those which a child's
life afforded.
Poor little Freddy How weak he
had been, he felt it all now; and as the
bitter tears of shame and repentance
dropped from his eyes, God's good
Spirit strove with his heart, and made
him very humble and very sad, so that


he confessed his fault at once to his
parents and to his Heavenly Father; he
had been taught that Jesus Christ came
into the world to save sinners; and that
to save them, He had died on the cross;
and Freddy looked to Him that he
might be forgiven for all his naughty
Let us hope that Freddy Newman
will remain satisfied with the trials
which may fall to his lot in the future,
and that he will not forget how easily
he was led into sin, through a tempta-
tion that he would have despised. We
may feel quite sure that if he only trusts
the Saviour, and humbly and con-
stantly asks for His help, he will grow up
a good man, and a great man too, in the
best sense of the word-namely, that of
doing the will of God in everything.


s supper nearly ready, Martha?
i l It is almost time for Jack to
.iJ return from his work."
The speaker was an elderly woman
in a widow's garb, and the person
she addressed was her grand-daughter, a
pleasant-looking girl, who might per-
haps have been fourteen years of age.
"Yes, grandmother, it is just ready,
such as it is," replied Martha, "but I
could wish poor Jack had a better meal
after his hard work than what we are
able to give him."
"Aye, aye, child, I wish it as much
as you can, but what is to be done ?


Wishing will never make us rich folk,
and we may be thankful if no worse
trouble than a poor supper do not come
upon us soon." So spoke the grand-
mother, and taking the spectacles from
her nose, she wiped their dim glasses
with her apron.
"Why, grandmother, what do you
mean ? cried Martha, looking up in
alarm. What worse troubles can be
coming, think you ? And eagerly and
anxiously she fixed her bright blue eyes
upon her grandmother's face.
Well," replied the old woman, "the
truth is just this, Martha; I hear that
the new Squire, who has lately come to
live up at the Hall, is going to make
some changes among his tenants; the
cottages are all to be repaired, and the
folks who can pay higher rents will
stay, while those who cannot must find
lodging elsewhere. And how can we
ever pay a higher rent, Martha ? Even
now, every penny of poor Jack's earnings


is spent at the end of the week, and yet
we live as cheaply as we can."
For a moment or two the girl's face
was as perturbed and downcast as that
of her grandmother, and she bent over
her knitting in silence; but, by an
evident effort, she quickly assumed a
more cheerful aspect, and advancing
to the old lady's side, and placing a
gentle hand on her shoulder, she said-
Don't fret, dear grandmother, God
has cared for us so far, and He will
never suffer us to want, if we put our
trust in Him; that's what father used
to say, and what he said up to the very
day of his death." So saying, Martha
stooped and kissed the withered cheek
of that father's mother, thereby en-
forcing, as it were, her encouraging
God bless you, my child !" sobbed
the old woman returning the kiss.
You remind, me of what I am too apt
to forget. Yes, Martha, your father's


God is our God, and He will never for-
sake His people; I will wipe away these
tears, and put faith in Him for the
future." And the grandmother dried
her eyes, and rising from her low seat,
said cheerfully, Martha, dear, go to
the gate, and watch for your brother
Jack. When you see him coming across
the field, let me know, and I will dish
the supper, so as to have it ready."
Martha put down her work, and pass-
ing through the low doorway of the
cottage, stood presently at the little
gate that separated the tiny garden
from the meadow of a neighboring
farmer, who turned his cattle out there
to graze.
Opening the gate, Martha leant
against it, while with one hand she
shaded her eyes from the yet dazzling
beams of the sinking sun, which bathed
with its parting radiance the western
horizon, and crimsoned the landscape


A moment or two she thus stood, but
Jack did not appear; and wondering
why he should be so late, Martha was
about to retrace her steps in order to
fetch her knitting, when, from that cor-
ner of the field which by a stile com-
municated with the Squire's park, she
saw a little child emerge, dressed in a
bright red frock and jacket, and running
heedlessly along, nearer and nearer to
the cattle which hitherto had been graz-
ing quietly in the centre of the field.
Now, however, as the little one approach-
ed, directing her steps so as to pass
them closely, they raised their heads,
and a huge bull, the king and guardian
of the herd, attracted doubtless and en-
raged by the colour of the scarlet dress,
bounded away from his companions, and
with his savage head bent, and his tail
raised, gave chase to the child, who,
frightened at the bellowing of the angry
beast, quickened her pace and fled
screaming towards the cottage-gate near


which Marthawas standing. But the ut-
most speed of which the little one was
capable was nothing to the long gallop of
the bull, and in the first moment that
Martha witnessed the child's danger, her
quick presence of mind and tender
heart resolved to do what many strong
men, less self-forgetful, would not have
dared to attempt. Tearing from her
head a coloured kerchief, which she had
thrown over it before she came out, she
sprang through the gateway into the
meadow, and bounding lightly over the
turf, in another minute she had placed
herself between the fierce animal and
the child. On in his headlong fury came
the gigantic brute, and was about to
pass Martha, seeing only the scarlet
frock just beyond, when the intrepid
girl, springing forward, dashed the ker-
chief across his eyes, and before he had
time to recover himself and recommence
his pursuit, she had turned, snatched
up the little one, and was running to-


wards the cottage gate. Close behind
the fugitives followed the bull, now re-
covered from his momentary astonish-
ment, but Martha's feet were winged,
for she felt that through God's help
she should save the child. A few
more rapid steps, and the gate was
reached and barred, while Martha
tottered into the house, still carrying
the child, and in the reaction of the
fearful excitement, fell fainting on the
Martha's fainting fit, however, did
not last long; and she was fully restor-
ed, and had told her grandmother the
whole story, before Jack arrived half-
an-hour later. He, too, had something
to recount. On his way home from
the Squire's grounds, where he had
been working, he was overtaken by one
of the servants belonging to the Hall,
w-'ho seemed in a great state of alarm.
She told Jack that she was the under-
nurse, and that while that afternoon


she was sitting at work beneath one of
the trees of the park, with the children
playing around her, one of them, little
Miss Gertrude, a child about six years old,
must have slipped away from her brother
and sisters unobserved; and when tea-
time came, and the nurse rose to bring
the children home, she was nowhere to
be found. The nurse had taken the
other three little ones home, and had
now come in search of Gertrude, fearful
lest she should fall into danger of any
Jack would not stop to eat his supper,
after telling his own story and hearing
Martha's, but announced his intention
of at once carrying the little truant lady
back to her home. So the kind-hearted
youth took Gertrude in his arms, and
soon conveyed her safely to the Hall,
where she astonished every one by the
childish recital of her own danger and
Martha's courage.
The next morning, the Squire's lady


herself came down to the cottage, to
thank Martha for the preservation of
her darling's life, and to bring a message
from the Squire himself. This message
consisted of his grateful acknowledg-
ments, and of the promise that Jack
should be promoted to the office of
second gardener, as soon as that post
was vacant (which would be in the
course of a few weeks). But, best of
all, the promise included also this,
namely, that the widow and her
grandchildren should hold the cot-
tage rent-free for the remainder of
their lives.
Thus, providentially, was averted,
by means wholly unforeseen, the trial
of poverty and want so dreaded by the
old widow in her thoughts of the
future; and never again was she heard
to repine, or even to express a fear
for herself or for those whom she loved.
Dear young readers, you may not
all meet with opportunities in which


your courage can be shown and re-
warded as was that of Martha; but
you may, each one of you, cultivate
that kindness and unselfishness, that
trust and confidence in God, which
tend so largely to the best sort of pre-
sence of mind, and to the truest ser-
vice we can render both to our Heavenly
Father and to our fellow-creatures.


IT-- i LE Elsie May had been very
-'.4 -- II. so ill that her parents had
mostt despaired of her life;
but God had been good to her and to
them, and blessing the means used, had
raised the child from her bed of sick-
ness. Nothing now was left but the
languor and weakness that follows a
long and painful illness.
"You must take the little girl away
to the sea-side," said old Dr. Strong
one morning, as he shook hands with
Mrs. May at parting. "A few walks
or drives on a good beach, and plenty
of ocean breezes, will bring back the
roses to those pale cheeks; and, in a
month's time, my little patient will


come home quite blooming. Take her
away, madam, as soon as you can, it is
her best chance of getting really well."
Now, as Mrs. May had a great respect
for the opinion of the wise doctor, it was
decided that the whole family- Mr.
and Mrs. May, Elsie, and her elder sister
Agnes-should travel northward, and
spend a few weeks on the coast of
Yorkshire, at a beautiful watering-place,
famed alike for its lovely scenery around,
its bold sea-cliffs, and its smooth wide-
spreading beach.
We need not describe the long journey
from London. We may only say that
it was rather tedious and tiring to poor
Elsie, and that she was very glad when
at last they reached their lodgings, and
she could go to bed. Like a bird in its
downy home, she nestled cosily among
the white pillows; then the weary eye-
lids drooped, and tired little Elsie was
The sun shone brightly the next


morning, and as soon as possible after
breakfast, Elsie begged her sister to take
her down to the beach. Agnes gladly
agreed to the little one's wish, and in
a few minutes the broad firm sand was
under their feet, and before them was
the bright ocean sparkling like a sea of
glass in the morning sunshine.
Far and near, all was life and beauty.
Out to sea, the fishing-vessels were
spreading their sails to the wind, while
the white gulls dipped in the waves
after their prey. Upon the sands and
amongst the rocks, were numbers of
very happy people; fathers and mo-
thers, nurses and children, all busy or
Here a little girl had just found a
starfish, and was showing it to her
governess. There again a still younger
child had her lap full of pretty white
round pebbles called "sugar-stones,"
which she was holding up to view to
her nurse; but Elsie's attention was


soon called to two boys, who were
making a sand fortress, piling it up with
their little spades and talking merrily
all the time.
Won't it be fun when the tide comes
up said the elder boy, flattening the
top of the fortress with his spade, so as
to make it hard and firm. "I think
these walls will stand much longer than
those we made yesterday."
"Agnes," whispered Elsie, "how I
should like to have a spade and dig in
the sand: it must be so pleasant! "
"I will ask papa to get you one,
dear," replied Agnes, but, meanwhile,
wouldyou not like to have a donkey-ride ?
Here comes a boy with a nice-looking
donkey." Elsie almost shouted with
delight when her sister lifted her on to
the back of the patient animal; but her
joy was soon changed to distress, when
the boy began to beat the poor animal
with a thick stick which he carried in
his hand, and to call it all kinds of hard


names, because it would not go quite so
fast as he wished.
Oh, don't, don't do that cried
the child. "How can you be so cruel?
I don't want to go any faster; I don't
indeed! "
The boy grinned, and showed his
white teeth. Why, bless your heart,
Miss," said he, he's used to it; all the
boys thrash their donkeys, Miss."
But," said Agnes, who was walking
by the side of the donkey with her hand
upon its rein, "don't you know that it
is very wrong to ill-treat anything that
God has made ? and your cruelty to
this poor creature is a sin against Him."
I don't know nothing much of Him,
Miss," replied the boy; "us poor donkey-
lads hasn't much chance of hearing
But have you not a Bible ? asked
No, Miss, I haven't got no Bible,"
said the boy; "but I can make shift to


read a bit for all that, because I learned
when I was at school."
The next day, as Mr. and Mrs. May
and the two girls were sitting at break-
fast, Mr. May took a bright half-crown
from his pocket, and laying it down by
Elsie's plate, said kindly, "Your sister
has told me that you want a spade, my
child; you can choose one for yourself
to-day, and spend the rest of the money
upon anything else you may fancy."
Elsie looked up with a bright smile.
"May I use the half-crown just as I
like, papa?" she asked; "is it quite my
Yes, dear," replied Mr. May; "it is
your own."
Elsie kissed her kind father, and no
more was said upon the subject until
she and her sister were about to start
once more for the beach: then Elsie
whispered to Agnes, I do not want to
go to the beach this morning, Agnes; I
should like, 6 -,a don't mind taking


me, to go to the town, and spend my
But you can buy a spade on your
way to the sands if you wish," said
Agnes; "there is a shop where such
things are sold, close down by the
"I do not want a spade now, thank
you, Agnes," rejoined Elsie; "I am going
to get something else with my half-
Agnes looked surprised. "Why," said
she, I thought you wanted a spade so
very much."
Yes, I know I did, but aftervwards,
when we were talking with the donkey-
boy, and I heard he had no Bible, I
could not help wishing I had money
enough to get him one; and this morn-
ing, when papa gave me the half-crown,
I made up my mind I would go without
the spade, and buy a Bible for the boy;
so please will you take me to a shop
where I can get one, and then we will


go to the sands and find the donkey-
Agnes did not object, so the two girls
went down to the town together, pur-
chased a Bible with large, clear type,
and soon found their way to the beach,
in search of the boy.
As may be supposed, the poor fellow's
surprise was very great when the Bible
was presented to him; and he gladly
promised that he would read it every
day, if only to please the dear little lady,
as he called Elsie. But Elsie told him
that he must pray to God to give the
Holy Spirit that he might truly feel the
power of the truth contained in the Bible,
and be made wise unto salvation through
faith in Christ Jesus.
As for Elsie herself, those who have
known what it is to deny themselves,
will understand how happy she felt;
and if she ever had one moment's regret
that all her money was gone, it was
soon put to flight by the thought of the


donkey-boy's bright face, and by the
hope that the blessed book might teach
him about the Saviour whom Elsie her-
self had learned to love, and about the
bright home above, where Elsie hoped
to be when life was ended.


I -',.-

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