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Title: The golden rule
Author: Madeline Leslie
Release date: October 8, 2024 [eBook #74545]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston: Henry A. Young & Co
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLDEN RULE ***
Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.
[Illustration: AUNT HATTIE'S LIBRARY]
The Golden Rule.
BY AUNT HATTIE
_[MADELINE LESLIE]_
AUTHOR OF THE "BROOKSIDE SERIES," ETC.
_"All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye_
_even so to them."—CHRIST._
[Illustration]
BOSTON
PUBLISHED BY HENRY A. YOUNG & CO.
NO. 24 CORNHILL
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
REV. A. R. BAKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.
To
NELLIE, ROLAND COTTON, ANNIE, AND FULLER APPLETON,
CHILDREN OF MY BELOVED NEPHEW,
THE REV. JOHN COTTON SMITH, D.D.,
THESE SMALL VOLUMES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
WITH THE EARNEST PRAYER
THAT THEIR LIVES MAY PROVE THEM TO BE LAMBS IN THE FOLD
OF THE GREAT AND GOOD
Shepherd of Israel.
CONTENTS.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I. CHARLEY'S POLITENESS
CHAPTER II. CHARLEY'S PLAN
CHAPTER III. CHARLEY'S SICKNESS
CHAPTER IV. WICKED OSCAR
CHAPTER V. GOOD FOR EVIL
CHAPTER VI. OSCAR'S SORROW
CHAPTER VII. OSCAR'S STRUGGLES
CHAPTER VIII. CHARLEY'S REWARD
CHAPTER IX. CONCLUSION
THE GOLDEN RULE.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
CHARLEY'S POLITENESS.
"LITTLE boy! Can you tell me which is the road to Norwich?" asked Mr.
Bryant.
Oscar Russel stood by the side of the road, with his fingers in his
mouth. He heard the gentleman's question; but, instead of answering,
he only stared at the carriage, the persons seated in it, and at the
horse, pawing in his impatience to be gone.
"Are you deaf, child? Is this the direct road?" again inquired Mr.
Bryant, feeling annoyed at the boy's obstinacy.
"There's a sign-board on ahead," said a woman, opening the door of the
house opposite. "You'll find the way by that."
"That child has never learned politeness," remarked the lady in the
carriage, smiling.
They rode on for another mile, when they came to a neat cottage set on
the side of a hill. There was a pretty garden in front with cowslips
and other flowers, all in bloom. At the side of the house there was a
wide gate which stood open, and a cart, loaded with gravel, was rolling
toward the barn, while the fat oxen drawing it were steaming from their
toiling up the hill.
Mr. Bryant's horse went slowly, and both the lady and gentleman gazed
at the rural scene. When they were opposite the front gate, a pleasant
face, surrounded by dark auburn curls, peeped out at them from among
the flowers.
The little fellow had a tiny cart, which he was filling with pebbles;
but he stopped suddenly when he saw the travellers looking at him.
"What is your name?" asked Mr. Bryant, stopping the horse.
"Charley Monson," answered the child, his cheeks growing very rosy.
"Well, Charley, you are very busy, I see. What are you going to do with
your stones?"
"I'm going to help Abel make the walks look pretty."
"Who is Abel?—Your brother?"
"Oh, no, sir!" Charley laughed. "He's our hired man. There he is
tipping up the load."
"Can you bring me a tumbler of water, Charley?" asked the lady,
pleasantly.
"Oh, yes, ma'am!" He ran toward the door; but returned in a minute,
asking, "Don't you like milk? We've got plenty of nice, fresh milk."
"If your mother can spare me a glass of milk, it would be very
refreshing."
"What a lovely boy!" she said, when he had darted into the house.
"It is easy to tell that he has a good mother," Mr. Bryant said, gazing
at the neat orchards and nicely tilled fields.
[Illustration: Charley's Mother teaching him the Golden Rule.]
In about five minutes Charley appeared again. In one hand he held a
pitcher, and in the other a tumbler.
"Take care and not spill the milk," said a soft voice, just inside the
door.
Mr. Bryant threw the reins on Dolly's back (Dolly was the name of the
horse), and took the pitcher from the boy.
"Thank you, my fine little fellow," he said, patting Charley's head.
Then he filled the tumbler and passed it to his wife, who said she
hadn't tasted such nice milk for many a day.
"Wont you have some, too?" urged Charley.
"Oh, yes, indeed!" And he made a funny bow, at which Charley laughed
and blushed.
"Now, how much shall I pay you for the milk, my boy? It's a great
treat, I assure you."
"Oh, we don't want any pay, sir!" Charley's cheeks grew rosier than
ever, as he drew back his hand, into which the gentleman was trying to
put some money. "Mother was very happy to get it for you."
"Then, Charley, we'll accept it with many thanks."
"Tell your mother," said Mrs. Bryant, "that her son has honored her
this afternoon by his good conduct."
The little fellow ran in with sparkling eyes. When he had carried the
empty pitcher to the kitchen, he sat down by his mother and told her
all about his new friends.
"I hope I shall see them again some time," he said; "they're real nice
people."
CHAPTER II.
CHARLEY'S PLAN.
THE next day, Mr. Bryant walked into a large bookstore in the city
where he lived. There were shelves of books for men and women, and
shelves for children, filled with prettily bound volumes.
Mr. Bryant was not a stranger in the store, and he walked at once to
this part of the room. The clerk knew him, and asked,—
"What can I sell you, sir?"
"I want a book about animals," the gentleman answered; "something that
will be useful and interesting for a child of eight years."
The clerk took down a neat box, saying,—
"There is just the thing for you, sir. There are six volumes full
of anecdotes of the dog, cat, horse, sheep, etc., besides a natural
history of the animals."
"Capital! Let me see," taking out his watch; "yes, I have fifteen
minutes, and I'll examine them."
He sat down on a high stool, and the clerk laughed as he saw him
sitting there an hour after. Then the gentleman rose in a great hurry,
saying, as he paid for the books,—
"I'm afraid your dog stories have made me lose a valuable customer. I
quite forgot how the time was passing."
Mrs. Bryant did not forget Charley. She often told her daughter Ida
about the little fellow. She also told her of Oscar Russel, though at
that time she did not know his name, and how much better it was to be
polite like Charley, than rude like Oscar.
"I want to see Tarley," lisped Ida; "I love dood boys."
In a few weeks, Mr. Bryant told his wife he had ordered a horse for a
ride into the country, and should take the opportunity to make a call
on their polite friend.
"May I do, too, papa?" eagerly asked Ida.
"Yes, dear. Don't forget to put in the books, wife."
When they came in sight of the house, Abel was at work on the sidewalk.
He had finished the avenue, and it looked very nice, indeed; but
Charley was nowhere to be seen.
Mr. Bryant gave his wife the reins, got out, and went through the gate
to the front door. This was wide open; and, as he put up his hand to
ring the bell, he heard the sound of a child's voice crying, up the
stairs.
"Is Charley Monson at home?" he asked of the girl who came to answer
his ring.
"Yes, sir; but he is in bed. I'll call his mother, sir."
She showed him to the parlor, and presently a lady, with the very
brightest of blue eyes, came down the stairs into the room.
Mr. Bryant told her he was Charley's friend, and was very sorry to hear
of his illness. "I told my little girl how polite he was, and she is
very anxious to see him."
The lady then explained that her boy was not ill; he was in bed, in
consequence of a blow he had received on his head from a bad boy, named
Oscar Russel; that the doctor had been there and wanted to have them
send a constable after Oscar, who was quite a nuisance in the town.
"I remember the boy very well," Mr. Bryant said; "and I hope you will
have him punished."
Charley's mother smiled. "We shall try to prevent him from hurting any
one again," she said. "My boy and I have a plan; but wont your little
girl come in? Charley will be delighted to see her."
Cannot you imagine how pleased our little friend was when his mother
ushered Mr. and Mrs. Bryant and Ida into the chamber? His face, to be
sure, was very pale; but his eyes sparkled, and he held out his hand
cordially to welcome them.
Ida looked very solemn when she saw the bandage around the boy's head.
At first she could not be persuaded to go near the couch, but clung to
her mother, saying, softly, "I want to go home."
But in less than five minutes she was chatting away as if she had known
the sick boy all her life.
Oh, how prettily the color flashed over Charley's thee, when he saw
what his friends had brought him!
He looked at the pictures, and kept saying, "Thank you," ever so many
times.
Mrs. Monson thanked them, too, and said, "Nothing could have pleased
Charley more, because he is so fond of hearing about animals."
By and by Mrs. Bryant said it was time for them to go; but her husband
told Charley he wanted to know the plan about Oscar Russel first; for
it was very certain that he must be prevented from throwing stones, and
doing such things injurious to himself and others.
Charley blushed and glanced at his mother.
She encouraged him by a smile, and then he said, eagerly,—
"Nobody loves Oscar, and that's the reason he does so. His father
drinks rum, and his mother scolds him whenever he goes into the house,
and so—"
He hesitated, and the gentleman said, "That does not excuse him for
hurting you."
"Oh, I don't think he meant to hurt me and, if he did, he didn't know
how much I pitied him. He has real bad clothes; and all last winter he
didn't wear shoes. When I get well, mother's going to send for him; and
we'll fix him up real nice. Mother says he isn't half as much to blame
as if he had good parents to teach him."
"And do you really forgive him for making that big bump on your head?"
Charley's eyes were wide open now; but he said, earnestly and very
frankly,—
"Of course I forgive him. You know the prayer says, 'Forgive us as we
forgive our debtors.' Mother says that means that, if I don't forgive
those who injure me, I ask God not to forgive my sins; and that would
be awful, you know."
"And you ask God to help you, I suppose?"
"I'm going to when I say my prayers. I know he will, because he loves
to have boys grow good."
"Well, Charley, I feel sure you will succeed. But you must not forget
to thank God for giving you a good mother."
CHAPTER III.
CHARLEY'S SICKNESS.
AFTER the visitors had a gone, Charley begged his mother to raise his
head by pillows, and let him look at the pictures in his new books. He
amused himself for an hour in this way, and in spelling out a page or
two of reading, when his head began to ache so hard that his mother
took the books away.
By the time his father came home, he was a great deal worse. His cheeks
were crimson, and his pulse beat very fast.
Mrs. Monson brought some ice and bathed his poor head with the cold
water, and gave him a powder to check the fever. He soon fell into a
troubled sleep, and talked wildly about Mr. Bryant, Oscar, new boots,
and Ida, all mixed up together.
What do you think comforted his mother, as she bent over his couch
during that long night? It was that, even in his dreams, Charley did
not feel unkindly or unforgiving toward the wicked boy who had injured
him.
Once he called out, "Don't, Oscar, don't! I wouldn't hurt you so;" and
again he said, "Poor boy! I'm afraid I should grow wicked, too, if I
had no kind mother to love me."
Many, many times the lady was obliged to wipe the tears from her eyes
when she heard her poor, sick boy talk so kindly of his cruel companion.
Many times, too, she knelt by his low couch, keeping fast hold of his
hot hand, and prayed to Jesus to make him well. Even in the midst of
her care and sorrow, there was one thing that made her happy.
Can you guess, Susy, or you, George, what could make her happy at such
a time? It was this. She felt sure if God called her darling child away
from earth, he would go at once to live with his Saviour in heaven. I
suppose you will want to know how she could feel sure of this, and I
will tell you.
Charley loved Jesus. Now, if I were to tell you that Oscar, the sullen,
impolite, cruel child, loved Jesus, you would say at once, "I don't
believe it."
Young as you are, you know that little boys and girls who love Jesus,
do all they can to please him; that they never tell lies, nor take
anything that does not belong to them; that they are gentle and kind
and forgiving, as dear Charley was; that they try to do good to others,
even to those who have injured them. The Bible says, "He that loveth
God, loveth his brother, also."
Ever since Charley was five years old he had tried to please the
Saviour. His heart was full of love for him; and this made the sweet
child love everybody else.
Toward morning the medicine began to take effect, and he fell into a
quiet slumber, and did not wake until it was quite late, and the family
had breakfasted.
Mr. Monson tried to persuade his mother to lie down herself, and let
him watch by their boy; but she only smiled sweetly as she whispered,—
"I am afraid he would miss me even in his sleep; and I am not at all
weary."
So she sat there close to the bed, where she could listen to his low
and rather irregular breathing, and thought.
Perhaps you would like to know what she was thinking of that made so
pleasant a smile linger about her mouth.
First, her thoughts went back to the time when God gave her a tiny
baby. She loved it, oh, so much! Every day she used to wash and dress
the little fellow, asking her Father in heaven to keep him from sin.
Soon he learned to walk and call her by that sweet name, mamma. Then he
began to lisp his infant prayer, and loved more than anything else to
listen to the stories of the dear Saviour, who took little children in
his arms, and blessed them.
Since that time, he would scarcely do anything without first asking,
"Would Jesus be pleased?" or, "Would it make Jesus sorry?"
How well she remembered the time when his cousin, a rude girl, was
visiting them, and insisted on having all his toys! Charley gave up
one after another of his treasures, until they came to a wooden horse
and cart, which he greatly prized. This he held behind him, until she
snatched it from his grasp.
For one moment his face looked red and angry; but he left his rude
playmate and came to his mother's side. Then, when she asked him about
it, he only said,—
"I suppose Carrie didn't know any better."
Do you wonder that, when his mother thought of all this, she felt sure
that Jesus had given her darling a new heart, and that, whether he
lived or died, he would still be happy?
CHAPTER IV.
WICKED OSCAR.
I MUST now go back a little, and tell you how it happened that Oscar,
who lived nearly a mile away, should come to Charley's house, and be so
angry with him.
Mr. Russel, Oscar's father, was a brickmaker; that is, he made bricks,
such as many houses are built with. The brick-yard, as it was called,
was but a short distance from Mr. Monson's house, and the man had to
pass it to get to his work.
He toiled very hard for twelve long hours, and of course needed good
food to sustain him. He used to ask his wife to send Oscar at noon with
some warm dinner; and she would often have cooked it, if she could have
persuaded her boy to carry it.
But many times he would say, "I wont," or he would cry and stamp his
foot, and complain that no other boy had to walk so far.
Sometimes she would coax him to go, by the promise of candy or cake;
but, as he soon found that his mother did not hesitate to tell a lie;
that she often promised what she did not intend to perform; he flatly
refused to obey her.
But, on the day of Mr. Bryant's visit, Mrs. Russel had some beef soup,
of which her husband was very fond; so she told Oscar he must carry a
pailful to his father, or he should have none for himself.
After a great deal of trouble and many hard words from both the mother
and son, he started away, Mrs. Russel standing in the doorway and
telling him to hurry as fast as he could, or the soup would be cold.
But Oscar had no idea of hurrying. He walked on very leisurely for a
while, until he saw a squirrel run along the top of the stone wall.
Then he set down his pail and chased the poor, frightened creature
until it fled for safety into the limb of a large oak-tree.
In his haste to catch the squirrel, he had set the pail on a stone
which had tipped over, and nearly half of the soup was spilled.
Instead of being sorry that his father's dinner was spoiled, he only
laughed, and said,—
"Now I'm glad, for 'twont be so heavy."
By and by he came to Mr. Monson's neat cottage. Charley was playing
with his cart in the yard, and said, pleasantly,—
"Hollo, Oscar!"
"Now, if I had that cart," said Oscar, "it would be easy to drag my
pail." He waited till Charley came very near, and then he snatched it,
and began to run away.
But Abel had seen him, and soon made him let the handle of the cart
drop.
All this time Charley stood still with astonishment. He could not
conceive what made Oscar so very naughty.
Abel turned back to his work, when, all at once, he heard a dreadful
scream. The wicked boy had thrown a large stone and hit the little
fellow in the temple.
Abel was very angry, indeed. He wanted to run after Oscar and punish
him as he deserved; but he saw his little pet lying on the ground, and
he concluded to attend to him, and let the rascal, as he called him, go
till another time.
When Mrs. Monson saw her precious child lying faint and trembling in
Abel's arms, she was frightened, indeed. She told the man to saddle the
horse and ride as quickly as he could for the doctor.
Then she bathed the great swelling with cold water, until the physician
came. He said it was a dangerous place to be hurt, and that it would
take a long time to heal.
When Charley felt better, she talked with him about Oscar, pitying the
child that he had not been better taught, and then asked her boy if he
would like to have Abel catch Oscar and beat him, as he was anxious to
do.
"Oh, no, indeed, mother! I wouldn't have him hurt for anything."
He lay on his pillow for a long time without speaking, and then he
said,—
"Mother, I've thought of a plan. I wish we could get Oscar here. You
might talk with him; and then I'd give him some of my toys. I think he
would be a good boy if he knew anybody loved him."
This was what Mrs. Monson meant when she told Mr. Bryant that she and
Charley had a plan. In the next chapter, I shall tell you how the plan
succeeded. Now I will only say that Oscar was so frightened at what he
had done, and so sure he should get the punishment he deserved, that he
dared not go home till it was quite dark, and then he crept along past
Mr. Monson's house very slyly, like a thief.
CHAPTER V.
GOOD FOR EVIL.
OSCAR was not in the habit of telling his mother what he had done, as
good boys and girls always do. I am sorry to say that, when he had
reached home, and his mother had scolded him for staying so long, he
told her a wicked lie.
"I was going by Mr. Monson's gate," he said, peevishly, "and Charley
came out, and knocked me down, and spilled most all the soup."
"Why didn't you kick him?" exclaimed the wicked mother.
Oscar said nothing; but, after eating his supper in silence, he went
off to bed.
Two days after this, he was sitting idly in the sun, near a pile of
small wood, which his mother had tried to coax him to split, when Mr.
Monson's carriage stopped at the door, and Charley jumped out. He had a
bandage around his head, and looked very pale.
Oscar trembled. Bad boys are always cowards, because their consciences
tell them they have done wrong and deserve punishment.
Then Mrs. Monson followed with a very large and heavy bundle in her
arms.
"I'll run off, I wont see 'em," said Oscar to himself.
But Charley had already seen him, and ran pleasantly forward,
exclaiming, in a cheerful voice,—
"Hollo, Oscar! Come and see what mother has brought you."
Oscar looked into the bright, happy face and wondered. His thoughts
were very much confused; but if he could only have straightened them
out, they would have been something very much like this,—
"What does it mean? She bring me something! If anybody had thrown a
stone at me, I guess you wouldn't catch mother carrying 'em anything."
Charley could not get at Oscar's thoughts; but he imagined it very
strange the boy did not answer. Presently he said again,—
"Come, mother's waiting to see you."
"I wont either," was the sullen reply. "I know what she's after; she's
going to give me a licking."
"Oh, no, indeed!" was Charley's eager reply. "You don't know how much
mother talks about you. She and I want to have you grow a real good
boy; and then you could come and play with me. I've got ever so many
pretty games. Oh, we'd have real nice times! Come into the house, and
mother will tell you all about it."
Oscar, though he had all his life been a wicked child, had a warm place
in his heart. Charley's kind words touched this place and made the
tears come into his eyes. He couldn't understand what it meant; but
when Charley held out his hand, he took it and walked up the narrow
path to the front door.
Mrs. Russel had threatened that if she ever saw Charley or his mother,
she'd tell what an ugly scamp the boy was, to knock her son down. But
when she saw them, she knew at once that Oscar had told a lie.
Mrs. Monson seemed so much interested for her, and inquired so
earnestly about Oscar's studies, whether he was fond of reading,
whether he went regularly to school, that she was about to tell the
lady all her trials with him, when the children entered.
"How do you do, Oscar?" inquired the lady.
His face turned fiery red, but he did not reply.
"Do you like pretty stories?" she added, untying the bundle. "See, I
have brought you some books. I hope you will like them. Charley likes
them very much."
All this time Oscar stood with his fingers in his mouth, making figures
with his bare toes on the floor. When the lady held the books toward
him, instead of taking them he burst into a loud cry, and tried to run
away.
His mother caught him and would have boxed his ears; but Mrs. Monson
begged her not to do so.
"I think we shall understand each other soon," she said, pleasantly.
Charley, too, tried to soothe his companion; but the more they said,
the more he cried, until all at once, he called out,—
"Didn't you know I threw a stone at him? I did, and I tried to run off
with his cart. I don't want the books; I'd rather you'd lick me and
done with it."
"I'm sure you will never throw another stone at him," said Mrs. Monson,
seriously. "The doctor said it was a wonder it had not killed him." She
lifted the bandage and showed him the blackened skin.
Oscar's lip quivered; and, with another burst of tears, he sobbed out,—
"I never was sorry before. I wish you'd lick me; I'd feel better;—I
would."
"No," said the lady, kindly; "Charley and I want to do something better
than that; we wish to forgive you, and try to make you a better boy."
Then Charley took Oscar's hand, and whispered,—
"I love you, Oscar."
To his surprise the boy threw himself on the floor, and sobbed as if
his heart would break.
His mother began to scold him; but he paid no attention to her; he kept
sobbing out,—
"Oh, dear! I'm sorry. I wish you'd lick me. Oh, oh! I never was sorry
before. Oh, dear!"
CHAPTER VI.
OSCAR'S SORROW.
IT was a long time before either Mrs. Monson or Charley could quiet the
lad. The lady saw that he had a kind heart, and she hoped much for him
from her son's influence. She saw that his mother was wholly unfit to
manage him, and she determined to have some talk with her.
When Oscar began to grow calm, she told Charley to take the books to
the outside door, and show him the nice pictures. Pretty soon she heard
them talking and laughing together, and then she told Mrs. Russel that
she wished to help Oscar to be good, so that he would be a comfort to
her.
"It's little enough he is now," she answered, quickly.
But, after the lady had talked long and earnestly with her of her
own duties as a mother, and reminded her that God would hold her
responsible for the manner in which she trained her boy; she confessed
that she had no patience, that she was passionate and often whipped him
when out of temper.
She thanked Mrs. Monson over and over again, and said she would try to
do better; and Oscar should go to Sunday school or anywhere else the
lady said was best.
Mrs. Monson was surprised, when she left the house, to find that the
sun had set. She looked at her watch, and found it wanted only half an
hour to seven; but when they were riding home, she told Charley she
felt greatly encouraged both for the mother and son.
"If they will do as they have promised," she said, "I shall be well
paid for my afternoon's work."
This was Saturday. The next Tuesday, Charley was looking from the
window, when he saw Oscar at the gate, gazing wistfully toward the
house, as if he would like, but dared not, to go in.
[Illustration] "Have you come to see me?"
He ran out quickly to meet him. "Have you come to see me?" he asked.
"I found some posies. Do you like posies?" inquired Oscar, bashfully
crowding the flowers into the boy's hand.
"Oh, how pretty! Come in, and let us show them to mother."
The rest of the afternoon was passed by the happy children in the
nursery, looking at Charley's toys.
Once Mrs. Monson thought, "I must talk with him before he goes;" and
she went quietly to the nursery door for this purpose, but stopped
suddenly.
What do you think kept her from going in? She heard Charley's voice
saying,—
"I know it's hard, Oscar; but Jesus will help you, if you really try to
be good. Did you ever pray to Jesus?"
"No, I never did. I don't know how."
"Let's kneel down, then, and pray now," the little missionary went on.
Then he began,—
"Dear Jesus, Oscar wants to be good. Will you help him; and help his
mother, too, and me; and forgive all our sins; and let us go to heaven
when we die? For Christ's sake. Amen."
"I don't know what it means," said Oscar, softly.
Then Mrs. Monson opened the door quietly, and, calling the boys to her
side, she told the poor, ignorant child, of the dear Saviour, who came
into the world to save children, and all who will trust in him. She
told him that God was our heavenly Father, who loves us, and wants us
to be good; that his eyes are everywhere, seeing what little boys do,
and what they need to make them happy; and his ears are everywhere, so
that he can hear the faintest whisper spoken to him by any little child
who wants help to do right.
Oscar looked very solemn while she was talking, and then said,—
"I would like to be good if it would make me like Charley. I think
Charley is the best boy in all the world. I'd rather take a hundred
lickings than to hurt him again."
When Mr. Bryant went away, after leaving Charley's present, he made the
boy promise to send him word how his plan with Oscar succeeded.
CHAPTER VII.
OSCAR'S STRUGGLES.
NO little girl or boy will suppose that Oscar, after all the years he
had been sullen, disobedient, and revengeful, could become good in a
day, or even a week. To be sure, by the kindness of Mrs. Monson, he had
learned something of what his Saviour had done for him, and what he
must himself do in order to please God; but there were still many ugly
weeds which needed rooting out of his heart.
His new friends were greatly interested in him; but they were not
always at hand to remind him how wrong it was to speak disrespectfully
to his parents, or to be cruel to animals.
One morning, soon after Oscar's visit to Charley, Mrs. Russel was
startled by hearing a great noise from the barn-yard; and, rushing
to the door, she saw her son chasing the cat among a brood of young
chickens, while the poor, frightened hen screeched and ran about trying
to protect her little ones under her wings.
Oscar stood laughing at the distress, when his mother screamed out,—
"You good-for-nothing boy! Aren't you ashamed of yourself to act so?
Here, kitty, kitty, come away. There, she knows enough to let the
chickens alone, if you would behave yourself. Come out of that yard, or
I'll start right off and tell Mrs. Monson you're a worse boy than ever."
"No you wont tell her any such thing!" yelled Oscar, his face flaming
with passion. "You just mind your own business. The chickens are mine;
father gave 'em to me."
Mrs. Russel started forward to strike the boy, who stood defiantly
before her; but, suddenly remembering her resolution to command her own
temper, she let her hand fall to her side. Without another word she
went into the house.
"Whew!" exclaimed Oscar, beginning to come to his senses. "I wonder why
she didn't give me a cuff."
He sat down on the step of the barn door. If you had seen him, you
would have thought he was counting the pretty yellow chicks, he gazed
so intently at them, as they picked up the dough from the board. But
he was not. He had forgotten they were before him. The poor boy was
thinking about himself; and presently one, two big tears came rolling
down his brown cheeks, and he looked very sad.
"I wish she had licked me. How could I forget so soon? I might just as
well give up. It's no use for me to try and be good, like Charley. Oh,
dear! I wish I hadn't forgot. I wish old Tom had been in the pond, and
then I wouldn't have chased her in here. I wonder whether ma will tell
of me. If Mrs. Monson knows it, she wont let Charley play with me any
more."
All at once he stopped crying, and his face brightened. What do you
think made him look pleased?
He remembered something that Mrs. Monson had said, the last time she
talked with him. Charley was holding his hand all the time and gazing
lovingly in his face. It was this,—
"Oscar, you may find it hard to conquer your temper. Perhaps sometimes
you will forget. But God is watching you every moment, and when he sees
that you try to be a good boy; that you keep from lying, and endeavor
to honor your parents, he will help you. If ever you are discouraged,
you must put up a little prayer to him; and, though he lives in the
sky, and has thousands of angels bowing before him, he will certainly
hear and answer you."
Oscar sat very still, thinking of all this; and the chickens had made a
hearty meal, and were taking a nap under their mother's wings, when he
said, aloud,—
"I mean to pray, now."
He did not kneel down. You know he had never been taught, as you have
been, to kneel at his mother's side and pray; but he covered his face
in both his hands, and began to repeat, as well as he could remember,
Charley's prayer,—
"O God! I know I've been awful wicked. I'm real sorry, God, that I
forgot. I do want to be a good boy. I don't like being ugly and cross
and naughty all the time, as I used to be. Will you help me be like
Charley, who is good and happy all the time? Will you help mother be
good, too? For I know she's trying real hard."
CHAPTER VIII.
CHARLEY'S REWARD.
I TOLD you that Mrs. Russel went back into the house. She had told her
husband that very morning that she never knew a boy so changed as Oscar
was. "Only," she said, "I'm afraid it wont last. If it does, I shall
think Mrs. Monson is a witch."
Now she said in her heart, flinging herself into a large rocking-chair,
with a sigh,—
"There, it's all over! I knew it would be. He's just as ugly as
ever. I wish I hadn't given him the chickens. I thought 'twould kind
of encourage him to keep on being good. But now, after all my fuss
in feeding the old hen, there he was setting Tom on to kill her. I
declare, I can't help crying."
She sat thinking for a few minutes, and then said to herself, "He's up
to some mischief again, I'll warrant. He always is when he's still."
She went out, softly, and stood behind the barn door. She could not
see him, and was just about to call his name, "Oscar! Oscar!" when she
heard his voice.
He was beginning his prayer.
I think no mother was ever more astonished at what she heard. She held
her breath to listen. Could it be her wicked boy asking God to help him
to be good, and praying for her, too?
She covered her face with her apron, and began to sob. Oscar heard her
and ran out.
"O ma!" he cried. "You may lick me, if you want to; but I am sorry I
was naughty. O ma! I like trying to be good. I guess God is going to
help me. Don't you?"
Instead of answering, Mrs. Russel threw her arms round her boy's neck,
and kissed him ever so many times.
"I heard you praying," she said, at last; "and for me, too. O Oscar! I
used to pray; but I forgot it years ago. We'll try to be good together;
and you shall have some new clothes, and we'll all go to church. You
know Mrs. Monson said we ought. I'm sure your pa will be willing when
he knows what's making you so different."
I wish you could have seen Oscar that afternoon! His face was full
of smiles. He was very happy. When his mother said her wood was too
large for her stove, he went out and split quite a pile of it for her,
whistling all the time.
Toward night he sat on the front step, trying to spell out some words
in a book Charley gave him, when Mr. Monson's carriage drove slowly
toward the gate. Charley was inside, and Oscar heard him say,—
"Just a minute, mamma. I want to speak to him." And then the driver
stopped and Charley jumped out.
The boys talked earnestly for a few minutes, and then Charley said,
aloud,—
"Oh, I'm so glad! I'll ask mamma to let me come again. I knew you
would."
"Charley! Charley!" called Oscar, as the carriage was driving away. "Do
you like birch whistles? 'Cause father showed me how to make 'em, and
I'll make you one."
"I should admire one!" shouted back Charley, and then he told his
mother that Oscar had begun to pray, and how happy he was because he
was trying to be good.
A day or two after this, Mrs. Monson and Charley went to the city for a
visit. They often talked about Oscar, and wondered how he was getting
on. The lady determined to urge his mother to send him to school
regularly, and to form habits of industry in her boy.
One day they went to a hat store, and Mrs. Monson made Charley very
happy by giving him a nice cap for his friend, to wear to Sunday school.
They reached home Saturday evening, and, of course, had no time to see
Oscar; but the servant said he had been there, and left a parcel of
whistles. She said, too, that he seemed dreadfully disappointed not to
see Charley.
The next day they were scarcely seated in church, when a man, woman,
and boy walked up the aisle, following the sexton to one of the wing
pews.
Charley pulled his mother's dress, his eyes sparkling with pleasure;
while Oscar, in a nice new suit of clothes, sat gazing around with
great interest. I suppose you can hardly believe it; but, though living
scarcely a mile from church, this was the first time he had ever been
inside its walls.
Mrs. Monson was delighted to see with what reverence both father and
mother listened to the services; and she offered up a silent prayer
that God, for the sake of Jesus Christ, his well-beloved Son, would
convert them and their boy to himself.
CHAPTER IX.
CONCLUSION.
AFTER this, every day Oscar went to carry his father's dinner, on his
way to school. The teacher had always considered him one of the worst
boys in his class; but now she wondered at the change. One day she
said,—
"Oscar, I scarcely know you. You have grown very studious and obedient."
"I'm trying to be good and to please Jesus," the boy answered, his lip
quivering, while a new expression of humility was stamped upon his
countenance.
It was nearly two months after Mr. Bryant's visit, when the gentleman
received the following note from his little friend,—
"DEAR MR. BRYANT AND MRS. BRYANT AND IDA,—I like the books very much,
indeed. I like the parrot volume best, because it is so funny to hear
about parrots talking. I think the dog book is a very nice one, too.
Mamma read me about the dogs that were dressed up in a party, and I
laughed a good deal; but I don't like them so well as I do Gelert, the
good dog, that saved the baby from the wolf.
"Oscar Russel comes here most every day. He is getting to be a real
nice boy. I like him, and so does mamma. He never throws stones now. He
has begun to pray to Jesus. His mother is growing good, too. She says
she can't believe Oscar is her boy, he is so good at home. He tells
mamma every naughty thing that he does, just as I do, you know; and she
tells him how to conquer his bad temper, and how to be good, so that
people will love and respect him.
"It is now very pleasant weather, and I have made a nice plan; but I
cannot do it unless you all consent. It is for Abel to harness the old
General into our large wagon, and take us together to a berry pasture,
about three miles away. Mamma says, there is a beautiful grove near
the place, where we can eat the lunch she means to carry, and where
the horse can be tied in the shade. Mamma sends her love, and says she
hopes you will join our party, and she invites you to leave your horse
in our barn, and to come back with us and eat blueberries and milk for
tea.
"Your little friend,
"CHARLEY MONSON."
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