No and Other Stories Compiled by Uncle Humphrey Part 3

Little Sarah was a sweet child of six summers. Gentle and affectionate in disposition, she soon won a large portion of that love which few hearts can withhold from the happy spirit of infancy. It has been said, "Childhood is ever lovely," and I would add, childhood is ever loved. Sarah was an attentive and careful reader of the word of G.o.d, at a very early age. There it was that she found the Divine promise, "Forgive, and thou shalt be forgiven." And she not only read this precept, but showed by her life of gentle forgiveness, that she had engraven it upon her heart.

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She attended a small school which was kept near her home; and I am sorry that all who were her schoolmates had not the same kind spirit. There were some who were very rude and unkind and Sarah soon found many trials to encounter. Often would the gentle child return to her sweet home in tears to forget her sorrow in a mother's love. Yet every harsh and ungentle tone was forgiven by her, for she knew that forgiveness was of Heaven.

One day when her mother had given her some plums she observed that Sarah did not eat them, but put them all into her little workbag to carry them to school.

"Why do you do so?" said she; "you do not eat the plums which I have given you."

"No, mother," said Sarah "I will carry them to the little children who do not love me. Perhaps they will love me better if I am kind to them."

Here was the true secret of human love. The power of kindness--there is none other that will reach every heart. There is none other that can influence them for good. It can lead the sinner from his evil way, for none are too sinful to love, and where love is, there is power. We are all frail and erring beings, whose hourly prayer should be for pardon, and shall we not forgive?

THE GUILTY CONSCIENCE.

A mother one day returned home very sorrowful, and lamented bitterly to her husband that she had heard that one of their sons had beaten a poor child.

"This," said she, "must have certainly been done by our naughty Caspar, but he will deny it if I put the question to him."

"I will answer for it," said the prudent father, "that I will put the question to him in a way in which he cannot answer with a lie; and thereby come at the truth."

They soon after went to the supper table, and Caspar was very still and quiet: he ate little, and spoke still less. He seldom looked at his parents, who were very grave and serious, and then only with stolen glances.

The sons soon after went to bed.--They all slept in separate beds, but in the same room.

About half an hour after, when they were gone to sleep, their father entered the chamber, and took pains to make a great noise in shutting the door. Caspar instantly sprang out of bed, and full of fear cried out, "What is it? What is the matter?"

"Nothing," answered the father, "I was only wis.h.i.+ng to see who among you was asleep." The two other brothers were sleeping softly and sweetly, and did not awake until they were aroused by Caspar's cry. The father then went out again.

The next day the father called Caspar to him, and, before his mother and all the children, said to him, "You beat a poor child, yesterday, did you?" Caspar, who thought that it had all come out, began to excuse himself.--"He struck me too, and--" His father would not suffer him to proceed any farther. "Caspar!" said he "why do you make us so much trouble and sorrow? Yesterday, we heard that one of our sons had beaten a poor child, but we did not then know who had done it. But when I saw you eating in so much fear and trouble, and still more, when you could not sleep from uneasiness and your _guilty conscience_ drove you from your bed as soon as I opened the door, I was convinced that you were the guilty one. See, how miserable wickedness can make us. You have been sufficiently punished by your anxiety and fear, but you must now endeavor to do some good to the poor child, and make atonement for your faults. What will you do?"

Caspar acknowledged his fault, and promised to do every thing that his father commanded him.

He who does wrong is always sure to repent of it, for he is punished by his own conscience, if in no other way.

ACORN HOLLOW.

"Oh, Aunt Elissa! stay with us and spend the evening, why can't you!"

exclaimed Janie, Nelly, and Thanny, as the before-mentioned aunt entered their cheerful little parlor one evening, after being absent some time.

"Stay and spend the evening! Bless your dear souls! no. Haven't I got to go to the post office, and besides that, a hundred and one other errands to do?"

"Never mind the post office, Aunt Lissa. Where's my hat? I'll run there and back again in two minutes, and that will save you the trouble of going. And never mind the errands either; you can come over in the morning and do them; besides that we don't like to have our aunt going about these dark evenings--she might get lost, or something might catch her and carry her off, and then--"

"What then?"

"Why she wouldn't tell us any more stories."

"Away with you, you selfish things! that's as much as you care for me.

Now I'll go right home."

"Oh don't, don't! Run Thanny and shut the door, while I hold her, and Nelly unties her bonnet. I don't care if she does scold."

"Go away! you wild birds. Haven't you been taught any better manners than this? Strange your mother will let you act so! but there she sits, sewing away as busily as ever, only looking up now and then, to smile, as if she didn't care at all. Fie! for shame! There goes my bonnet and shawl. Now Nelly, if you hide them, I'll never go over the hills with you again. I have a great mind not to speak a word to one of you."

"Oh don't stop talking, for we want you to tell us a story." "A story!

why dear children, I can't begin with the first thought of a story to-night; I feel so stupid and dull that it will be quite as much as I can do to keep myself awake."

"Oh well, then we will have a dance, and that will wake you up. Here!

Away we go!"

"Stop! stop you merry elves! Oh my foot! Oh my hand! I would rather tell you all the stories in the Arabian Nights, than go through one such dance as this. Sit down now and be quiet, for if I have really got it to do, I want to begin as soon as possible. Well, what shall I tell you about, Janie?"

"Oh, anything you please."

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"There, now, that isn't any sort of an answer at all. What shall I tell you about, Thanny?"

"Oh, tell us about a sailor boy, who wore a tarpaulin hat and a blue jacket with a collar to it--and how he went to sea, and got s.h.i.+pwrecked on an uninhabited, desert island, and _almost_ got drowned, but didn't quite--and then, after a great many years, he came home one snow-stormy night, and knocked at the door, with a bag full of dollars and a bunch of cocoa nuts, and his old father and mother almost died of joy to see him."

"Well done! But now that you know the whole of the story, it wont be of any use for me to tell it over again. What shall I tell you about, Nelly?"

"Tell us about something you used to do when you was a little girl."

"When I was a little girl? Ah yes: do you know that I used to be a wild and careless creature, and did many things which I am sorry for now? I would often act upon the impulse of the moment, therefore I said many vain and foolish words, and though I did not intend evil, yet I often committed thoughtless acts, which were, in themselves, very wrong. I did not restrain that spirit as I ought to, so it grew upon me, until it almost became a part of my nature, and now that I have grown up to be a woman, and people expect better things of me--a word, a thought, or look will call forth those feelings once more, even at times of the most serious reflection; and then many call me light-minded and trifling. I do not blame them, but in my heart I do not feel so. Take care of yourselves in time, that you may not have these sorrowful fruits to repent of. But I do not mean to preach you a sermon, instead of telling a story. And now that you have reminded me of my earlier days, I will tell you about a place called Acorn Hollow, for of all the spots that I love to remember, this is one of the dearest to me."

"Where is it, Aunt Lissa?"

"It is about two miles from your grandfather's house, in the woods, at the south part of the town. I have visited it at all times and seasons of the year, but the first time I ever saw it was in the dead of winter."

"Why, how happened that?"

"It was the 22d of December--the anniversary of the landing of the Pilgrims, and there was to be a grand entertainment in the evening, to which my older sisters were invited. They wanted some of the curly ground pine, which keeps green all winter, to put with the flowers they wore in their hair; and as brother Alfred was always famous for knowing the whereabouts of all strange plants and wild flowers, he promised to get them some. In the afternoon, Freddy Lucas, his friend and almost constant companion, came, and as it was an uncommonly mild and pleasant day for that season of the year, they asked me to go with them. I was right glad to do so, and after adding one more to our party, Susan Edwards, a dark-eyed, merry-hearted girl, we were soon scampering away over the hills. There had been some very heavy rains, by which the sand had been washed away from the hill-side, leaving deep and wide furrows at the foot, which required all our skill to jump over, but we determined not to be outdone by Alfred, who acted as pioneer; so we continued to follow our leader, with many a laugh and tumble, until it seemed we were going a great way, to get nowhere.

"At length we came to a little pond, far down among the hills, with shrubs and rushes growing all around and into it. Alfred said this was Turtle pond, where the boys often came Sat.u.r.day afternoons to roast potatoes and apples, and have a real frolic. He said, too, it would do one's heart good to look upon these hills in the early spring time, for then they were fairly blus.h.i.+ng with the beautiful May flowers, which the boys and girls who are working for the anti-slavery cause, take so much pains to gather, and send to the Boston market. I asked him if this was Acorn Hollow. 'Oh no,' said he, 'we must go through this pasture, and the next one beyond it; then we shall see a cedar tree growing by the fence, and soon we shall come to a place where two roads go round a hill, and then we shall be close by there.'

"So we went, and went, till he stopped suddenly, and said, 'here it is.'

And sure enough, there was the beautiful hollow, close by the road-side.

The sides were so steep that it was by no means safe to run down into it, and the great oak trees and the small ones, with the pine, the walnut, and the silvery birch, grew thick and close all around, save that one small opening from the road, a little archway among the overhanging boughs and dwarf alders.