Stories Worth Rereading

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The young man replied with much agitation: "O Hill, you may obtain
religion, but I never can! I came here a professor of religion; but through
fear I dissembled it, and have been carried along with the wicked, until I
fear there is no hope for me."

He told me that there were two others who he believed were somewhat
serious. We agreed to take up the subject of religion in earnest, and seek
it together. We invited the other two, and held a prayer-meeting in my room
on the next Saturday afternoon. And, O, what a prayer-meeting! We knew not
how to pray, but tried to do it. We sang in a suppressed manner, for we
feared the other students. But they found us out, and gathered round the
door, and made such a noise that the officers had to disperse them.

So serious was the disturbance that the president, the late excellent Rev.
Dr. John B. Smith, investigated the matter at prayers that evening in the
chapel hall. When he demanded the reason of the riot, a ringleader in
wickedness rose up and stated that it was occasioned by three or four of
the boys holding prayer-meetings, and they were determined to have no such
doings there. The good president heard the statement with deep emotion,
and, looking at the youths charged with the sin of praying, said, with
tears in his eyes, "O, is there such a state of things in this college?
Then God has come near to us. My dear young friends, you shall hold your
next meeting in my parlor." We did hold our next meeting in his parlor, and
half the college was there. And there began a glorious revival of religion,
which pervaded the college, and spread into the country around.

Many of those students became ministers of the gospel. The youth who
brought me "Alleine's Alarm" from his mother was my friend, the Rev. C.
Stitt, who is preaching in Virginia. And he who interrupted me in reading
the work, my venerable and worthy friend, the Rev. Dr. H., is now president
of a college in the West.--_Selected_.

"STRAIGHTENING OUT THE FURROWS"

"Boys," he said, "I have been trying every day of my life for the last two
years to straighten out furrows, and I cannot do it."

One boy turned his head in surprise toward the captain's neatly kept place.

"O, I do not mean that kind, lad! I do not mean land furrows," continued
the captain, so soberly that the attention of the boys became breathless as
he went on: "When I was a lad about the age of you boys, I was what they
call a 'hard case,' not exactly bad or vicious, but wayward and wild. Well,
my dear old mother used to coax, pray, and punish. My father was dead,
making it all the harder for her, but she never got impatient. How in the
world she bore all my stubborn, vexing ways so patiently will always be to
me one of the mysteries of life. I knew it was troubling her, knew it was
changing her pretty face, making it look anxious and old. After a while,
tired of all restraint, I ran away, went off to sea; and a rough time I had
of it at first. Still I liked the water, and I liked journeying around from
place to place.

"Then I settled down to business in a foreign land, and soon became
prosperous. Now I began sending her something besides empty letters. And
such beautiful letters as she always wrote me during those years of
absence. At length I noticed how long they grew, longing for the son who
used to try her so, and it awoke a corresponding longing in my heart to go
back to the clear waiting soul. So when I could stand it no longer, I came
back, and such a welcome, and such a surprise!

"My mother is not a very old lady, boys, but the first thing I noticed was
the whiteness of her hair and the deep furrows on her brow; and I knew I
had helped to blanch that hair to its snowy whiteness and had drawn those
lines in that smooth forehead. And those are the furrows I have been trying
to straighten out.

"But last night, while mother was asleep in her armchair, I was thinking it
all over, and looked to see what progress I had made. Her face was very
peaceful, and the expression as contented as possible, but the furrows are
still there. I have not succeeded in straightening them
out--and--I--never--shall,--never.

"When they lay my mother, my fair old sweetheart, in her casket, there will
be furrows on her brow; and I think it a wholesome lesson to teach you,
that the neglect you offer your parents' counsel now, and the trouble you
cause them, will abide, my lads, it will abide!"

"But," broke in Freddie Hollis, with great, troubled eyes, "I should think
if you are so kind and good now, it need not matter so much!"

"Ah, Freddie," said the quavery voice of the strong man, "you cannot undo
the past. You may do much to atone for it, do much to make the rough path
smooth, but you cannot straighten out the old furrows; remember that."

"Guess I'll go and chop some wood mother spoke of. I had most forgotten,"
said lively Jimmy Hollis, in a strangely quiet tone for him.

"Yes, and I have some errands to do," suddenly remembered Billy Bowles.

"Touched and taken!" said the kindly captain to himself, as the boys
tramped off, keeping step in a soldier-like way.

Mrs. Bowles declared a fortnight afterward that Billy was "really getting
to be a comfort!" And Mrs. Hollis, meeting the captain about that time,
remarked that Jimmy always meant to be a good boy, but now he was actually
being one.

"Guess your stories they like so much have good morals in them now and
then," added the gratified mother, with a smile.

As Mrs. Hollis passed, Captain Sam, with folded arms and head bent down,
said softly to himself, "Well, I shall be thankful if a word of mine will
help the dear boys to keep furrows from their mothers' brows; for, once
there, it is a difficult task to straighten them out."--_Selected_.

* * * * *

"If you were busy being good,
And doing just the best you could,
You'd not have time to blame some man
Who's doing just the best he can.

"If you were busy being true
To what you know you ought to do,
You'd be so busy you'd forget
The blunders of the folks you've met.

"If you were busy being right,
You'd find yourself too busy quite
To criticize your neighbor long
Because he's busy being wrong."

A BOY WHO WAS WANTED

"Well, I have found out one thing," said Jack as, hot, tired, and dusty, he
came to his mother.

"What is that?" she asked.

"That there are a great many boys in the world."

"Didn't you know that before?"

"Partly; but I didn't know there were so many more boys than are wanted."

"Why do you think there are more than are wanted?"

"Because I have been 'round and 'round till I am worn out, trying to find a
place to work. Wherever I go, there are more boys than places. Doesn't that
show that there are too many boys?"

"Not exactly," said his mother, with a smile. "It depends entirely on the
kind of boy. A good boy is always wanted somewhere."

"Well, if I am a good boy, I wish that I knew that I was wanted."

"Patience, patience, my boy. In such a great world as this is, with so many
places and so many boys, it is no wonder some of them do not find their
places at once. But be sure, dear," as she laid a very caressing hand on
his arm, "that every boy who wants a chance to do fair, honest work will
find it."

"That's the kind of work I want to do," said Jack. "I don't want anybody's
money for nothing. Let me see, what have I to offer?--All the schooling and
all the wits I have been able to get up in thirteen years; good, stout
hands; and a civil tongue."

"And a mind and heart set on doing faithful duty, suggested his mother.

"I hope so," said Jack. "I remember father used to say: Just as soon as you
undertake to work for any one, you must bear in mind that you have sold
yourself for the given time. Your time, your strength, your energy, are
his, and your best efforts to seek his interests in every way are his
due.'"

The earnest tone in which the boy spoke seemed to give assurance that he
would pay good heed to the words of the father whose counsel could no more
reach him.

For two or three days longer Jack had reason to hold his opinion that there
were more boys than the world wanted, at the end of which time he met a
business man who, questioning him closely, said: "There are a great many
applications for the place, but a large number of the boys come and stay a
short time, and then leave if they think they can do a little better. When
a boy gets used to our route and customers, we want him to stay. If you
will agree to stay at least three years, we will agree to pay you three
dollars a week as errand boy."

"That is just what I wanted to do, sir," said Jack, eagerly. So he was
installed, and proud enough he was to bring his wages home every week, and
realize that, small as they were, the regular help was of great value to
his mother.

It is not to be wondered at that the faithful carrying out of his father's
admonition after a while attracted the attention not only of his employers,
but of others with whom he was brought in contact in the pursuit of his
duties. One day he was asked into the office of Mr. Lang, a gentleman to
whom he frequently carried parcels of value.

"Have you ever thought of changing your situation?" asked Mr. Lang.

"No, sir," said Jack.

"Perhaps you could do better," said the other. "I want a boy who is quick
and intelligent, and who can be relied on; and, from what I see of you, I
think you are that sort of boy. I want you to drive a delivery wagon, and
will pay you five dollars a week."

Jack's eyes opened wide.

"It is wonderfully good pay for a boy like me, I am sure. But I promised to
keep on with Mr. Hill for three years, and the second year is only just
begun."

"Well, have you signed a regular agreement with Mr. Hill?"

"No, sir; I told him I would stay."

"You have a mother to assist, you told me. Could not you tell Mr. Hill that
you feel obliged to do better, when you have a chance?"

"I don't believe I could," said Jack, looking with his straight, frank gaze
into the gentleman's face. "You see, sir, if I broke my word with him, I
should not be the kind of boy to be relied on that you want."

"I guess you are about right," said Mr. Lang, with a sigh. "Come and see me
when your time is out; I dare say I shall want you then."

Jack went home very much stirred by what had been said to him.

After all, could it be wrong to go where he would do so much better? Was it
not really his duty to accept the position? He could then drive the wagon
instead of trudging wearily along the streets. They had never felt so hot
and dusty as they did just now, when he might escape from the tiresome
routine. Might, but how?--By the sacrifice of his pledged word; by selling
his truth and his honor. So strongly did the reflection force itself upon
him that when he told his mother of the offer he had received, he merely
added, "It would be a grand good thing if I could take it, wouldn't it,
mother?"

"Yes, it would."

"Some boys would change without thinking of letting a promise stand in
their way."

"Yes, but that is the kind of boy who, sooner or later, is not wanted. It
is because you have not been that sort of boy that you are wanted now."

Jack worked away, doing such good work, as he became more and more
accustomed to the situation, that his mother sometimes wondered that Mr.
Hill, who seemed always kindly interested in him, never appeared to think
of raising his pay. This, however, was not Mr. Hill's way of doing things,
even though he showed an increasing disposition to trust Jack with
important business.

So the boy trudged through the three years, at the end of them having been
trusted far more than is usually the case with errand boys. He had never
forgotten the offer made by Mr. Lang, and one day, meeting that gentleman
on the street, ventured to remind him that his present engagement was
nearly out, adding, "You spoke to me about driving the wagon, sir."

"Ah, so I did; but you are older now and worth more. Call around and see
me."

One evening, soon after, Jack lingered in Mr. Hill's office after the other
errand boys had been paid and had gone away.

"My three years are up tonight, sir," he said.

"Yes, they are," said Mr. Hill, looking at him as if he had remembered it.

"Will you give me a recommendation to some one else, sir?"

"Well, I will, if you are sure that you want to leave me."

"I did not know that you wanted me to stay, but"--he hesitated, and then
went on--"my mother is a widow, and I feel as if I ought to do the best I
can for her, and Mr. Lang told me to call on him."

"Has Mr. Lang ever made you an offer?"

Jack told him what Mr. Lang had said nearly two years before.

"Why didn't you go then?" asked Mr. Hill.

"Because I had promised to stay with you; but you wouldn't blame me for
trying to better myself now?"

"Not a bit of it. Are you tired of running errands?"

"I'd rather ride than walk," said Jack with a smile.

"I think it is about time you were doing better than either. Perhaps you
think that you have been doing this faithful work for me through these
years for next to nothing; but if so, you are mistaken. You have been doing
better work than merely running errands. You have been serving an
apprenticeship to trust and honesty. I know you now to be a
straight-forward, reliable boy, and it takes time to learn that. It is your
capital, and you ought to begin to realize it. You may talk to Mr. Lang if
you wish, but I will give you a place in the office, with a salary of six
hundred dollars for the first year, with the prospect of a raise after
that."

Jack did not go to see Mr. Lang, but straight to his mother, with a shout
and a bound.

"You're right, you're right, mother!" he cried. "No more hard work for you,
mother. I'm wanted, you see, wanted enough to get good pay! All the hardest
part is over."--_Congregationalist_.

WANTED: AN EMPLOYER

There was a north-bound car temporarily disabled on Broadway, near Fourth
Street, and, in consequence, as far south as the eye could reach stood a
row of motionless cars. Also, in consequence, along the curb was ranged a
fretting, impatient, helpless crowd, among whom the most anxious was
probably Edward Billings Henry.

In stature Edward Billings Henry was briefer than his name would indicate,
but to a certain two-room dwelling on Jackson Street he made up in
importance what he lacked in height; and it was his overwhelming sense of
this importance which made every thin muscle taut and strained every nerve
as he stood in the forefront of the crowd, his bare feet planted on the
cold asphalt, one hand gripping his remaining stock of papers, the other
clutching a nickel.

"I never was in a tearing hurry in my life but that this thing happened!"
exploded a man just behind the boy.

Edward Billings Henry turned and looked up. The man was jingling a lot of
loose coins in his pocket. The boy looked at his one nickel, and said, with
conviction, "You can't need to have 'em go like I do."

The big man stared down at the little man, in surprise, with a gruff "Huh?"
but Edward Billings Henry had no time to repeat. His hope had revived. The
two men who lay on their backs under the injured car began to crawl out,
and the boy rushed forward.

"Will it go now?" he inquired of one of the numerous conductors clustered
around.

"Maybe so--in half an hour," replied the conductor, carelessly.

"O," cried the boy, in dismay, "I just can't wait that long!"

"Walk, then!" said the conductor, crossly.

"It's too far," replied the boy, "when you've got a stone toe."

"A what?" ejaculated the conductor; but his voice was lost in the honk!
honk! of a big white touring car which pushed slowly through the crowd.

In front of the car Edward Billings Henry raced limpingly on his stone toe
back to the curb and to the man jingling the coins in his pocket.

"Just what time is it, please?" he asked.

The man pulled out a watch and showed it to him. Edward Billings Henry
heaved a great sigh.

"Half past ten! It'll likely be filled up before I can get there."

"What will be?"

"The place I'm after."

Skilfully he raised the limping foot, laid it across the other leg, and
nursed the stone-bruised big toe, his eyes on the automobile, which had
halted almost in front of him.

"Halloo, Junius!" a voice in the crowd sang out. "Lucky man you, not to
have to depend on street-cars!"

The driver of the car was a young man. That is, Edward Billings Henry
judged him to be young by the only feature visible, a flexible, wide mouth,
with clean-shaven lips. His eyes were behind goggles, and a cap covered his
forehead and ears, meeting the tip of a high collar, which effectually
concealed his chin. But the mouth smiled as the goggles turned toward the
pavement, the owner answering lightly:--

"Halloo yourself, Dick! Jump in and try my luck."

"Where are you going?"

"Up to Congress Square."

"Well, get along then!" returned the other. "That's no good to me."

Congress Square! What luck! Exactly where Edward Billings Henry wished to
go! And here was a rapid-transit vehicle, with room enough for ten such
diminutive persons as he! Without loss of time, he limped up on his aching
stone toe and jogged the arm of the driver.

Junius looked down at the boy. Edward Billings Henry removed a man's derby
from his head and looked out of eyes kindling with hope, as he asked
eagerly:--

"Do you suppose you could get me up there inside of twenty-five minutes,
mister?"

"What do you mean?" Junius stared hard through his goggles.

"To Congress Square," said Edward Billings Henry, impatiently. "It's
business, and if I don't get there I'm out of a job, that's all." The boy
mounted the step and clung to the seat, proffering his nickel. "I'll pay
just what I'd pay on the car," he argued, "so you'd be making some money as
well as giving me a lift."

The goggled eyes looked at the nickel in the dirty hand, and then traveled
up and down the small figure back of the hand. The eyes noticed that while
those parts of the boy's anatomy which had been exposed all the morning to
the city dirt had collected grime, the rims, as it were, of the exposed
parts revealed hidden cleanliness.

"Congress Square is an awful way up," urged Edward Billings Henry, "and we
mustn't waste much time; for I would like to get that job." The small hand
extended the nickel enticingly toward the glove. "You'll be earning as much
as the street-car by giving a lift," the boy repeated.

The driver's lips twisted a bit. "That's so," he said. "Huh!" he chuckled,
and gracelessly extended his hand for the nickel. "Get in, my man, and I'll
give you the lift."

Edward Billings Henry drew a deep sigh of relief dropped the coin into the
other's palm, and engulfed himself in the soft front seat.

"Whom have I the honor of giving a lift?" asked Junius, formally, dropping
the nickel into a pocket, where it lay alone. After it he sent a curious,
lingering smile.

"Edward Billings Henry, Junior," replied the boy.

The lips beneath the goggles smiled. "And where am I lifting you to, may I
also ask, Edward Billings?"

"To Mr. Florins's office, where they're going to select an office boy this
morning 'tween ten and eleven."

The driver busied himself a moment with the steering-gear as the car passed
the crowded mail-wagons behind the post-office building. Then he turned and
shot a curious glance at his small companion, asking abruptly:--

"And you think you'll get the job, do you?"

Edward Billings Henry leaned forward as if he could push the machine into a
yet faster pace. "I can try for it," he replied. "Father says you never
know what you can do unless you try. He's always wanting me to try."

"Yes," muttered Junius, still more interested. "Fathers seem much alike,
whether they live up-town or down-town."

"Can't we go faster?" asked Edward Billings Henry, sitting on the edge of
the seat.

Junius shook his head. "Too many blue-coats around. But about that job,
now--you'll not be the only boy after it. There will probably be dozens
older----"

"I'm eleven, if I am small," interrupted the boy.

"And stronger----"

The boy stretched out a thin arm defiantly, and closed his fist. "Just
feel!" he cried. "I've got a good muscle, and on my legs it's better yet.
Just now I've got a stone-bruise on my big toe, but I tell you I can get
round pretty fast just the same. I don't believe Mr. Florins would ever be
sorry he took me."

"Yes, I'm inclined to believe that myself," mused the man. "But how are you
going to make him believe that in the beginning?"

The boy raised his lame foot and gently rubbed the swollen big toe. "Well,"
he began, "I'm going to talk up big. Father says you have to sometimes when
nobody's round to do it for you, and he says it's all right if you do
afterward just as big as you talk."

The driver wagged his head wisely. "That's sound business sense," he
agreed, gravely. "You intend to deliver the same goods that you sell. Let's
hear what you have to say."

"Well, if you get me there in time to say anything, I'm going to tell Mr.
Florins that father went to school a lot when he was young. He went through
high school and got all ready to go through college."

Edward Billings emphasized his verbs as if "going through" was solely a
physical exercise on the flying-wedge order; and Junius chuckled.

"Then I'll tell him that father stood almost at the head of his class in
high school, and he almost took a lot of honors."

"Well," assented Junius, "that 'almost' is a step farther than some of the
rest of us got."

"Yes," exulted the boy, "I guess Mr. Florins will say so, too. Then I'll
tell him that father taught a lot when he couldn't go through college."

"What next?" inquired Junius.

They were approaching Twelfth Street now, and the car was hardly moving in
the press of vehicles.

Edward Billings curled his bare toes under, and unconsciously pushed
forward with all his slender might. "Then I'll tell him that father used to
read a lot, law books and things, same as he does----"

"But see here!" interrupted Junius. "All this talk will be about your
father. What are you going to say about yourself?"

A cloud overspread Edward Billings's face. He raised a pair of troubled
eyes to his questioner. "Why, I never stopped to think of that," he began,
slowly, all the brightness fading out of his tone. "There's nothing much to
say about me. I sell papers and help father----"

"What does your father do?" asked Junius.

The boy hesitated. His face flushed, and he looked up uncertainly at the
goggles. "He used to teach, I told you," was the evasive answer, "until his
eyes gave out."

"And now?"

Edward Billings Henry wriggled about on the padded leather. "He's always
had bad legs,"--the evasion continued,--"but his arms and back are strong,
and his legs all right to stand on."

"Yes?" insisted Junius, and waited.

"So he's doing something he ain't going to do if I can get this job. Then I
could sell papers after and before office hours, and earn a lot of money."
Edward Billings Henry talked rapidly, but the young man beside him was not
to be turned from his purpose.

"Then what is it he's not going to do?"

The boy hesitated again. "Father takes in washing," he finally burst out,
proudly defiant, "and I help him, and we do it good, I tell you! No one
ever complains. Father says if you can't do what you want to, you can try
something else, and that was all he could do, so he tried, and found out he
could wash and iron good, and a lot of it!"

Junius considerately looked straight ahead of him, not wishing to add to
the embarrassment of Edward Billings Henry, Junior, but he could not resist
asking, "Are you going to tell this to Mr. Florins?"

"No-sir-ee!" responded the boy, proudly. "Father ain't going to
do--washings--any longer if I can get the job."

The car entered Congress Square, drew up in front of an imposing stone
building, and stopped. The driver removed his goggles and turned a pair of
pleasant gray eyes on the boy.

"Well, Edward Billings, here we are, and you've got the job all right. Can
you come in the morning?"

Edward Billings Henry nearly fell off the seat.

"W-hat?" he stammered.

"The job is yours," smiled the young man. "I happen to be that same Mr.
Florins who, you have assured me, will never regret employing you. My
office is on the second floor here. I did advertise for a boy, but had
totally forgotten it." He gave a short laugh. "Report in the morning,
please, and we'll see about a suit and some shoes and that stone-bruised
toe."

Out of the automobile Edward Billings Henry tumbled in a dazed condition,
and stood beside his new employer, looking up speechlessly.

"I'll advance you a car fare on your salary," the young man continued. He
carefully avoided the pocket where lay the nickel previously owned by his
passenger, and produced the change. "And, Edward Billings, just tell your
father from me that his maxims work out so well that I'm thinking of
adopting them myself."--_Alice Louise Lee, in Youth's Companion, used by
permission_.

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