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THE TWO SIXPENCES. 



THE 



TWO SIXPENCES 



By AUNT WINNIE. 









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HOME OF THE FKIEXDLESS. 



PUBLISHED BY THE 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

28 Cobnhill, Boston. 



.WSSTw 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by the 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Mass. 



ELECTROTTPED AT THE 
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY. 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 



In - a miserable house, in a low and 
unpleasant portion of one of our large 
cities, lived two little girls, Susan and 
Nora* Bryan. Their father was a very 
intemperate man, and their poor, sor- 
rowful mother was dying with consump- 
tion. So the little girls had to go dirty 
and uncared for. Mrs. Treadwell, the 
faithful tract visitor in that neighbor- 
hood, found the family in this forlorn 
and wretched condition, and became 
much interested in them. She was a 
kind, tender-hearted woman, and many 



4 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

a plate of toast and bowl of nice soup 
did she cany with her own hands to the 
sick woman, and many a nice, comforta- 
.ble garment she found a way to get for 
the little ones. When the poor mother 
came to die, she begged of Mrs. Tread- 
well to look after her children. She 
could see nothing before them but beg- 
gary or the poorhouse. . 

" Their father will never do a turn for 
them," said she, "and he'll be glad 
enough to have them off his hands. 
Please, ma'am, look out for them, and 
the blessing of the Almighty will ever 
be with you." 

Mrs. Tread well, kind woman that she 
was, did not need much entreaty to 
look after the little girls, for her heart 
was already opened to them. She ob- 
tained the consent of their father, and 
took them directly to her own house. 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 5 

There, when she had washed them and 
combed their hair neatly, and dressed 
them in clean clothes, no one would ever 
have suspected that they had just come 
from a dirty hovel. She told the little 
girls that they were no longer to be called 
by their old names, but that they must 
call themselves Susan and Nora Tread- 
well, for now they were going to be her 
children, and live with her all the time. 

Surely it was the Lord who put it into 
the heart of this Christian woman to do 
this kind deed; for when she thought 
of her own scanty means of support, it 
really seemed a great undertaking. Her 
husband was infirm, and could not do 
the work of a common day -laborer, so 
that the six dollars he brought in Satur- 
day night, and the very little which she, 
with her poor health, could earn by sew- 
ing, was all they had to depend on. But 



6 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

the Bible says, " A little that a righteous 
man hath is better than the riches of 
many wicked;" and with their little they 
had a much more comfortable and happy 
home than many a rich person has. 

"We are poor," said she to her hus- 
band, "but these little ones are poorer 
still. We will do the best we can for 
them now, and perhaps Providence will 
provide a better home for them by 
and by." 

So the good people were agreed and 
happy. They were grateful to God for 
all their blessings, and freely as they had 
received they could freely give. This is 
the Saviour's rule of benevolence, and 
his promise of reward always goes along 
with it. 

Pretty soon Mrs. Treadwell heard of 
some nice, pleasant work which Susan 
and Nora could easily do. She knew 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. / 

that work was just as good for children's 
little hands as for grown people's, to keep 
them out of mischief, and she imme- 
diately procured some. Now, when Sat- 
urday night came, they could bring their 
little earnings to put into the family 
purse, which helped along wonderfully. 
And the little girls were blithe and 
happy as the birds. 

Their mother, as they always called 
Mrs. Treadwell, was a very methodical 
and thrifty woman, and employed their 
time very properly and pleasantly. In 
the morning, after breakfast and prayers, 
and father had gone to his work, they 
cleared off the breakfast things, and did 
up the housework for the day. Then 
their mother devoted an hour to the chil- 
dren's lessons. She had them read and 
recite, and write and cipher. Then they 
worked for two hours. They had a pretty 



8 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

little low table fixed on purpose for them, 
and two little arm-chairs to sit in, so that 
their backs and limbs should not grow 
tired. At twelve o'clock, when the navy- 
yard bell rang, they could run and jump, 
and play as hard as they chose. They 
could help mother get up the dinner, and 
eat it with a good relish, and then help 
clear up the room and set things right, 
and at two were ready for work again. 

Working time was longer in the after- 
noon — three hours in winter and four in 
summer. But then they always had a 
recess just midway, and a good play 
rested them; for Mrs. Treadwell knew 
that little bodies could not sit steadily at 
work for sp long a time as grown up 
folks, without suffering. Susan and Nora 
liked their work, and all their arrange- 
ments, and were very industrious and 
obedient, and of course — of course they 
were happy 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 9 

Their evenings they had for them- 
selves. They studied and read — they 
chatted and sewed, and played with 
their rag babies. Sometimes there was 
a prayer meeting at their house, and 
sometimes they attended one at a neigh- 
bor's. Occasionally they made or received 
a visit. 

Mr. and Mrs. Treadwell were too poor 
to take the newspapers, but they had a 
sister who took several, and every week 
she sent them down for them to read. 
Among these was one called " The 
Advocate and Guardian," which Susan 
and Nora enjoyed more than any other. 
This little sheet is published by the 
society of Christian ladies in New York, 
who have charge of the " Home of the 
Friendless," one of the benevolent insti- 
tutions of that city. They were at that 
time just erecting the large and conven- 



10 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

ient house which has since been occu- 
pied as an asylum for the poor little 
children of want and vagrancy. 

This paper contained most interesting 
accounts of these wretched little home- 
less ones who were picked up from the 
dirty garrets, and cellars, and alleys of the 
city, and even from the prison itself, and 
brought into this pleasant and comfort- 
able home, where they were loved and 
cared for, until good Christian homes 
were found for them elsewhere. Susan 
and ISTora thought these affecting histo- 
ries very much like their own, and that 
was the reason they were so much in- 
terested. They could not read very well 
themselves, but they listened with the 
deepest attention as their father read 
from time to time, and you might often 
see a tear of sympathy steal down their 
cheeks. 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 11 

Then there were accounts of the con- 
tributions that were made by Christian 
people to pay for the erection of this 
nice " Home." A great many little chil- 
dren from the country around, and from 
the far West, sent their dollars, saying 
that they wanted to " own a brick in the 
house." And those who could not give a 
dollar gave less, and said they would 
have " a nail in it." 

" Oh," said Susan, one night, after she 
and her sister had gone to bed, "oh, how 
I wish I had some money to send to that 
Home ! I. never wanted any thing half 
so much in my life." 

" I too," says Nora ; " it is such a nice 
place for poor little children. Why, 
Susan, some of those stories are just 
like ours. If Ave had lived in New 
York perhaps we should have gone 
there." 



12 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

" Father and mother have been so kind 
to us that I want . to do something for 
them. Oh, if I only could get some 
money ! " 

"If we could find some in the street 
now, or if somebody would give us some, 
or if we only could earn enough to make 
us all rich ! " said Nora. "Oh, dear, how 
happy rich people must be ! " 

"If I. ever do get any of my own, — I 
don't care how much it is, — Nora, I'll tell 
you what, I'll give it every single cent to 
that Home." And, with that generous 
impulse and resolution, the little girls 
fell asleep. 

It was New Year's morning. The day 
opened gay and bright; the ground was 
covered with new, clean snow, and the 
sleigh bells were jingling merrily in the 
streets. Our little girls awoke as fresh 
as the morning. They had no stockings 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 13 

full of presents, but they were not disap- 
pointed, for they did not expect any. 
They knew that their father and mother 
had just as much as they could do, with 
what they themselves could earn, to pro- 
vide their food and clothes, and they 
could not afford to give them presents. 
But they were to have a holiday, and 
that was a great treat ; and mother had 
promised to make them some nice dough- 
nuts for dinner, and they were more 
than contented. I do believe they were 
happier than many of the children who 
had received their laps full of presents 
and goodies. 

After breakfast and prayers, their 
father called them to him, and holding 
out a bright new sixpence in each hand, 
he said, — - 

" It isn't much I can give you, children, 
but there's a little bit for you to buy a 



14 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

New Year's treat with. You can do just 
what you've a mind to with the money." 

How they thanked him, and how their 
eyes sparkled, and their cheeks and chins 
all dimpled with smiles, as they folded 
their little hands on the bright silver 
coin! — the first money they had ever 
had that they could really call their 
own. . And, after the housework was 
done, how eagerly they gathered their 
baby rags, and hastened into their work 
corner, where they could play and con- 
sult together about their money. 

Nora was the talker ; Susan didn't say 
much. She had her mind already made 
up what was to be done with her six- 
pence. She hadn't forgotten the resolu- 
tion she had so often made, that if she 
ever should have any money of her own, 
she would give the whole of it to the 
Home. But Nora was younger and 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 15 

forgetful. She thought of twenty differ- 
ent things she wanted, each of which 
would probably have cost more than 
both their sixpences put together. At 
last, after her tongue had run on a long 
while without stopping, she happened to 
notice that Susan had said nothing. 

"Why don't you talk, Susan?" said 
she. " You haven't told a thing yet that 
you want. What are you going to do 
with your sixpence — eh ? " 

" I'm going to give mine to the Home, 
you know," answered her sister ; "so I 
didn't need to talk about that." 

" Well, I declare, what a puss I am," 
exclaimed Nora, "just to go and forget 
every thing about that Home ! Why, of 
course I want to give mine, as much as 
you do. I don't care a pin about all those 
things I've been talking about. I don't 
want one of 'em." 



16 THE TWO SIXPENCE S. 

Then, after a pause, she asked in a mare 
quiet tone, " But how are we going to get 
it there, Susan ? " 

"Mother knows Mrs. Gooclenough, who 
lives in H. Street, and she is one of the 
ladies that belong to that society. And I 
think she will let us go and carry it to her. 

"That's first rate," said Nora; "let's 
go this afternoon." 

" No, we can't go to-day, for New Year's 
day all the people have company. The 
gentlemen all go round and make calls 
upon the ladies. So she will be busy to- 
day; but to-morrow afternoon, at recess, 
if mother will let us, we can go." 

So the important matter was adjusted 
to their complete satisfaction. 

The next afternoon, at three o'clock, 
Susan and Nora, neatly dressed in their 
Sunday clothes, started on their mission. 
Full of hope and courage they tripped 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 17 

merrily along over the crusty snow, and 
never thought of trouble until they were 
within sight of the house. Then Susan's 
timidity began to work. 

" Suppose now," said she, " that the 
girl that comes to the door should be 
cross, and shouldn't let us see Mrs. Good- 
enough ? " 

"And suppose she should be out?* 
suggested Nora. 

"I don't care for that, because we 
would go again ; but they say girls are 
sometimes very cross to children, and to 
poor folks like us." 

" Well, never mind, let's try, any how," 
said Nora, as she proceeded up the steps 
and pulled the bell handle with a good 
will. 

But the girl was not cross. She looked 
quite amiable and pleasant, as she might 
well have done, at seeing two such rosy- 



18 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

faced, healthy-looking, neatly-clad little 
girls as now stood before her. And when 
they asked if Mrs. Goodenough was at 
home, she told them yes, and they might 
go right up stairs to see her. 

" Go right in at the first door you come 
to," shouted Bridget, as she closed the 
door and stood at the foot of the stairs to 
see them up„ " You'll find her there." 

And, sure enough, there was the lady 
sitting- at a little workstand, all alone, 
sewing. She knew the children, for she 
had seen them several times before, and 
had heard all their little history. Seeing 
her pleasant face, all their fears and doubts 
vanished, she made them feel at once so 
much at home. She placed some small 
chairs of own children's near the warm, 
cheerful fire, and told them to sit down 
and melt the snow off their shoes and 
warm their feet. Then she talked with 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 19 

them about their home, their mother, and 
their work. After a while, Susan ven- 
tured to ask, — 

"Is the Home of the Friendless all 
paid for yet?" 

"Oh, no, dear; there are many hundreds 
of dollars to be paid yet. It takes a good 
while to raise so much money." 

"We've brought our sixpences to give 
to it," said Susan, as she rose and laid the 
two silver pieces on the workstancl. 

" Your sixpences! and where did you 
get them?" inquired the lady. 

" Father gave them to us yesterday to 
buy a New Year's treat with; but we 
thought we'd rather bring them to you." 

"And how did you come to know any 
thing about the Home of the Friend- 
less?" 

" Oh, we read the Advocate, or father 
reads it to us, and we know all about it." 



20 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

"And about the dear little children 
that are gathered in there ? " 

"Yes'rn," said Susan. 

"They are just like us, as we used to 
be," spoke up little Nora, 

" And that's the reason we like to hear 
about them," said Susan, " and why we 
want to give them something." 

" I am glad you feel so grateful, little 
girls, for the good home God has kindly 
given you, and that you feel a wish to do 
something to help others." 

" It isn't much — I wish it was more," 
said Susan. 

" But it's all we had — we ain't rich," 
added Nora. 

"Well, your gift is just as acceptable 
in the sight of God as if it was a great 
deal more/' said Mrs. Goodenough. " You 
remember the story about the poor widow 
in the New Testament — don't you? " 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 2i 

" No 'm, I never heard it," answered 
Nora. 

"Jesus and his disciples were standing 
near the temple at one time, watching 
the people as they cast their gifts into 
the treasury. There were a good many 
rich people, who brought large offerings ; 
and then there came along a poor widow 
who only' put in two mites, which was a 
very little sum. The disciples were in- 
clined to laugh at her, and to think it 
wasn't worth her while to come if she 
couldn't bring more. Bat Jesus said, no ; 
she had cast in more than all the rest. 
And when the disciples asked why, he 
said, because she of her poverty had cast 
in all that she had, while the rich people 
had given of their abundance what they 
could spare as well as not. That is, she 
had denied herself to give, but they had 



22 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

"I like that — I didn't know that 
before," said little Nora, as Mrs. Goode- 
nough paused. 

"And then, in another place," con- 
tinued the lady, " Jesus said, that if we 
have nothing to give away but a cup of 
cold water, and give that for his sake, 
that is, from love to him, we shall in no 
wise lose our reward." 

The children both looked up and 
smiled. 

"And I am sure," proceeded Mrs. G., 
"that God will reward you and smile 
upon you for this your little offering." 

" I feel it now," said Nora, looking up. 

Mrs. G. smiled in her turn at the 
artless simplicity of the child. 

" Why, how do you know ? " she 
asked. 

" Oh, I feel so happy all over inside," 
replied the little one. 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 23 

"Yes, that is God's smile truly, my 
dear, and you will always feel it when 
you do right." 

Then, giving the children some apples, 
and bidding them sit still till she re- 
turned, she went down stairs. 

" Now," said Mrs. G. to her daughter 
Alice, after briefly relating the children's 
errand and conversation, " I am going to 
fulfill for them another of the New Testa- 
ment sayings. They denied themselves 
yesterday their little treat, a sixpence 
worth of cakes and candies, and now I 
am going to give them a basketfull, 
according as it is written, 'Give and it 
shall be given unto you, good measure, 
pressed down, shaken together, and run- 
ning over, shall men give into your 
bosoms; for with what measure ye mete 
withal shall it be measured to you again.' " 
Alice and her mother piled a basket, as 



24 THE TWO SIXPENCES. 

large as they thought the little girls could 
carry, with apples, oranges, figs, nuts, 
cakes, and tarts — a real tempting assort, 
ment. Then Alice ran away, and soon 
returned with two new books and two 
packages of paper dolls. 

"I'm going to write their names in 
these, mother," said she, " and put them 
right here upon the top. Won't they be 
pleased?" 

Then the cover was fastened down 
securely, and Mrs. G. took it up stairs. 

" Now, little girls," said she, " I have 
put up a few New Year's goodies in this 
basket, for you and your father and 
mother. You must give my love to 
your mother, and tell her I want you 
to come and see me again." And the 
children were soon trudging home with 
their basket between them, as blithe and 
merry as two little fairies. 



THE TWO SIXPENCES. 25 

" Wasn't she real pleasant ? " said 
Nora. "I didn't feel afraid one bit 
after I got into the room," said Susan. 

And oh, that visit, that visit ! . Wasn't it 
the theme of conversation for a week of 
weeks, and the paper dolls and the books 
were an incessant delight. I don't be- 
lieve they ever will forget the happiness 
of that day. 

And the two sixpences went straight 
to the Home "treasury, and were received 
with smiles and tears by those Christian 
ladies whose hearts the Lord had touched 
to feel for his suffering little one?. 



26 



THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER. 

I am a little orphan ; 

My heart is lone and sad ; 
In the cold world a wanderer, 

I'm never, never glad. 
Like a leaf upon the storm- wind, 

A speck against the sky, 
Like a torn and blighted blossom, 
Am I — am I. 

I saw a long procession 

Of children yesternight ; 
All decked with buds and blossoms, 

They seemed as gay and bright. 
And as they went they chanted, 

In voices soft and low, 
" Our Father, God, in heaven " — 
I heard it so. 

And still those words were with me 

As I went to rest alone 
In yonder wretched alley, 

My head upon a stone. 



27 



" Our Father," I kept saying ; 

"Is he mine as well as theirs ? 
Oh, if he is, I'll ask him 
To hear my prayers. 

" God ! give the little orphan 
A shelter from the storm ; 

Oh, find for him a mother 
With bosom true and warm ; 

God ! give thy child a teacher 
To guide his soul from sin, 

And open thy blue heaven 
To take him in." 



THE ANGEL'S REPLY. 

God hears thee, weeping orphan $ 

Our Father's ever near 
"Where there is want or sorrow, 

Or suffering, or a tear ; 
And he will send thee succor, 

Thou little lonely one ; 
Thy days and nights of misery 
Are well nis:h done. 



28 



For he has myriad angels 
Who at his bidding go,' 

To hush the cry of anguish, 
To heal the pang of woe. 

Like him they're good and gentle ; 
With eyes and hearts of love, 

They hover ever round thee, 
Poor, panting dove. 

The hearthstone now is lighted, 
At which thy welcome waits ; 

The heart of that true mother 
For thee already beats. 

The Holy Book is open, 
The sacred page is spread, 

That thou its blessed lessons 
Of love mayst read. 

God is " Our Father " ever ; 

He never will forsake 
Those who, like loving children, 

His word and promise take. 
Be glad then, little orphan ; 

In every want and fear, 
Even in the darkest hours, 
Trust to his care. 



A SONG OF LOVE. 29 



A SONG OF LOYE. 

Jestjs, would that I could tell thee 

How I love thy very name ! 
Oh, what sweet affections fill me, 

Burning with a quenchless flame ! 
Thy rich goodness 

Is my never-failing theme ! 

Thou hast come from heaven to save me, 

Lost and ruined in my sin ; 
Thou art pleading now to have me 

One with God, and pure within ; 
Oh, what mercy ! 

Jesus died my soul to win. 

Every moment thou art showing 
Wondrous grace and gentlest care ; 

Never weary of bestowing, 

Countless though thy blessing are ; 

Varied tokens 
Thy unvarying love declare. 

I will love thee, oh, my Saviour, 
I will praise thee day by day, 

Honor thee in my behavior,. 
All thy wise commands obey, 

Till in heaven 
I shall join the angels' lay. 



30 THE SABBATH SCHOOL. 



THE SABBATH SCHOOL. 

I am so happy all day long 
I can not keep from singing ; 

Glad words are ever on my tongue, 
And pleasant thoughts are springing ! 

My heart with joy and praise is full, 

For, oh, I love the Sabbath school ! 

Fly swift, ye week-days ! come and go, 
And bring the holy morning ; 

I rise, with pleasure all aglow, 
To greet its earliest dawning. 

My heart with joy and praise is full, 

For, oh, I love the Sabbath school ! 

Like music sound the sacred bells 
That call me to my teacher ; 

Such kindness in her bosom dwells, 
It shines in every feature ! 

My heart with joy and praise is full, 

For, oh, I love the Sabbath school ! 

Alas for children, far and near, 
Who have no Sabbath teaching ! 

Oh, will not some kind friend appear, 
With tender arm outreaching, 

All angel-like and merciful, 

To give to them a Sabbath school ? 



ONLY JESUS. 31 



ONLY JESUS. 

Give me Jesus — only Jesus ; 

All I ask is love like his ; 
Earthly pleasure, earthly treasure, 

Joyfully I yield for this. 

Sin distresses, woe oppresses, 

Guilt disturbs my spirit's rest; • 

Peace and gladness banish sadness, 
While I lie upon his breast. 

Gently holding, close infolding, 
His dear arms shall save from ill ; 

In his keeping, waking, sleeping, 
Nothing harms me — nothing will. 

Whispers, gracious, tender, precious, 
Flow from out his lips divine : 

" Come, ye weary — earth is dreary — 
Never leave this heart of mine." 

Give me Jesus — give me Jesus ; 

All I ask is his dear love ; 
Love forgiving, blessing, saving, 

And a home with him above. 



32 CHRIST OUR KING. 



CHRIST OUR KING. 

Hail, Jesus ! Saviour, King ! 
Praises to thee we bring, 

Blest Lamb of God ! 
Thou hast for sinners died ! 
May we, O Crucified, 
Be saved and purified 

By thy dear blood ! 

Hail, Jesus ! Conqueror, King ! 
Glad tribute will we bring, 

And own thy sway. 
In majesty ride forth, 
Till, through the vanquished earth, 
All shall confess thy worth, 

Thy rule obey. 

Hail, Jesus ! Sovereign King ! 
With angels let us sing 

For evermore. 
To Him who once was slain, 
Now risen above to reign — 
Come, children, join the strain ! 

Praise and adore. 



THE 



CRYBABY. 



By AUNT WINNIE. 




PUBLISHED BY THE 
AMERICAN TKACT SOCIETY, 

28 Cornhill, Boston. 



THE CRYBABY 



"Oh, Lillie, Lillie!" said Mrs. Rich- 
ards, one day, in a displeased and some- 
what discouraged tone of voice, "when 
will you learn how to cry ? " 

"I think she has already learned to 
perfection," said Ruthie, a child of twelve 
years old, who was leading the offending 
little one in from the yard ; " I can't do 
any thing with her, mother, and I am so 
tired ! It's nothing but cry, cry, all the 
time. If she don't like any thing we do, 
she doesn't say a word, but just cries." 
Ruth was vexed. 

(3) 



4 THE CRYBABY. 

" Roar, roar, roar," said Catharine, the 
nurse, as she followed the little girls in, 
with- the baby in her arms. "Indade, 
marm, an' I niver see the like of her. 
Yees can do nothing at all to suit her " 

The subject of all this reproach stood 
in the middle of the floor, with her eyes 
cast down and her finger in her mouth, 
looking very much like a convicted crim- 
inal. Her hair was in disorder, large red 
circles were drawn around her eyes, her 
cheeks were dirty, and her dress soiled 
and torn. Her mother observed her for 
a moment silently, and, without making 
any reply either to Ruth or the servant, 
she rose, took Lillie by the hand, and led 
her to her own room. She brought up 
a chair to the marble toilet, and, drawing 
some water, gently washed the little girl's 
face and hands, and smoothed and ar- 
ranged her hair. Then putting her arms 



THE CRYBABY. O 

around her, and drawing her close to 
her bosom, she imprinted a kiss on the 
little fair brow, saying, " My poor child ! 
I am afraid nobody but mother will 
ever love you." 

The little one looked up in astonish- 
ment into her mother's face, and saw the 
tears that were standing in her eyes. 
In a moment the head was cast down 
again : " I shouldn't think you would 
love me, either." 

"Yes, I am your mother, Lillie, and 
I shall never cease to love you. I don't 
love your naughty ways, though, and I 
do wish very much indeed that you 
would leave them off, and become a real 
good girl." 

" Mother, I would be good if I could, 
but I can't — I don't know how." 

"You know how to be pleasant and 
good-natured, my dear. You are so 
sometimes." 



6 THE CRYBABY. 

"Well, the children are doing some- 
thing to plague me all the time." 

" Oh, no, my dear ; I am sure it is not 
right for you to say that. But suppose 
that they were — suppose that they were 
all very unkind to you, and did every 
thing they could to trouble and annoy 
you: that would be no reason why you 
should be naughty too. The Saviour 
tells us that we must love them that 
hate us, and pray for them that de- 
spitefully use us. We must be patient 
and forgiving always when others do 
us wrong, and plague us, as you call it." 

"Well, I can't help crying, mother., 
I 'm sure, when I fall down and hurt me, 
I can't help crying." 

"I don't think I should say you 
mustn't cry, Lillie, if you would only 
cry the right way." 

" How ? " asked the child, with some 
surprise. 



THE CflYBABY. 7 

" Why, cry easy, so no one could hear 
you. If you did that, I think you would 
make yourself a much more agreeable 
little girl. But now you cry so loud 
and so often that you disturb and an- 
noy every one. I often think, when I 
hear you cry, of a little girl I used to 
go to school with, when I was about 
as old as you." 

" What was her name ? " 

" Her name was Sarah Chapin. Every 
little thing that went wrong set her cry- 
ing. If she pricked her finger while she 
was sewing, or if she missed a word in 
her lesson and had to go down in her 
class, if any little girl pushed up against 
her by accident, or if the teacher had 
occasion to find fault with her or pun- 
ish her, she would cry so loud that you 
could hear her away across the street. 
After she had been at our school a little 



8 THE CRYBABY. 

while, the teacher got quite discour- 
aged about her, she was so noisy and 
disagreeable, and asked Sarah's parents 
to take her away, and send her to some 
other school. So they did, and sent her 
to Miss More's, which was just over the 
way from ours. And very often — every 
day almost, — we could hear her cry 
away over there. We always knew 
Sarah Chapin's peculiar ' screech,' as we 
little girls used to call it. And some- 
times our teacher would notice it, and 
look at us and smile, as much as to say, 
'We are glad she isn't here.' We all 
thought it was a great deal pleasanter to 
hear her at a distance than close by." 

" What was your teacher's name, moth- 
er ? " said Lillie, laughing. She was get- 
ting quite interested in the story. 

"It was Miss Maloon. Well, after 
a while, Miss More and her scholars 



THE CRYBABY. 9 

would get tired of Sarah, and then her 
father and mother would come and ask 
Mrs. Maloon to try her again. There 
was no other school in the village suita- 
ble for her to attend, and they didn't 
know what to do for her," 

" Did your teacher take her back ? " 
"Yes, and sent her away again, and 
then took her back again, and so she 
kept changing from Miss More's school 
to ours all the time. And she couldn't 
get along well any where. She didn't 
learn fast, and no one loved her. She 
was the only one of my little school- 
mates that I can remember as being 
really disagreeable. And it was all for 
this very bad habit of crying aloud, of 
screeching and screaming, whenever any 
thing happened to displease her. N~ow, 
you have got this same bad habit, and 
I feel afraid, every day, that you will 



10 THE CEYBABY. 

grow just like Sarah, and no one will 
love you ; and your little playmates, when 
they see you coming, instead of running 
with smiles and joy to meet you, will 
turn their backs upon you, and run away 
as fast as they can." 

"Was that the way you did to Sa- 
rah?" asked the child, looking up with 
an arch smile into her mother's face. 

" Yes — I will tell' you what we did one 
day. In the summer time, every Monday 
morning, the children used to come to 
school with clean, starched frocks, look- 
ing as neat and nice as possible. Some- 
times these would be new frocks, that 
had never been worn before. And we 
had the fashion — it was a very silly 
thing, I know, but we always did it — 
of going round before school commenced 
and saying to each one, * Oh, what a 
pretty dress ! I wish mine was as pretty 



THE CRYBABY, ll 

as yours.' We did this whether we 
thought it was pretty or not, always in 
hopes that the answer would be, ' Oh, 
yours is ever so much prettier than 
mine.' This would make us feel vain, 
and please us little silly children very 
much. If, for any reason, we were of- 
fended with any of the little girls, then, 
instead of complimenting the dress, we 
would say, 4 Oh, what a homely dress ! 
I wouldn't wear such a homely thing.' 
And then, of course, the unpleasant an- 
swer would be returned — ' It isn't half 
as homely as yours.' Well, one pleasant 
Monday morning we were all assembled 
in the school room waiting for the teach- 
er to come, when Sarah Chapin came 
in with a new frock on. And it was 
certainly, as I remember it now, and as 
it seemed to me then, the prettiest calico 
I ever saw. All the girls thought just 



12 THE CRYBABY. 

as I did, I know, for we all looked at one 
another, and then some of them turned 
round and began to whisper. 

" ' I think it is sweet,' said Mary 
Langdon, 'but I'm not a-going to tell 
her so, she is so ugly.' 

" ' Yes, she's so ugly nothing looks 
well on Aer,' said Martha Fitch. 

" ' I'm going to tell her it's real 
homely,' said Mary Toll. 'It won't be 
a lie, for she makes every thing hateful 
with that face of hers. Just see how 
cross she looks now.' 

" ' She has met with some trouble, I 
guess, on her way to school,' said Annie 
Turner, — she was a gentle, kind girl, 
— 6 and that makes her feel bad. I 
wouldnH tell her that her dress is 
homely.' 

" ' Xo,' said I, ' that will only make 
her worse.' 



THE CRYBABY. 13 

"My conscience told me that Annie 
was right, and that the other girls were 
wrong, and something whispered to me 
inside, ' Go to her, and speak pleasant 
words, and you will do the poor, un- 
happy little girl good.' But I didn't 
speak this thought out. I can remem- 
ber that I often had good thoughts, 
which I didn't haYe courage to speak. 
But in a moment Annie turned round, 
and said she, — 

" ' Come, girls, let's all speak pleas- 
antly to her, and tell her we think her 
dress is so pretty. I know she expects 
it; for see, now, Miss Lane is speaking 
to her about it, and she is looking at 
us and coming right up this way. You 
see we can't help it, for it is pretty, and 
she knows it herself.' 

" ' Of course she thinks so. Every 
body thinks their own things are the 
best,' said Martha. 



14 THE CRYBABY. 

" ' I shan't speak to her,' said Mary 
Toll, with a toss of her head. ' She 
won't get any praise from me — I 'm 
going over there ; ' and she and sev- 
eral of the class went to the other end 
of the room just as Sarah joined us. 

" Annie* sj^oke to her very pleasantly, 
and told her how pretty her frock was. 
'Why, it's the prettiest calico I ever 
saw, Sarah.' 

"But I didn't have time to say any 
thing, for the bell rang that moment 
to call us to order. I don't know 
whether I should have had courage to 
do what I knew was right or not. I 
think Sarah was a little disappointed at 
not being received more cordially, or 
something else troubled her, for she was 
unusually cross that morning. All went 
wrong, and before recess she had had two 
or three good loud cries. Of course her 



THE CRYBABY. 15 

class were not prepared to feel any more 
loving toward her. At recess, when we 
went out into the yard to play, we all 
ran away from her, and left her stand- 
ing alone at the foot of the stairs.* She 
stood still a moment, and then came 
running toward us, as if she were de- 
termined she would play with us. Then 
we all ran off again as fast as we could 
into the summer house, and shut the 
door. There was a door to this little 
house, and it was a favorite place to 
play in. Sarah was left standing alone 
in the walk. And every little while 
one of the girls would peep out, and 
say, — 

"'How d'ye do, crybaby? Want to 
come in ? ' 

"It was t very wrong for us to do so, 
I know,- and we were not happy our- 
selves. We didn't play at all, but stood 



16 THE CRYBABY. 

inside talking about Sarah Chapin and 
her hateful ways. Annie would keep 
saying, ' I wouldn't do so — let's open 
the door and let her in.' But Martha 
held the door and said, she 'wouldn't 
have any such hateful crybabies in there 
to spoil our fun.' When Sarah found 
she couldn't come in, she stood there in 
the walk, right in the middle of the gar- 
den, and set up suclf^ cry that all the 
neighbors could hear. Of course, Miss 
Maloon heard, and looked out of the 
window to see what was the matter. She 
soon discovered what we were doing, and 
rang the bell for us to come in." 

"I shouldn't like to have the girls treat 
me so," said Lillie. 

."No, indeed, you would not; and it 
was very wrong and very unkind. But 
still you see it was a punishment which 
the child brought upon herself by this 



THE CRYBABY. 17 

naughty habit. Every body disliked her, 
you see, just as I am afraid everybody 
will learn to dislike you." 

" But her mother, — she liked her, I sup- 
pose," said Lillie, looking up. 

" Oh, yes ! mothers, good Christian 
mothers, always love their children, even 
if they are naughty. As I told you at 
first, we don't love the bad conduct, but 
we pity the poor little* naughty children, 
and try as hard as we can to make them 
good." 

"Well, what next, mother? What 
did you do when you went into school 
again ? " 

" Miss Maloon waited until we had all 
taken our seats, and then she called our 
class to stand up on the line. That was 
the painted line on the floor, where we 
always stood when we recited our lessons. 
When we had got arranged, with our 
2 



18 THE CRYBABY. 

feet turned out and our hands down at 
our sides, she said, — 

" Sarah Chapin, you may pass the Tes- 
taments." Sarah went to the shelf, and 
brought the Testaments, and passed them 
to each one. Then Miss Maloon told her 
she might take her seat. We couldn't 
think what was coming, but we all felt 
afraid and ashamed. I am sure I did. 
She told us to open our books, and find 
the twelfth verse of the seventh chapter 
of Matthew, and read it aloud in turn. So 
we each of us read aloud these words: — 

"'Therefore all things whatsoever ye 
would that men should do to you, do ye 
even so to them ; for this is the law and 
the prophets.' 

"After we had finished the reading, 
she told us that she wished us to commit 
it to memory, and to stand there until 
we were able to repeat it correctly. So 



THE CRYBABY. 19 

there we stood before the whole school, 
with our books in our hands, studying 
the verse, and feeling all the time that it 
was a great deal easier and pleasanter to 
be good than to be naughty. By and by 
we all recited it, one after another, and 
then our teacher explained it to us, and 
saying that she hoped we should never 
again treat a schoolmate so unkindly, she 
sent us to our seats. I don't think any 
of us have ever forgotten the mortifica- 
tion of that punishment." 

"What became of Sarah, mother?" 
asked Lillie, after a few moments of 
silence. 

"After a while her parents removed 
from town, and I never heard* about her 
any more. I don't know whether she 
overcame that bad habit or not." 

"I like to hear about Sarah," said the 
child, looking up into her mother's face, 
with a smile. 



20 THE CRYBABY. 

" Why, my dear ? Don't you like bet- 
ter to hear about good girls ? " 

"No, mamma, I like to hear about 
naughty girls best." 

" I am surprised to hear my little girl 
say so. Why is it ? " 

" I don't know. I suppose it is because 
I am naughty myself." 

" But it doesn't make you feel that it is 
right to do such things, because other 
little girls do them — does it ? " 

" No ; but then I know somebody else 
is hated besides me." 

"But if you could get all the naughty 
little girls in the world together, and you 
were one of them, you would not love 
each other, because you were all alike 
naughty, — but you would hate and de- 
spise each other." 

" Should we ? " asked Lillie, evidently 
surprised. * 



THE CRYBABY. 21 

" Certainly you would. You know 
that all the wicked people are together in 
hell, but they are not happy there. On 
the contrary, they are much more unhappy 
for being together. They hate and tor- 
ment each other for ever." 

"Do they?" It seemed to be a new 
thought for the child, and she was almost 
bewildered by it. She sat thinking about 
it in silence. 

" Lillie, I think," said her mother, after 
a while, "that it would be much better 
for you to try to be good, than to con- 
tent yourself with being naughty, because 
other children are. Don't you? Sup- 
pose now, that when I told you this 
story, you had said, * Oh, mamma, I don't 
want to be like Sarah. I mean to try to 
get over this naughty habit.' Wouldn't 
that have been better ? " 

" Yes 'm. But I don't see how I can. 



22 THE CRYBABY. 

When I feel like crying it comes right 
out, and I can't help it." 

"If yon would only let me, I would 
help you about this. I could teach you 
how to cry. I have tried a good many 
times, though I have not succeeded 
yet." 

" You tried, mother ? Why, how ? " 

"Don't you remember last summer I 
made some strong wormwood tea to put 
on your tongue every time you cried 
aloud? I hoped that would cure you; 
but it did not. Then I told you I must 
call you in from play every time I heard 
you cry. I tried that a good many times ; 
but it did no good. You cried as loud 
and as often as ever. And I have talked 
to you and told you of the consequences 
of this bad habit, that like Sarah you 
would lose all your friends " 

" All my friends but my mother," inter- 



THE CRYBABY. 23 

rupted Lillie. That seemed a great con- 
solation to her. 

"And I have tried, by the love you 
have for mother, to win you from this 
naughty way. If you really loved mother 
as you say you do, when you call her 
your c dear, precious mamma,' you surely 
would not like to trouble and grieve her 
as you do by this incessant crying." 

"Well, mother, I don't think — I can't 
think quick enough. Tell me again how 
I shall do." 

"I have told you that I won't forbid 
your crying when you are hurt, or when 
your feelings are very much hurt; but 
you must cry easy, without a sound. Do 
the crying all inside. I saw little Jennie 
Jacobs cry yesterday, and I was think- 
ing of my own Lillie all the while, and 
wished you were there to take a pattern 



24 THE CEYBABY. 

from her. I saw her cry, but I didn't 
hear a sound." 

"I don't see how that could be, 
mother." 

" I will tell you about it. She was on 
the steamboat with her father, and broth- 
ers and sisters, and was standing very 
near the railing, looking over into the 
water. Her father was inside, and he 
didn't think it best for Jennie to be there, 
because, I suppose, it was not safe. So 
he called her to come in and sit with him. 
At first she shook her head, because she 
did not want to come ; but father said, 
'Jennie, come in,' and Jennie, of course, 
had to obey. He took her up on his 
knee, and she sat there as still as a mouse, 
and I dare say her father thought she 
was quite contented. He couldn't see 
her face, for it was turned aside a little, 
and she had on a little Shaker bonnet, 



THE CRYBABY. 25 

like yours. But she was sitting so that I 
could look right up under her bonnet; 
and oh, the big tears were chasing each 
other fast down her little fat cheeks, — 
down, down they fell over her little 
hands, and upon her dress. But there 
was not a sound to be heard. It was 
like the gentle, fine summer rain, that 
comes down so softly you hardly know it 
is falling. But this only lasted a few 
minutes. I watched the clouds until I 
saw them break up, and pretty soon it 
was all fair weather again, — and her two 
pretty little blue eyes were shining out, 
as bright and clear as if nothing at all 
had happened. I loved the little darling 
for her very crying. If she had screamed 
aloud, behaved naughty, as some children 
would have done, when her father called 
her in, I should not have loved her at all. 
Don't you think now yourself that that 



26 THE CRYBABY, 

was the right way ? Now, I want yon to 
cry in that way; and when you have 
learned how, yon and I and all the rest 
of the family will be a great deal happier. 
I am going to let you go down now 
again to play with Ruth and Edward, 
and you will have a good chance to try." 
So Mrs. Richards kissed her little girl, 
and sent her away for another trial. 
This was the child's very worst habit, 
" If she cures this," said the mother, " she 
will be a very good and interesting little 
girl." So we will hope that all the moth- 
er's efforts were not lost, and that Lillie 
Richards did at last learn " how to cry" 



THE GEEAT CONQUEROR 



I saw a mother, not long since, whose 
son had enlisted in the army. I expected 
to find her sad and disconsolate, for 
the young soldier was an only son, and 
was very much beloved at home. But, 
to my surprise, she was cheerful and 
happy. 

"Merwin has gone," said she, "and I 
may never see him again ; but I can not 
make myself unhappy about it. I have 
given him to God, and wherever the 
Lord's service takes him he must go. I 
know he will distinguish himself wherever 

(27) 



28 THE GREAT CONQUEROR. 

he is, for he has already proved himself 
a. great conqueror? 

"So young as he is!" I exclaimed; 
"how?" 

"He has conquered himself? replied 
the mother; "and you know what the 
Bible says about that." 

"Oh, yes, indeed," said I; "but I 
thought your Merwin was one of those 
who find it very easy to be good. There 
is a great difference in children. Some 
are so amiable and gentle, that when 
they become Christians you see but lit- 
tle change in their outward conduct, and 



" But my son was not one of those," 
said she, interrupting me. " He was born 
with a hot, fiery temper. It used to 
frighten me almost, when he was nothing 
but a baby, and I hardly dared to think 
what would become of him when he 



THE GREAT CONQUEROR. 29 

grew older. I prayed a great deal about 
it, and talked, and labored to help him to 
overcome his naughty, passionate sjririt. 
And he began very early to try to govern 
himself. I recollect, when he was not 
more than four years old, he had been 
very much provoked about something, 
and I could see the fire kindling in his 
eye and the color rising in his cheek. 
But he kept very still until his anger had 
subsided, and then he came running to 
me, threw his arms around my neck, and 
bursting into tears, he cried, 'Kiss me, 
mamma — kiss me — Tve overcome?" 

" That's beautiful ! " I exclaimed. 

" Many a time," the mother continued, 
" have I seen him struggle with his hasty, 
angry feelings, until by degrees it grew 
easier for him to control his temper ; and 
now I can truly say I believe, by the 
grace of God, he has conquered himself. 



30 THE GREAT CONQUEROR. 

And among the qualifications for good 
soldiership, that is one of the very best, I 
think." 

I thought so too, as I repeated to my- 
self the words of the Bible to which 
Merwin B.'s mother had. alluded. You 
will find them, little reader, in Pro v. 16 : 
32. " He that is slow to anger is better 
than the mighty ; and he that ruleth his 
spirit, than he that taketh a city." 

And I felt as if I wanted all the little 
boys to become conquerors in this same 
sense. No matter if you are not called 
to be soldiers, to march at the call of 
your country to the battle field and fight. 
You may be called of God to conquer 
enemies elsewhere. You may be called 
to govern and direct others. Whatever 
may be your duty in life, the best prepara- 
tion you can make is to learn to govern 
yourself. 



THE GREAT CONQUEROR. 31 

.An angry spirit is a terrible enemy. 
It comes upon you so suddenly that it 
takes you unawares, throws you off your 
guard, and has vanquished you before 
you have time to think. Then, if you 
are on the watch, it is so strong, so fu- 
rious, so unwilling to listen to the voice 
of reason, that if you are not well armed, 
and if you have not helpers close by, you 
are most likely to be beaten. So, dear 
boys, it becomes you to be on the look- 
out all the while for it. As Jesus said, 
"Watch and pray, lest ye enter into 
temptation." You must have your armor 
on, too, always. Never venture to lay it 
aside for a moment. If you do, you will, 
I am sure, be overcome. And more than 
all, do not live very far away from God, 
who alone is. able to make you conqueror 
over this dreadful enemy. If you live 
near to him, he will protect you. He 



32 THE GEEAT CONQUEROE. 

will teach your hands to war, and your 
fingers to fight; will encourage you in 
the heat of the conflict with his smile and 
whispers of comfort and love, and will 
give you the victory. Better than all, 
he will bring you at last up to his own 
home, put a crown upon your head, and 
seat you upon a throne of glorious tri- 
umph in the heavenly kingdom of Jesus 
Christ; for hear what Jesus has said: 
" To him that overcometh will I grant 
to sit with me in my throne, even as I 
also overcame, and am set down with my 
Father in his throne." 




LOTTIE'S ORANGE. 



LOTTIE'S ORANGE. 



By AUNT WINNIE. 




. PUBLISHED BY THE 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

28 Coe.nhhl, Boston. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by the 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY', 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Mass. 



ELECTROTYTED AT THE 
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY". 



LOTTIE'S OKANGE. 



I was at work in the sitting room 
one cold, winter afternoon. The front 
door opened, and father's welcome step 
was heard in the hall, and his thrice- 
repeated whistle, the well-known signal 
for the children, brought Charlotte at 
once from the play room. She was the 
only one of the family flock who hap- 
pened to be at home at that hour. 

"Oh, father! father!" she exclaimed, 
as she came bounding into the room, 
" I'm so glad you've come ; " — and 
though her quick eye caught sight im- 
mediately of a large auspicious-looking 

(3) 



4 LOTTIE S OEANGE. 

bundle lying upon the table, she said 
nothing about it. She knew better than 
to do that, although she was but five 
years old. Some children would have 
run to the bundle first, before they 
greeted papa, crying out, "Oh, what's 
in that bundle, father ? What have you 
got that's good? Have you brought 
me any thing, father?" 

But Lottie, as I said before, knew 
better than to do so. She loved father 
for his own sake, and not merely for the 
good things he so often brought home. 
So she helped him put aside his hat and 
coat, carried his umbrella into the closet, 
brought the dressing gown and slippers, 
and drew the comfortable rocking chair 
up to the side of the bright, blazing fire. 

"Now for the boot-john," said father. 
And Lottie speedily produced it from 
the snug corner where it was kept, 



LOTTIE S ORANGE. 

laughing all the while that father should 
call the boot-jack such a new and funny 
name. Then she came and stood where 
father could rest his hand on her head, 
while he pulled his feet out of the long, 
thick boots, delighted that she could be 
of some use, even by standing still. 

" I help you ; don't I, father ? " said she. 

" Yes ; and now you can help me some 
more by putting the old boots away in 
the closet," he replied, " and then come 
and tell me where the children all are." 

"Why, Flora and Mollie have gone 
to school, you know. They haven't got 
home yet. And Lizzie has gone to the 
Missionary Society, and Frank and John 
are out sliding, and Freddie has gone 
out to walk with Bridget. And I am 
all alone, you see," said Lottie ; " and 
I am glad. I like to be alone sometimes 
with you, father." 



" So that you can do all the talking, 
little chatterbox," I said; and then we 
all laughed, and had a very pleasant, 
social time. 

"I wonder what's in that bundle," 
presently said father, with an arch look, 
to which the child was evidently well 
accustomed. 

"I don't know — something nice, I 
guess," replied Lottie. And then they 
both looked at it, and smiled so pleas- 
antly, that if it had only been alive, 
it would have walked right straight up 
to them, and said, "Why don't you 
look and find out ? " 

" Suppose you get it and see," said 
father. In an instant Charlotte was tug- 
ging at the string, and very soon, the 
great, round, inviting-looking oranges 
were rolling out upon the table. 

" Oh ! oh ! " exclaimed the child ; " how 
nice they look ! " 



LOTTIE S ORANGE. 7 

" You may have one, if you would like 
to," said father, as though any little girl 
could be found to decline such a tempt- 
ing offer. 

" Oh, thank you, thank you ; I should 
like one," said Lottie. "I always like 
all the oranges I can get," she continued, 
with more deliberation, as she selected 
a very fair one, and rolled it over and 
over in her little hands. " I should like 
a hundred thousand million." Lottie 
had no idea of numbers, but this was 
a favorite expression of her brother 
John, whenever he wished to say some- 
thing very large. So to Lottie, a " hun- 
dred thousand million " was only another 
way of saying " a great many." 

"Well, come and let me open it for 
you," said the kind father, and he seated 
the little one on his knee, and taking 
out his fruit knife, peeled and opened 



8 lottie's orange. 

the orange, chatting all the while about 
that hundred thousand million she want- 
ed, and what she would do with them 
if she had them. 

"ISTow, father, you'll take a piece — 
won't you ? " 

" No, my dear, not a bit. I don't wish 
any." 

" Well, mamma, here 's a nice piece 
for you — will you have it ? " 

"No, I thank you, darling, not now. 
You may sit down and eat it all your- 
self." And the little girl found a little 
bench in the corner, and sat down and 
ate her orange all herself. She did not 
need to save any for her brothers and 
sisters, for she knew that they would 
each have one when they came. This 
was not wrong. Oh no, in the circum- 
stances it was all proper and right. 

The pleasant taste was still lingering 



lottie's orange. 9 

in her mouth, when the sound of troop- 
ing feet and merry voices in the hall pro- 
claimed the return of the other children. 
In a short time they were all assembled 
in the sitting room, welcoming father 
and the oranges at one and the same 
moment. What a kind father he was, 
always bringing home something for the 
little folks ! And I don't know what fa- 
ther would not find the same delight in 
bringing home good things to such a troop 
of gay, happy, loving children. Kind 
fathers make affectionate children, and 
affectionate children make kind fathers. 

And now, each one held in possession 
one of those great golden balls. Some 
were tossed in the air and caught 
again ; some were quietly consigned to 
the pocket, for to-morrow's lunch, or 
some future occasion ; and Freddie, the 
pet lamb of the flock, was running about, 



10 lottie's oeange. 

crying, " Fisk it, fisk it, for Feddie." 
He couldn't yet say, "fix it." 

" I'll fisk it for Freddie, if I can find 
mamma's knife," said Lizzie. " Come, 
sit down here, and I'll fisk it. Say fix 
it, Freddie." 

"I can't; I don't want to — fisk it," 
said the little fellow, which was all re- 
ceived with a general shout of laughter, 
and a warm kiss from the loving Lizzie. 

The knife was produced from mother's 
work basket, and in a trice the orange 
was laid out on the table, in the nicest 
mouthfuls imaginable. It looked much 
larger than when it was whole, and the 
baby boy was greatly delighted. He 
offered a piece to every body in the 
room : father, mother, Mollie, auntie, 
Bridget, all must partake. Then spy- 
ing Charlotte standing demurely by the 
fireside, he sprang to her, exclaiming, 



lottie's orange. 11 

" Lottie too, Lottie sail have piece Fed- 
die's or'nge." 

Did Lottie take it? I could scarcely 
believe my own eyes. I looked the sec- 
ond time to see if I was not mistaken. 
I was watching, though still busy at my 
work, to see what she icoidd do, and 
expected to hear her say at once, " No, 
I thank you, Freddie ; I've had a whole 
one." But not a sound did I hear. She 
took it without a word, and ate it, as 
though she had not had her own por- 
tion — not, however, without a sly glance 
at me, to see if I was noticing. Our 
eyes met, and in that look, which was 
unusually prolonged, the story was told 
on both sides. Charlotte knew and si- 
lently acknowledged that she had done 
wrong; and she knew too that I was 
pained and grieved at her selfishness. 
Her head was hung down in an instant. 



12 

Probably my look had conveyed to the 
child more of reproach than my words, 
for I know I tried to make them as kind 
and tender as I could. 

But I do hate selfishness, and nothing 
hurts me so much as to see mean and 
stingy ways in my children ; and I dare 
say, both my looks and my words con- 
veyed a very severe reproof. 

" I'm sorry," I said, " that I have got a 
little girl that could do such a mean 
thing as that ; to eat a whole orange her- 
self, and then take a piece from her baby 
brother, after he had given away a good 
part of his. You children talk among 
yourselves about things being ' real mean.' 
I think that is real mean, and I wouldn't 
have believed it of my Lottie." 

The child was silent a moment — she 
was thinking. Then she turned her head 
away from me, and with a grieved look, 



lottie's orange. 13 

and a hopeless tone which I can never 
forget, said, "Well, I suppose then you 
don't love me." 

Poor little Charlotte ! She was a very- 
sensitive, affectionate child, who loved to 
be caressed and petted, and could scarcely 
exist if she were made to feel that she 
was not loved. But now she felt that 
she had done something by which she 
had forfeited her claim to the tender af- 
fection and aj3probation of her mother, 
and she was mortified and really grieved. 

I felt very sorry for her, not only be- 
cause she had committed so selfish an 
act, but because I thought that I too had 
made a mistake in speaking so severely 
to her. I ought to have been more gen- 
tle. I had left an impression on her 
mind that I hated the sinner as much as 
I did the sin she had committed; and 
this had discouraged her. 



14 lottie's orange. 

"Ah," said I to myself, "this is not the 
way our dear heavenly Father treats us 
when we do wrong. He hates sin, but 
he tenderly loves the sinner. How often 
might he justly feel wearied and disgusted 
with our wicked, selfish actions, and cast 
us off as utterly undeserving of his love. 
Yet he loves us still, and bears with our 
follies, and is never tired of doing us 
good." 

So I thought I would try to feel to- 
ward my little Charlotte as God does 
toward us ; and perhaps I could use this 
opportunity to explain to her the great 
condescension and long-suffering and 
mercy of our Father above. I put out 
my arm and drew the little one gently 
toward me, and kissed her. "But I do 
love you, Lottie," I said. 

"I don't see how you can when I'm so 
mean," she replied, in the same j^teous 
tone. 



lottie's orange. 15 

"I love you, my darling, but I don't 
love what you have done. How could I ? 
You see yourself how very unlovely it 
was — don't you ? And God " 

"He don't love me neither, I suppose," 
said Lottie. 

" Oh, yes, Lottie, God does love you. 
He loves every body, even while they are 
wicked." 

" How can he," she asked, " if he is so 
good?" 

" He does not love the wicked things 
people do," I continued. "He hates — 
he abhors every thing naughty much 
more than we can, but yet he loves and 
pities those who do those naughty things. 
He feels sorry when we do wrong, and 
wishes very much that we should always 
do right, and he wants to help us do 
right." 

"But I thought that God only loved 



16 



good children, and I am naughty so of- 
ten I thought he couldn't love me, of 
course." 

" You have made a mistake, Lottie. I 
know people sometimes say to children 
that they must be good if they want God 
to love them. But this is not quite right. 
It makes you think that if you are not 
good God will not love you at all. If 
this were so, none of us could feel that 
we were loved of God, because there is 
not a person in the world that is always 
good. But the Bible tells us that he 
loves ns even in our sins. 'He makes 
his sun to rise on the evil and on the 
good, and sendeth rain on the just and 
on the unjust.' If every body had been 
good it would not have been necessary 
for Jesus Christ to come down from 
heaven to suffer and die for us, although 
it would have been a great deal easier 



lottie's orange. If 

and pleasanter for him to die for his 
friends than for his enemies. But Jesus 
'came into the world to save sinners.'' 
1 He died, the just for the unjust, that he 
might bring us to God.' Now, there 
never was a person whom God did not 
love. Of course goodness, or right con- 
duct, alone pleases God. He can not be 
pleased with sin at all. He always smiles 
upon those who do right, and if we be- 
come his children, and give our hearts to 
him, and try hard every day to please 
him by doing what he approves, he loves 
us with a peculiar affection — just as a 
mother feels more satisfied and pleased 
with an obedient child than with a 
naughty one. Still God loves people if 
they are wicked, and longs to have them 
become good. He loves you, my darling, 
all the time ; loves you dearly, always 
feels pained and grieved when you do 
2 



lfr 



wrong, and wants you to love him, to 
try to overcome your naughty ways, and 
to be always good. Now, doesn't it make 
you feel more sorry for your naughty 
ways, when you think you have grieved 
One who is so affectionate and kind to 
you ? and doesn't it make you love him to 
think how much he loves you ? " 

" Oh, yes, mamma," sobbed the child. 

"Well, this is just the way mamma 
feels too. She wants you so much to be 
good, that when you are not, she is 
grieved and disappointed. But she does 
not cease to love you. If she did, she 
would no longer care whether you do 
right or wrong, but would let you go on, 
doing just as you please, without taking 
pains to instruct or train you. So, when 
I notice your selfish ways, and speak to 
you about them, you may be sure it is 
because I love you. And while mother 



lottie's orange. 19 

feels thus, God, whom we can not see, is 
standing by, looking on, and feeling still 
more sorry and anxious about you. Will 
my little girl remember this ? and will she 
try not to be selfish any more ? " 

The tears of real sorrow were running 
down Lottie's cheeks ; but she lifted up 
the little downcast face, and promised 
that she would. I told her there was a 
beautiful hymn in the hymn book about 
God loving the sinner, and I would like 
very much that she should learn it. She 
might learn one verse every day until 
she could repeat the whole. So she ran 
for the hyftm book, and I read the hymn 
to her. 

DEPTH OF MERCY. 

" Depth of mercy ! Can there be 
Mercy still reserved for me ? 
Can my God his wrath forbear ? 
Me, the ' chief of sinners,' spare ? 



20 lottie's orange. 

God is love, I know, I feel, 
Jesus weeps, and loves me still ; 
Jesus weeps ; he weeps, and loves me still. 

" I have long withstood his grace, 
Long provoked him to his face, 
Would not hearken to his calls, 
Grieved him by a thousand falls ; 
God is love, I know, I feel ; 
Jesus weeps, and loves me still ; 
Jesus weeps ; he weeps, and loves me still. 

" Lord, incline me to repent ; 
Let me now my sins lament ; 
Now my wickedness deplore ; 
"Weep, believe, and sin no more ; 
God is love, I know, I feel ; 
Jesus weeps, and loves me still ; 
Jesus weeps ; he weeps, and loves me still. 

" There for me the Saviour stands, 
Shows his wounds and spreads his hands ; 
Jesus died his love to show ; 
I believe, and love him now. 



lottie's orange. 21 

God is love, I know, I feel ; 
Jesus weeps, and loves me still ; 
Jesus weeps ; he weeps, and loves me still." 

Lottie liked it very much, and so did 
the other children, who had listened 
while I read it, and almost all of them 
wanted to learn it too. After that we 
used to sing it sometimes at family wor- 
ship and Sabbath evenings; and I don't 
believe Lottie ever heard it but she 
thought of the orange, and of my talk 
with her that afternoon. And I hope 
that neither she, nor any of my little 
readers, will ever forget that God loves 
the sinner. 



THE LITTLE HYPOCRITE. 



A piece of cake was lying on the cor- 
ner of the sewing machine, and two little 
children, Mary and Willie, were sitting 
close by, at an open window, eating the 
bread-and-butter part of their noon lun- 
cheon. 

" Mamma," said Willie, " may we have 
that cake when we have eaten all our 
crusts up?" 

" Yes, my dear," answered his mother ; 
"I will break it for you." So saying, she 
she took the cake, and broke it in two 
pieces. She meant to have divided it 

(22) 



THE LITTLE HYPOCRITE. 23 

evenly, but by mistake one bit happened 
to be larger than the other. There was 
not much difference, only just enough to 
be noticed distinctly. Then she offered 
the cake to the children. The small piece 
was nearest Mary; but when the child 
put out her hand to take her share, in- 
stead of taking what was next her, she 
reached over for the other piece. The 
selfishness of the action displeased her 
mother, and she quickly withdrew her 
hand, and divided the cake herself, giving 
the larger portion to little Willie, and the 
smaller to Mary. 

At the same time she asked, looking 
into Mary's face, " Why did you not take 
the piece nearest to you ? Why did you 
reach over for the other ? " 

Mary colored, and was evidently disap- 
pointed; but she answered her mother 
quite promptly. " Wasn't that the small- 



24 THE LITTLE HYPOCRITE. 

est ?" said slie ; "and isn't it generous to 
take the smallest piece ?" 

" You did it for the sake of being gen- 
erous — was that it ? " asked her mother, 
looking at her little girl with great seri- 
ousness. Then she paused a moment, 
but added, "Well, generous children 
ought to be rewarded ; so I have given 
you the larger." 

Mary understood very well what her 
mother meant, and she too looked very 
sober. She knew she had not spoken the 
truth in her heart. She knew that she 
had tried to get the larger piece of cake, 
and was going to leave the smaller for 
her little brother; and she was dissatisfied, 
besides feeling that she had done very 
wickedly. She did not raise her eyes, 
but went on eating her lunch without a 
word, and when her little brother asked 
her to look out of the window to see 



THE LITTLE HYPOCEITE. 25 

something very funny, she did not seem 
to take much notice. 

That night, when she was going to bed, 
her mother said to her, " Have you been a 
good child to-day, Mary?" 

" Yes'm, I guess so, pretty good," was 
the reply. 

" Can you think of any wrong thing 
you have done ? " 

"Nothing in particular," answered 
Mary. 

" Have you been truthful ? " asked her 
mother, speaking that word truthful with 
a good deal of solemnity and emphasis. 

The little girl dropped her eyes, but 
she did not speak a word. 

" Mary, did you really think you were 
taking the smaller piece of cake to-day ?" 

"I didn't say it was the smallest," an- 
swered Mary. " Was that a lie ?" 

" You tried to make me think that you 



26 THE LITTLE HYPOCRITE. 

considered it the smaller," replied her 
mother, " and that you were acting very 
generously to take it. That was a double 
sin. You were selfish and deceitful too. 
You were a hypocrite." 

" What is that, mamma ? " 

" A hypocrite is one who tries to make 
other people think he is better than he 
really is. Sometimes he succeeds in de- 
ceiving others, and sometimes not, but 
he never succeeds in deceiving God. You 
didn't succeed in deceiving me to-day, 
for I saw through it all. And, Mary, 
what do you think God thought of your 
conduct ? " 

" I don't know," said Mary, beginning 
to look more troubled. 

" And in addition to the selfishness and 
the hypocrisy, you really told a lie," add- 
ed her mother, " or rather you didn't speak 
the truth, for you said, ' Wasn't that the 



THE LITTLE HYPOCEITE. 27 

smallest piece ? ' Now, God was looking 
right into your heart, and he saw just 
what you thought. He saw that you did 
not speak the truth in your heart. Oh, 
my dear child, I can not tell you how 
much displeased he is with such wicked- 
ness. If you are a hypocrite and a de- 
ceiver, you can never go to heaven. 
There is a passage in the Bible I want 
you to learn to-morrow, Mary." So in 
the morning before breakfast, Mary got 
the little Bible, and her mother found 
these verses : " Lord, who shall abide in 
thy tabernacle ? Who shall dwell in thy 
holy hill? He that walketh uprightly, 
and worketh righteousness, and speaketh 
the truth in his heart" 



A SHORT SERMON FOR LITTLE ONES. 



" Owe no man any thing, but to love one another."— 
Rom. 13 : 8. 

This is only one out of many verses in 
the Bible which teach us to love every 
body. But you will ask, " How can we 
love every body ? We don't know every 
body ; and besides, of those we do know, 
some are good, and kind, and pleasant, 
and we do love them, of course ; but 
others are ugly and hateful, and we can 
not possibly love such." 

There are two kinds of love. One is 
the affection which we feel for our rela- 
tives and particular friends. The other 
is a feeling of kindness and good will 

(28) 



A SHORT SERMON FOR LITTLE ONES. 29 

toward all men. There should be no 
one in the world for whom we could not 
heartily pray. There should be no one 
of whom we could not pleasantly think. 
There should be no one for whom we 
would not, if we had the opportunity, do 
a favor. 

This kind of love is called charity, and 
is beautifully described in the thirteenth 
chapter of First Corinthians. It is the 
state of mind which forbids all anger, all 
resentment of injuries, all disgust and 
contempt for those less favored than our- 
selves. It forbids all envy of others, 
when they have things which we have 
not ; all pride and ostentation, when we 
have things which others have not. It 
forbids selfishness, a determination to 
have our own way, and a desire to get 
and keep every thing we can. It makes 
us generous, gentle, forbearing, patient, 



30 A SHORT SERMON FOR LITTLE ONES. 

humble, and self-denying. Oh, it is a 
blessed state to be in ! 

Benevolence is like a sweet and health- 
ful atmosphere, full of the delicious per- 
fume of flowers, and of all harmonious 
and delightful sounds. It is God's sun- 
shine streaming down from heaven, fill- 
ing us with joy and peace, and blessing 
every body who comes within reach of 
the celestial influence. It is like the 
music of the angels, low, and sweet, and 
beautiful. 

To have this love is to be like God, for 
" God is love." To have this love is to 
have heaven begun in our hearts below. 
This love in our hearts is the very best 
title to those mansions of rest, where all 
the blessed angels and redeemed spirits 
move for ever in the most perfect har- 
mony. 

Dear children, pray that this love may 



A SHORT SEEilON FOR LITTLE OXES. 31 

"be shed abroad in your hearts by the 
Holy Ghost." 

You will ask, "Can we love wicked 
people ? " Why, yes. Doesn't God love 
sinners? You can feel sorry for them 
because they are wicked. You can pity 
them because they are unhappy, for wick- 
ed people are always more or less un- 
happy. You can wish them to become 
good, so that they may enjoy all that a 
good God has provided for their happi- 
ness ; and that will make you anxious to 
pray for them, and to help them, in every 
way you can, to become better. 

Do you not think this is a good deal 
better than standing off from wicked 
people, and hating and despising them ? 
Do you not think it will make you your- 
selves much happier? Ah, that is the 
way God feels. It was that love that 
made him willing to give his dearly be- 



32 A SHORT SERMON FOR LITTLE ONES. 

loved Son to die for sinners. It is this 
that makes him so patient, and so long- 
suffering toward us. And it is this in- 
finite, perfect love which makes him so 
supremely happy. 

Oh, let us try to be like God, and we 
shall be always happy ourselves, and shall 
make all around us happy, also. 




.LITTLE LOST KITTY. 



THE 



LITTLE LOST KITTY, 



By AUNT WINNIE. 




PUBLISHED BY THE 
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

28 Cornhill, Boston. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by the 

AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Mass. 



ELECTROTYFED AT THK 
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRT. 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 



It was a charming afternoon in the 
latter part of April. The air was soft 
and sweet with opening blossoms, and 
the sun shone without a cloud, and the 
pavements were clean and dry. It was 
just the day when people love to be out 
to walk, laying aside the burdensome 
cloak and overshoes they have worn all 
the long winter, and through the bluster- 
ing, stormy month of March, and putting 
on light shoes and the soft spring shawl. 
And every body seemed enjoying the 
beautiful weather. Broadway was one 



4 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

grand procession of men, women, and 
children, and all the streets leading into 
it were thronged with people. 

Such was the day — I shall never for- 
get it — when our little Kitty undertook 
for the first time to walk out alone in 
the great city. She was only two years 
and a half old, and of course she was not 
fit to be trusted all by herself in these 
long streets, and among so many folks; 
so we never allowed her to go outside 
the front door, unless somebody was with 
her. She could not talk, either, not even 
enough to tell her own name. We had 
tried to teach her to say Kitty Cloverton, 
but it was too long, and all she could 
manage was " Kitty Co-ver." She called 
her father "papa Mo" and her mother 
"mamma Enny," which always made us 
laugh very much. She called me "Arty " 
instead of Hattie, and her brother was 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

always "Bub." She was our youngest, 
and a little darling, just the right age for 
us to love and pet and frolic with. We 
thought she was rightly named, for she 
was just as playful and cunning as any 
little kitten I ever saw. 

That day, mother was busy up stairs 
writing a letter, and my two aunties, who 
were making us a visit from the country, 
were in the same room, sewing. Kitty 
had been playing around us happy as 
could be, when, going to the open win- 
dow, she smelled the fresh, sweet air, and 
took it into her little head that it would 
be very pleasant to go out and take a 
walk. Mother had the same thought 
just at that moment, for she stopped 
writing, and said, — 

"Would Kitty like to go out in the 
yard to play a little while ? Well, run 
and get the little bonnet, and mamma 
will tie it on." 



D THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

So Kitty ran for the little straw bonnet 
trimmed with blue ribbon, and mother 
tied the strings under her dimpled chin, 
and smoothed back the fair locks from 
the white forehead, and kissed her red 
lips. 

" Now my little pussy can go and roll 
hoop in the yard," said she. 

And the little pussy ran off. We could 
hear her soft footsteps down the stairs, 
and through the hall, and down the base- 
ment stairs, and then all was still, and 
mother went on writing. In two or three 
minutes she stopped and listened. 

" I don't hear the child in the yard," 
said she — "I wonder where she is ! " 

"I guess she has gone into the kitchen 
with Ann," said I. 

But that did not seem to satisfy 
mother. She hesitated a moment, and 
listened aeain. " I could hear her little 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 7 

voice even there," said she ; and she rose 
and rang the bell. " Ann, is Kitty in the 
kitchen with you ? " she asked. 

" No, ma'am," answered the girl. 

" Is she in the yard ? " 

"No, ma'am, she hasn't been down 
here at all. I haven't seen her since 
dinner." 

" Is the front basement door open ? " 

" It is, ma'am." 
. u The child has surely gone out into the 
street," said mother; and instantly we 
were all on our feet, running to the 
front door. We looked up and down 
the street, on both sides ; but no Kitty 
was to be seen. We searched the house 
over, and the yard, and the spare lot next 
the house, and our neighbor's yard and 
premises on the other side — but in vain. 
The child was nowhere to be seen. We 
hastily put on our bonnets and shawls, — 



8 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

mother, aunties, the two girls, my sister, 
and myself, — and sallied forth for the 
search. We agreed to take each a street, 
and going round a block, to return and 
report the result. All the children in 
the next house joined in the search. Oh, 
what a moment that was ! What a heavy 
feeling settled down around my heart! 
I thought of all the dreadful stories I 
had heard and read about children lost 
in the city. One moment I pictured her 
to myself crossing a street, and run over 
by a carnage. Then I thought of the 
rude boys and girls that might tease and 
distress her. "What if she should wan- 
der to some place where they are build- 
ing, and fall into the deep cellar," I said 
to myself, " or go on until she come to 
the water, and fall overboard! Or what 
if some of those bad women I have read 
about, who sometimes steal little girls, 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 9 

should pick her up and cany her off! " 
All the time my feet flew swiftly, and my 
eyes glanced from side to side of the 
street, into yards, and upon stoops, where 
troops of children were playing; but, 
alas I no Kitty was to be seen. " What 
shall we do, and where shall we go to 
find her ? " I said to myself, as I hurried 
along. " Oh, if I could only know every 
thing ! If I was only omniscient, as God 
is ! " And then the thought of God for 
a moment lifted that dead weight which 
was hanging on my heart. "Mother tells 
us we must ask God for every thing we 
want," I thought, " and she says there is 
no need always to go away into a lonely 
place to pray, but if we want any thing 
we can lift up our hearts and ask for it 
just where we are. God knows, of course, 
just where Kitty is this very minute, 
for he sees and knows every thing. O 



10 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

God," I prayed, "help us to find our 
darling pet, and God keep her safe until 
we do." 

I was the last one that got back to the 
house. They were all waiting for me, 
hoping that I should bring the lost one 
with me. Oh, what a disappointment it 
was to them all to see me alone ! Some 
cried, and all looked fearful and sad. I 
turned to mother, and wondered how 
mother felt ; but I couldn't judge by her 
appearance, for she was just as calm as 
ever she was, and she looked as cheerful 
too as she could, for though the tears 
were in her eyes, she tried to inspire us 
all with hope and courage, as she told 
me afterward. She said it would have 
done no good, and would perhaps have 
done a great deal of harm, if she had 
given way to her feelings — so she con- 
trolled herself. She gave us all directions 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 11 

what to do next. Aunt Carrie was to go 
down town to the store as quickly as she 
could, and tell father; and aunt Mary, 
who was quite a stranger in the city, 
would stay and keep house, while we all 
went out again. One of our neighbors 
went to the City Hall to give informa- 
tion, and mother and the girls were to go 
to the different police stations in the 
neighborhood, to leave word, that "a 
little girl, with light hair and blue eyes, 
with a red d/ess and white apron, and 
straw bonnet trimmed with blue, was 
lost." Was lost ! Oh, what a sound that 
was to me! It sounded like a knell. "How 
will they know hereby such a descrip- 
tion?" I thought. Many a child has 
light hair and blue eyes — but I don't 
believe any of them are so pretty and so 
sweet as our Kitty's. Oh, if I could 
only hug her right up in my arms this 



12 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

moment ! Then mother told us children 
just what streets we must go into, and 
to walk along slowly, she said, and 
notice every child we saw. So we 
parted again. 

I kept praying all the time. I did not 
now think at all of those accidents that 
might possibly happen to her, and of 
those dreadful things which my mind 
before had conjured up. I had a sort 
of peace and quiet — a belief that we 
should find her somewhere. Hope, and 
I believe now, as I look back upon it, 
faith in God, sustained me. By and by, 
as I was walking along the busy street, 
wondering how all ^hose people could 
help feeling as anxious as I did, I saw 
mother coming. She was going into 
every store, and asking if the people 
had seen her child. 

" Oh, mother ! " said I, running up to 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 13 

her, "how do you feel? Do you believe 
that we shall ever find her ? " 

" Yes, my dear, I believe "we shall," 
was her reply. " Kitty is in God's hands. 
He knows her, and will take care of her." 

"Why, how do you know, mother? 
Some children are never found." 

"But I have asked him to take charge 
of her, and restore her to us," said 
mother, and her voice trembled. 

"Well, I feel just so, too," said I; "I 
have been praying to God ever since I 
came out, and I expect we shall find her." 

Mother's face brightened up in a mo- 
ment, and she smiled. " Oh, I am glad," 
said she, "that you have been praying 
too. I am glad my little girl thought of 
that. We will keep on praying, and at 
the same time we will do all we can to 
find the little darling." And we sepa- 
rated again. 



14 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

We met the next time on our front 
steps. It was seven o'clock, and was 
growing dark. Mother was the last one 
to come back. She came walking slowly 
up the street, as if she was very tired, 
as she must have been, and her eyes 
were downcast. " No Kitty," «he sinrply 
said, as she came up the steps, and saw 
our troubled, anxious faces. 

" We can do no more," said father ; " we 
must now wait a while. If she is picked 
up by one of the police, she will be brought 
to the station, or at any rate to the City 
Hall, and there they know where to send 
her." 

But we must all have thought — I did, 
I am sure — supposing she should be 
picked up by somebody else, how would 
she ever get back to our sorrowful home 
and aching hearts ? 

"I have been to every place that I 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 15 

could think of," said mother. " The city 
isn't like the country to lose a child in, 
and I suppose it is useless to go further. 
But how can I come in," she added, trem- 
ulously, " while my baby is out ? " 

We lingered about the door. We 
didn't feel like talking, and yet we talked 
— as if that were a consolation — about 
where we had been, and the various ad- 
ventures we had met with. One had seen 
just such a child, with a red dress and 
white apron, and straw hat trimmed with 
blue ; but when she ran up to her, and 
looked up under her bonnet, it wasn't 
Kitty at all. Another had been told at 
the station house about a child that had 
strayed from home the week before, and 
was gone two days and three nights be- 
fore he was found. And some one else 
told about a mother who had gone crazy 
because she had lost her child. 



16 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. • 

I listened to all that was said, and still, 
unwilling to give up the hope I had, that 
we should soon see our little lost one 
again, I strained my eyes through the 
twilight up and down the street, if so be 
I might discover something favorable. 
Presently I saw a man, with a little girl 
in his arms, turn the corner nearest the 
house. He was coming toward us. How 
my heart fluttered ! I fairly trembled as 
I stood there, hoping and yet fearing, and 
afraid to stir or speak lest I should excite 
hopes to be again crushed. At that mo- 
ment mother turned and caught sight of 
the same object, at which I was so ear- 
nestly and ex23ectantly gazing. Her quick 
eye knew her child at the first glance. 

" She has come ! " she cried, and sprang 
down the steps toward her. In an in- 
stant we were all there, and the kind- 
hearted, smiling policeman was laying his 
precious burden in mother's arms. 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 17 

" She is safe," he said, " but she was 
very tired, and fell asleep on my shoul- 
der." 

The poor little thing ! What she had 
been through of terror and anguish all 
that long afternoon, we knew not, and 
never can know, for her little tongue 
could never tell the painful story. Her 
dress was soiled, her apron torn, the little 
hat bent in unseemly shapes, and the 
traces of streaming tears were clearly dis- 
cernible down her little dirty cheeks. One 
tiny hand clinched fast the hooj) she had 
carried out with her, and in the other was 
a bit of candy, which the condition of 
her mouth and face told very plainly she 
had been eating. Her sweet blue eyes 
were closed in weary slumber. 

How we kissed her, over and over 
again, " dirt and all," father said ! And 
how we thanked the policeman again and 



18 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

again for treating her so tenderly ! Fa- 
ther asked him to take money, but he 
refused. He said they were not allowed 
to receive pay for such things ; " and be- 
sides," said he, " I shouldn't want to, for 
I've got little children of my own." Fa- 
ther told him we should all remember 
him with a great deal of affection, and 
>erhaps some day we should have an op- 
portunity to do him or his family some 
kindness, and we all felt that we should 
indeed be very glad to do So. 

We washed and undressed the little 
runaway, but she scarcely awoke to con- 
sciousness while we were doing it ; and 
when I brought her little mug of milk, 
that she might drink before she went to 
bed, she turned her head away from it, 
and cuddled down in mother's bosom with 
such a satisfied look ! And mother looked 
satisfied too, and happy. 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 19 

"I didn't know before how much I 
loved my children," said she, as she ben* 
over and kissed the little sleeper. 

" Somebody pitied her, and was kind to 
her," said aunt Carrie. " They found her 
crying, no doubt, and gave her that candy 
to please and comfort her." 

" Our prayers were heard, mother," said 
I, getting close down, so that no one else 
could hear me. 

" Yes, she has been kept from distress- 
ing accident, has been treated kindly, and 
has been restored to us. How grateful 
we ought to be ! " 

" I think we ought to tell God now 
that we thank him for hearing us and an- 
swering our prayers; don't you, mother?" 

She smiled upon me again, just as she 
had that afternoon in the street. 

" Oh, my daughter," she said, " I am so 
glad that you have learned to whom to go 



20 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

when you are in distress, and also how to 
recognize an answer to prayer when it 
comes, and to acknowledge it with love! 
That is a true Christian feeling, and I do 
not regret all the pain and anxiety I have 
had this afternoon, since it has been the 
means of developing in you such an expe- 
rience. It gives me more joy to discover 
such feelings in you, than even to find 
our dear, lost little Kitty. Never forget 
this, my dear daughter, all your life long, 
and you will never be overwhelmed by 
any distress or sorrow that can come up- 
on you. When we have God as the Rock 
of our refuge, and know how to fall back 
when evil comes, and hide ourselves in 
him, we are always secure. Nothing can 
harm us." 

" We can appreciate now," said father, 
at family worship that evening, "some- 
thing of the feelings of our heavenly Fa- 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 21 

ther when sinners return to him. We 
read that ' Jesus Christ came to seek and 
to save that which was lost,' and that 
when a sinner is found and saved, all 
heaven rejoices over him." 

Then we all sang the hymn, — 

"I was a -wandering sheep ; 

I did not love the fold ; 
I did not love my Shepherd's voice ; 

I -would not be controlled. 
I was a -wayward child ; 

I did not love my home ; 
I did not love my Father's voice •, 

I loved afar to roam ! 

«' The Shepherd sought his sheep, 

The Father sought his child ; 
They followed me o'er vale and hill, 

O'er deserts -waste and -wild ; 
They found me nigh to death, 

Famished, and faint, and lone ; 
They bound me with the bands of love, 

They saved the wandering one. 



22 THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 

" They spoke in tender love ; 

They raised my drooping head ; 
They gently closed my bleeding wounds 

My fainting soul they fed ; 
They washed my filth away ; 

They made me clean and fair ; 
They brought me to my home in peace. 

The long-sought wanderer 1 

" Jesus my Shepherd is ; 

'Twas he that loved my soul j 
'Twas he that washed me in his blood ; 

'Twas he that made me whole ; 
Twas he that sought the lost, 

That found the wandering sheep ; 
'Twas he that brought me to his fold ; 

'Tis he that still doth keep. 

" No more a wandering sheep, 

I love to be controlled ; 
I love my tender Shepherd's voice ; 

I love the peaceful fold ; 
No more a wayward child, 

I seek no more to roam ; 
I love my heavenly Father's voice ; 

I love — I love his home." 



THE LITTLE LOST KITTY. 23 

I don't think I ever felt happier than I 
did that night. Mother said she thought 
we could say, in the words of David, " It 
is good for me that I have been afflicted ; " 
and I felt so too. It was a short afflic- 
tion, to be sure, but it was a very painful 
one. I think, now that I am older, that 
we always feel happier for the trials we 
have, when they lead us to God. It makes 
us know and love him so much better. 

The next morning Kitty awoke bright 
and early. She looked all around the 
room, as if to assure herself that she was 
in the right place, and then she clapped 
her little hands, and sung, " Kitty Co-ver 
home 'gain ! Kitty Co-ver home 'gain ! " 
She remembered what she had suffered 
the day before, and we never lost our 
Kitty again. 



24 THE NEW HEAET. 



THE STEW HEART. 

Little Ernest knelt every morning at 
his mother's knee to say his prayer. He 
was very particular about the words he 
used, and did not like to say every day 
the same. So his mother changed the 
words from time to time, to interest and 
please him. But there was one petition 
he was never willing to have left out. It 
was this : " O God, please to give me a 
new heart, that when I die I may go to 
heaven and live with Jesus and the holy 
angels." His mother was always careful 
to have him put in the little word "that" 
instead of " and," which he sometimes 
used, because she wanted him to feel that 
his going to heaven depended entirely up- 
on his having the new heart — that he 
could not be received into the home of 
Jesus and the angels without it. 



THE NEW HEAKT. 25 

One morning, when he rose from his 
knees, he said, " Mother, what is a heart ? 
— tell me." 

.Now Ernie was a little fellow, only- 
three years old, and his mother hardly- 
believed she could explain to him what a 
heart was, so that he could understand it; 
but she took him up on her knee and 
tried. 

"Ernie," said she, "there is something 
inside this little body of yours that keeps 
thinking — thinking — all the time. Some- 
times it thinks good things, and sometimes 
naughty things. Sometimes it makes you 
love papa and mamma, and try to please 
them, and sometimes you don't want to 
please them. Don't you know it is so ? " 

" Yes, and I think about Lillie, and I 
think about God, and I think about l Old 
John Brown,' and all sorts of things." 

" Certainly you do. Well, this part of 



26 



THE NEW HEART. 



you that keeps thinking is your heart, and 
this is the part that is going to live al- 
ways. When this little body shall die, 
and be buried away in Greenwood, the 
heart will go to God. If it is a good 
heart, he will take it into his own beauti- 
ful home ; but if it is a naughty heart, he 
will send it away from him for ever." 

" Oh," said Ernest, " I'll have a good 
heart." 

"Yes, that is what you ask for every 
day. The heart you have now is not 
good. It does not love to do right. It 
doesn't love to mind papa and mamma, 
and it gets angry, and makes you say 
naughty words. And God can't have 
naughty hearts in heaven, for they would 
make him and all the good angels unhap- 
py. "We must pray for a new heart — 
mustn't we?" 

The next morning Ernie, of his own 



THE NEW HEART. 27 

accord, added some new words to his 
little prayer. He said, " O God, please to 
give me a new heart, and take this old 
naughty heart right out? 

Little boy, have you got the new heart 
yet, that will make you fit for heaven? 
or is the " old naughty " one still there ? 
Won't you ask God to change it right 
away, lest you should die soon ? It would 
be a sad, sad thing to have to die before 
you have the pure and holy heart, which 
God requires of all who are admitted to 
heaven. 



28 THEY LOOK SO. 



"THEY LOOK SO." 

"Oh, mother, just see my freckles!" 
exclaimed Fannie Chase. 

"Yes, I see them; but what of that?" 

" How they do look ! " 

"They don't hurt you, do they?" 

" Oh, no." 

"Do they injure your sight at all?" 

" Why, no, mother, of course not." 

"Or prevent your smelling or hearing?" 

"No." 

" What harm do they do then ? " 

" Why, they look so, mother." 

"How do they look?" 

"So dreadful homely. A lady went by 
here to-day when I was on the steps, and 
I heard her say, ' What an ugly child ! ' " 

" Were you behaving improperly ? " 

" No." 

" Were you impolite or unamiable ? " 



THEY LOOK SO. 29 

«No." 

" Then how were you ugly ? " 

" Voty looking, mother." 

" But looks are all outside — they don't 
affect us seriously — do they ? " 

"Well, no, perhaps not." 

" Can't you be just as obedient, indus- 
trious, obliging, gentle — good, with frec- 
kles as without them ? " 

« Yes." 

" And sensible and good people, who 
think more of the disj)Osition than of the 
looks, would esteem and love you just as 
well with the freckles as if you had none, 
wouldn't they ? " 

"Yes." 

" And when God and the holy angels 
look down out of heaven upon you, do 
you think they look at the freckles, or at 
the conduct ? " 

" Oh, mother, don't ; — you do make 
me so ashamed." 



30 THE COUNTRY BOY. 



THE COUNTRY BOY. 

"Where do I live ? 

Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! 
And what would you give 

The secret to know ? 

I live where the fresh winds are blowing, 
Where flowers and fruits are growing, 
And the wee, wee rivers are flowing — 
In the country, the country I live ! 

I live where the bright birds are winging 
/Their way through the green woods singing, 
Till the air with their music is ringing — 
In the country, the country I live ! 

I live where the squirrels are leaping, 
And the field-mice their revels are keeping, 
While the white cow at noonday is sleeping ■ 
In the country, the country I live ! 

I live where the children are straying 
All day in the wild woods a-maying, 
Or in the sweet clover-fields playing — 
In the country, the country I live ! 



THE CITY BOY. 31 

I tell you 'tis wonderful pleasant. 
This free, humble life of the peasant, 
Where God, too, is every where present — 
In the country, the country I live ! 

In the country I live, 

Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! 
And what would you give 

For a home there too ? 



THE CITY BOY. 

Where do I live ? 

Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! 
And what would you give 

The secret to know ? 

I live where the steamboats are plying, 

Where the newsboys are constantly crying, 
And folks are selling and buying — 
In the great, busy city I live ! 



32 THE CITY BOY. 

I live where the hot dust is blowing, 
And crowds are coming and going, 
And peddlers their wares are showing — 
In the great, busy city I live ! 

I live where the " sweep-ho's" are singing, 
Where signs from shop windows are swinging, 
And the noisy bells always are dinging — 
In the great, busy city I live ! 

I live where the children are sighing, 
And fretting in close rooms, and dying, 
When they ought, like the birds, to be flying — 
In the great, busy city I live ! 

But schools we have here and kind teachers, 
And churches and eloquent preachers, 
And God in his greatness can reach us, 
Though in the great city we live ! 

In the city I live, 

Heigh-ho ! heigh-ho ! 
And wouldn't you like 

A home here too ? 



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