Happy Days for Boys and Girls Part 18

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FAITHFUL BOY.]

CHARLIE'S ESCAPE.

I have some boy-cousins living in the country of whom I think a great deal. They write me letters quite often. I can hardly tell whose letters give me the most pleasure, the "big boys'," who write me about their school, their colts and calves, their good times on the holidays, or the little printed letters I get from the "small boys,"

telling me how many chickens they have and that they love me. I am sure I love them _all_, and hope they will grow to be good, true men.

Charlie is one of the "big boys." Not _very_ big, either--just thirteen years old, and rather small and slight for his years. A few weeks ago a neighbor of his father's was going away, and got Charlie to do "the ch.o.r.es" for him during his absence--feed the young cattle, milk the cow and keep things in order about the barn. Charlie is an obliging boy, so he performed his task faithfully. If I had time, boys, I would just like to stop here and give you a little lecture on faithfulness, with Charlie for a model, for he _is_ a "faithful boy."

But I want to tell my story. For two or three days Charlie went each morning to his neighbor's barn, and after milking the cow turned all the creatures to pasture, and every night drove them home again. One morning, as he stood by the bars waiting for them all to pa.s.s out, a frisky year-old calf--"a yearling" the farmers call them--instead of going orderly over the bars, as a well-disposed calf should, just gave a side jump and shook her horns at Charlie. "Over with you!" called Charlie, and waved his hand at her. Miss Yearling either fancied this an insult or an invitation to single combat, for she again lowered her head and ran at Charlie, who had no stick, and so thought best to run from the enemy. He started for the stable door, but in his hurry and fright he could not open it, and while fumbling at the latch the creature made another attack. Charlie dodged her again, and one of her horns pierced the door nearly an inch. Again she ran at him, and with her nose "bunted" him off his feet. Charlie was getting afraid now, and called out to the folks in the house, "Oh, come and help me!" and right then he bethought him of something he had read in his father's "Agriculturist" about a boy in similar danger, who saved himself by grasping the cow's horns that had attacked him. So just as the yearling was about to try again if she could push him over, he took fast hold of each horn. But his situation was getting _very unpleasant_, for he was penned up in a corner, with the barn behind him, a high fence on one side and the now angry heifer in front. He had regained his feet, but was pushed and staggered about, for he was fast losing his strength. No wonder his voice had a quiver in it as he again shouted as loud as he could, "Oh, do come quick!" The lady in the house was busy getting breakfast, and heard no sound. A lady-visitor in one of the chambers heard the first call, but thought it only boys at play. By and by the distressed shout again smote her ears, and this time she heard the words, "Help me!" She ran down stairs to the housekeeper, who opened the outside door and listened.

Charlie's voice was weak and faint now, and the fear came to the lady that he had fallen into the barn cellar. She ran quickly to the great door of the barn. "Where are you, Charlie?" "Come to the stable door,"

answered back a faint, trembling voice. She quickly ran through the barn to that door, but she could not open it at first, for the heifer had pushed herself around till she stood broadside against the door.

But the lady pushed hard and got the door open a little way, and seizing the big stable broom hit the naughty animal two or three heavy whacks that made her move around; and as soon as she opened the door wide, Charlie let go her horns, and she (the heifer), not liking the big broom-handle, turned and ran off as fast as her legs could go. The lady helped Charlie up and into the house, for he could hardly stand.

He was bruised and lame, and the breath had almost left him. But after resting a while and taking some good warm drink, he tried to walk home; and though the lady helped him, he found it hard work, for he was so sore and bruised. Charlie's mother was frightened enough to see her boy come home leaning on their neighbor's arm and looking so pale.

She helped him undress and lie down, and then she did just what your mother, little reader-boy, would do if you had such an escape as Charlie's. She put her arms around her boy and said, "Let us thank the good Lord that you were not killed, my boy." And do you think Charlie will ever forget his escape? I don't. And I hope he will always thank "the good Lord" not only for the escape, but for his every blessing.

I AM COMING!

I am coming! I am coming! sings the robin on the wing; Soon the gates of spring will open; where you loiter I will sing; Turn your thoughts to merriest music, send it ringing down the vale, Where the yellow-bird is waiting on the old brown meadow-rail.

I am coming! I am coming! sings the summer from afar; And her voice is like the s.h.i.+ning of some silver-mantled star; In it breathes the breath of flowers, in it hides the dawn of day, In it wake the happy showers of the merry, merry May!

DAISY'S TEMPTATION.

"I don't think grandma would ever know it. I could just slip them into my pocket and put them on after I get there as e-a-sy! I'll do it;"

and Daisy Dorsey lifted her grandma's gold beads from a box on her lap. She clasped them about her chubby neck and stood before the mirror, talking softly to herself. "How nice it will be!" she said, drawing up her little figure till only the tip of her nose was visible in the gla.s.s. "And Jimmy Martin will let me fly his kite instead of Hetty Lee. Hetty Lee, indeed! I don't believe she ever had any grandmother--not such a grandmother as mine, anyway."

Then the proud little Daisy fell to thinking of the verse her mother had read to her that morning, about the dear Father in heaven who sees us always, and the blessed angels who are so holy and so pure.

"And I promised mamma I would be so good and try so hard to do right always. No, no; I can't do it. Lie there, little pretty gold beads.

Daisy loves you, but she wants to be good too. So good-bye, dear little, bright gold beads," laying them softly back in the drawer and turning away with her eyes like violets in the rain.

Now, it so happened that good Grandma Ellis had heard every word Daisy had said, had seen her take the beads from their box in the drawer, knew just how her darling was tempted and how she had conquered pride and evil desire in her little heart, for she was in her bath-room, adjoining her chamber; and the door being ajar, she could hear and see all that Daisy said and did.

How glad she was when she heard her say, "I can't do it. Good-bye, pretty gold beads!" and she felt so sorry, too, for the great tears in the sweet blue eyes.

Daisy wore the coral beads to the picnic, and no child had a merrier day than she, for she had struggled with temptation, had overcome through the loving Father's aid, and so was happy, as we all are when we do right.

That evening, when the harvest-moon lifted its bright face to the bosom of the east, Grandma Ellis sat in her old-fas.h.i.+oned high-backed chair thinking.

Such a pretty picture she made, too, with her light shawl draped gracefully over her shoulders, her kerchief and cap so snowy, and her sweet face so full of G.o.d's love and his divinest peace!

In her hands she held the gold beads, and there was something very like tears in her gray eyes, for the necklace had a history that only grandma knew--she and one other, whose face that night was far away where they need no light of the moon, nor of the sun, for G.o.d is the light of the place.

"Come here, Daisy," she said, presently. "Come to grandma."

The little creature flew like a bird, for she loved the sound of that dear old voice; and besides, Daisy was a happy child that night, and in her heart the singing-birds of content and joy kept up a merry music of their own.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DAISY'S TEMPTATION.]

Grandma Ellis threw the little necklace over Daisy's head as she came toward her, and lifting her to her knee and kissing her glad eyes said, speaking low and softly,

"That is for my Daisy to keep always, for grandma's sake. It is not just the ornament for your little dear neck in these days, but keep it always, because grandma loved it and gave it to her darling that would not deceive her, even for the sake of flying Jimmy Martin's kite at the picnic."

Then Daisy was sure grandma knew all about her sad temptation, and how she had coveted the bright gold beads for just one little day. Now they were to be hers for ever, and half for shame, half for very joy, Daisy hid her curly head in grandma's bosom and sobbed aloud.

"Hush, darling!" grandma said; "we are all tempted to do wrong sometimes, and the dear Father in heaven suffers this to be that we may grow stronger through resistance. Now, if you had yielded to the voice of pride and desire this morning, do you think you could have been happy to-day, even with the necklace and flying Jimmy's kite?"

"No, no! Oh, grandma, forgive me!" sobbed the little voice from grandma's bosom.

"Yes, dear, as I am sure G.o.d does, who saw how you were sorely tried and surely conqueror. Kiss me good-night now; and when you have said your 'Now I lay me,' add, 'Dear Father, help grandma's Daisy to be good and happy always.'"

An hour later, with the gold beads still about her neck, Daisy in her little bed was dreaming of the beautiful fields and flowers that are for ever fadeless in the land we name eternal; and the blessed angels, guarding her slumber and seeing the smile upon her happy lips, were glad because of Daisy's temptation, for they knew that the dear child would be stronger and purer and better because she had overcome.

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION.

Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove, The linnet and thrush say "I love and I love!"

In the winter they're silent, the wind is so strong; What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.

But green leaves and blossoms and sunny warm weather, And singing and loving, all come back together.

But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings and he sings, and for ever sings he, "I love my love, and my love loves me."

[Ill.u.s.tration: NELLY'S GARDEN.]

WHAT NELLY GAVE AWAY.

Nelly Ray was a bright, brave-hearted little girl, whom no one could help loving.

Singing like a lark in the morning, wearing sweet smiles on her face all day, cheerful even when the shadows fell, it would have been strange indeed if her humble home had not seemed like a bit of paradise, and the ground under her feet had not blossomed like the rose.

It was a pleasant day in the early spring, when the gra.s.s was just lifting itself above the moist earth, when the soft south wind was blowing among the tender little leaves of the lilac bushes, when the birds were busy building their nests, when the merry little brook was beginning its song and the great round world looked glad and bright, that Nelly began to make her garden.