Stories Worth Rereading

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"It's pretty tough, Carter, my boy, isn't it?"

He referred, I thought, to my father, for father was uppermost in my
thoughts. Then, lowering his voice, he said:--

"But I will help you out, son, I will help you out."

I forgot all about hiding my tears, and faced about, attracted by his
kindness.

"I will redeem the ring, and keep it for you until you can get the money.
What do you say? You can rest easy then, knowing that it is safe, and you
can take your time. What do you say?"

With some awkwardness I acquiesced to his plan. Then he called the
stranger, and, leading the way back to his desk, paid to him the ten
dollars, requiring him to sign a paper, though I did not understand why. He
then placed the ring carefully in his safe.

"There, Carter," said he, rubbing his hands together, "it is safe now, and
we need not worry."

I held out my hand to him, then without a word took my parcels and started
on a run for home.

That evening father was more restless than usual. He repeatedly lamented
his long-enforced idleness. After retiring that night, I lay awake for a
long time evolving in my mind plans whereby I might earn ten dollars to
redeem the ring. Finally, with my boyish heart full of hope and adventure,
I fell asleep in the wee hours of morning.

After breakfast I took my books, as usual, but, instead of going to school,
I turned my steps toward a box factory where I knew a boy of about my own
age to be working. I confided to him as much of my story as I thought
advisable, and he took me to the superintendent's office and introduced me.
I was put to work, at five dollars a week, with the privilege of stopping
at four each day. Every afternoon I brought my school-books home and
studied as usual till bed-time, and took them with me again in the morning.

During the two weeks I was employed at the factory neither father nor
mother suspected that I had not been to school each day. In fact, I studied
so assiduously at night that I kept up with my classes. But my mother
observed that I grew pale and thin.

At the end of two weeks, when I told the manager I wanted to stop work, he
seemed somewhat disappointed. He paid me two crisp five-dollar notes, and I
went very proudly to Mr. Blodget with the first ten dollars I had ever
earned, and received that gentleman's hearty praise, and my mother's ring.

That evening father was out as usual, and I gave the ring to mother,
telling her all about it, and what I had done. She kissed me, and, holding
me close in her arms for a long time, cried, caressing my hair with her
hand, and told me that I was her dear, good boy. Then we had a long talk
about father, and agreed to lay nothing to him, at present, about the ring.

The next evening, when I returned from school, father met me at the hall
door, and asked if I had been to school. I saw that he had been drinking,
and was not in a very amiable mood.

"I met Clarence Stevenson just now," he said, "and he inquired about you.
He thought you were sick, and said you had not been to school for two
weeks, unless you had gone today." I stood for a moment without answering.
"What do you say to that?" he demanded.

"Clarence told the truth, father," I replied.

"He did, eh? What do you mean by running away from school in this manner?"
He grew very angry, catching me by the shoulder, gave me such a jerk that
my books, which I had under my arm, went flying in all directions. "Why
have you not been to school?" he said thickly.

"I was working, but I did not intend to deceive you father."

"Working! Working! Where have you been working?"

"At Mr. Hazleton's box factory."

"At a _what_ factory?"

"_Box_ factory."

"How much did you earn?" he growled, watching me closely to see if I told
the truth.

"Five dollars a week," I said timidly, feeling all the time that he was
exacting from me a confession that I wished, on his account, to keep
secret.

"Five dollars a week! Where is the money? Show me the money!" he persisted
incredulously.

"I cannot, father. I do not have it."

I was greatly embarrassed and frightened at his conduct.

"Where is it?" he growled.

"I--I--spent it," I said, not thinking what else to say.

A groan escaped through his shut teeth as he reeled across the hall and
took down a short rawhide whip that had been mine to play with. Although he
had never punished me severely, I was now frightened at his anger.

"Don't whip me, father!" I pleaded, as he came staggering toward me with
the whip. "Don't whip me, please!"

I started to make a clean breast of the whole matter, but the cruel lash
cut my sentence short. I had on no coat, only my waist, and I am sure a boy
never received such a whipping as I did.

I did not cry at first. My heart was filled only with pity for my father.
Something lay so heavy in my breast that it seemed to fill up my throat and
choke me. I shut my teeth tightly together, and tried to endure the hurt,
but the biting lash cut deeper and deeper until I could stand it no longer.
Then my spirit broke, and I begged him to stop. This seemed only to anger
him the more, if such a thing could be. I cried for mercy, and called for
mother, who was out at one of the neighbor's. Had she been at home, I am
sure she would have interceded for me. But he kept on and on, his face as
white as the wall. I could feel something wet running down my back, and my
face was slippery with blood, when I put up my hand to protect it. I
thought I should die; everything began to go round and round. The strokes
did not hurt any longer; I could not feel them now. The hall suddenly grew
dark, and I sank upon the floor. Then I suppose he stopped.

When I returned to consciousness, I was lying on the couch in the
dining-room, with a wet cloth about my forehead, and mother was kneeling by
me, fanning me and crying. I put my arms about her neck, and begged her not
to cry, but my head ached so dreadfully that I could not keep back my own
tears. I asked where father was, and she said he went down-town when she
came. He did not return at supper-time, nor did we see him again until the
following morning.

I could eat no supper that night before going to bed, and mother came and
stayed with me. I am sure she did not sleep, for as often as I dropped off
from sheer exhaustion, I was wakened by her sobbing. Then I, too, would
cry. I tried to be brave, but my wounds hurt me so, and my head ached. I
seemed to be thinking all the time of father. My poor father! I felt sorry
for him, and kept wondering where he was. All through the night it seemed
to me that I could see him drinking and drinking, and betting and betting.
My back hurt dreadfully, and mother put some ointment and soft cotton on
it.

It was late in the morning when I awoke, and heard mother and father
talking down-stairs. With great difficulty, I climbed out of bed and
dressed myself. When I went down, mother had a fire in the dining-room
stove, and father was sitting, or rather lying, with both arms stretched
out upon the table, his face buried between them. By him on a plate were
some slices of toast that mother had prepared, and a cup of coffee, which
had lost its steam without being touched.

I went over by the stove and stood looking at father. I had remained there
but a moment, my heart full of sympathy for him, and wondering if he were
ill, when he raised his head and looked at me. I had never before seen him
look so haggard and pale. As his eyes rested on me, the tears started down
my cheeks.

"Carter, my child," he said hoarsely, "I have done you a great wrong. Can
you forgive me?"

In an instant my arms were about his neck--I felt no stiffness nor soreness
now. He folded me to his breast, and cried, as I did. After a long time he
spoke again:--

"If I had only known--your mother has just told me. It was the beer,
Carter, the beer. I will never touch the stuff again, never," he said
faintly. Then he stretched out his arms upon the table, and bowed his head
upon them. I stood awkwardly by, the tears streaming down my cheeks, but
they were tears of joy.

Mother, who was standing in the kitchen doorway with her apron to her eyes,
came and put her arm about him, and said something, very gently, which I
did not understand. Then she kissed me several times. I shall never forget
the happiness of that hour.

For a long time after that father would not go downtown in the evening
unless I could go with him. He lived to a good old age, and was for many
years head bookkeeper for Mr. Blodget. He kept his promise always.

Mother is still living, and still wears the ring.--_Alva H. Sawins, M.D.,
in the Union Signal_.

* * * * *

The Lad's Answer

Our little lad came in one day
With dusty shoes and weary feet
His playtime had been hard and long
Out in the summer's noontide heat.
"I'm glad I'm home," he cried, and hung
His torn straw hat up in the hall,
While in the corner by the door
He put away his bat and ball.

"I wonder why," his aunty said,
"This little lad always comes here,
When there are many other homes
As nice as this, and quite as near."
He stood a moment deep in thought,
Then, with the love-light in his eye,
He pointed where his mother sat,
And said: "Here she lives; that is why '"

With beaming face the mother heard,
Her mother-heart was very glad.
A true, sweet answer he had given,
That thoughtful, loving little lad.
And well I know that hosts of lads
Are just as loving, true, and dear,
That they would answer as did he,
"Tis home, for mother's living here."

ARTHUR V. FOX.

THE BRIDAL WINE-CUP

"Pledge with wine! Pledge with wine!" cried young and thoughtless Harvey
Wood. "Pledge with wine!" ran through the bridal party.

The beautiful bride grew pale; the decisive hour had come. She pressed her
white hands together, and the leaves of the bridal wreath trembled on her
brow. Her breath came quicker, and her heart beat wilder.

"Yes, Marian, lay aside your scruples for this once," said the judge in a
low tone, going toward his daughter; "the company expects it. Do not so
seriously infringe upon the rules of etiquette. In your own home do as you
please; but in mine, for this once, please me."

Pouring a brimming cup, they held it, with tempting smiles, toward Marian.
She was very pale, though composed; and her hand shook not, as, smiling
back, she gracefully accepted the crystal tempter, and raised it to her
lips. But scarcely had she done so when every hand was arrested by her
piercing exclamation of "O, how terrible!"

"What is it?" cried one and all, thronging together, for she had slowly
carried the glass at arm's length and was fixedly regarding it.

"Wait," she answered, while a light, which seemed inspired, shone from her
dark eyes--"wait, and I will tell you. I see," she added slowly, pointing
one finger at the sparkling ruby liquid, "a sight that beggars all
description; and yet, listen! I will paint it for you, if I can. It is a
lovely spot. Tall mountains, crowned with verdure, rise in awful sublimity
around; a river runs through, and bright flowers grow to the water's edge.
But there a group of Indians gather. They flit to and fro, with something
like sorrow upon their dark brows. In their midst lies a manly form, but
his cheek, how deathly! His eyes are wild with the fitful fire of fever.
One friend stands before him--nay, I should say, kneels; for see, he is
pillowing that poor head upon his breast.

"O, the high, holy-looking brow! Why should death mark it, and he so young?
Look, how he throws back the damp curls! See him clasp his hands! Hear his
thrilling shrieks for life! Mark how he clutches at the form of his
companion, imploring to be saved! O, hear him call piteously his father's
name! See him twine his fingers together as he shrieks for his sister--his
only sister, the twin of his soul, weeping for him in his distant native
land!

"See!" she exclaimed, while the bridal party shrank back, the untasted wine
trembling in their faltering grasp, and the judge fell overpowered upon his
seat--"see! his arms are lifted to heaven--he prays--how wildly!--for
mercy. Hot fever rushes through his veins. He moves not; his eyes are set
in their sockets; dim are their piercing glances. In vain his friend
whispers the name of father and sister--death is there. Death--and no soft
hand, no gentle voice to soothe him. His head sinks back; one convulsive
shudder--he is dead!"

A groan ran through the assembly. So vivid was description, so unearthly
her look, so inspired her manner, that what she described seemed actually
to have taken place then and there. They noticed, also, that the bridegroom
hid his face in his hands, and was weeping.

"Dead!" she repeated again, her lips quivering faster and faster, and her
voice more broken. "And there they scoop him a grave; and there, without a
shroud, they lay him down in that damp, reeking earth, the only son of a
proud father, the only idolized brother of a fond sister. There he lies, my
father's son, my own twin brother, a victim to this deadly poison. Father,"
she exclaimed, turning suddenly, while the tears rained down her beautiful
cheeks, "father, shall I drink it now?"

The form of the old judge was convulsed with agony. He raised not his head,
but in a smothered voice he faltered:--

"No, no, my child; no!"

She lifted the glittering goblet, and let it suddenly fall to the floor,
where it was dashed in a thousand pieces. Many a tearful eye watched her
movement, and instantaneously every wine-glass was transferred to the
marble table on which it had been prepared. Then, as she looked at the
fragments of crystal, she turned to the company, saying: "Let no friend
hereafter who loves me tempt me to peril my soul for wine. Not firmer are
the everlasting hills than my resolve, God helping me, never to touch or
taste the poison cup. And he to whom I have given my hand, who watched over
my brother's dying form in that last solemn hour, and buried the dear
wanderer there by the river in that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me
in that resolve."

His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile, were her answer. The judge left
the room. When, an hour after, he returned, and with a more subdued manner
took part in the entertainment of the bridal guests, no one could fail to
read that he had determined to banish the enemy forever from his princely
home.--"_Touching Incidents and Remarkable Answers to Prayer."_

A MOTHER'S SORROW

A company of Southern ladies, assembled in a parlor, were one day talking
about their different troubles. Each had something to say about her own
trials. But there was one in the company, pale and sad-looking, who for a
while remained silent. Suddenly rousing herself, she said:--

"My friends, you do not any of you know what trouble is."

"Will you please, Mrs. Gray," said the kind voice of one who knew her
story, "tell the ladies what you call trouble?"

"I will, if you desire it; for, in the words of the prophet, 'I am the one
who hath seen affliction.'

"My parents were very well off; and my girlhood was surrounded by all the
comforts of life. Every wish of my heart was gratified, and I was cheerful
and happy.

"At the age of nineteen I married one whom I loved more than all the world
besides. Our home was retired; but the sun never shone upon a lovelier spot
or a happier household. Years rolled on peacefully. Five lovely children
sat around our table, and a little curly head still nestled in my bosom.

"One night about sundown one of those fierce, black storms came up, which
are so common to our Southern climate. For many hours the rain poured down
incessantly. Morning dawned, but still the elements raged. The country
around us was overflowed. The little stream near our dwelling became a
foaming torrent. Before we were aware of it, our house was surrounded by
water. I managed, with my babe, to reach a little elevated spot, where the
thick foliage of a few wide-spread trees afforded some protection, while my
husband and sons strove to save what they could of our property. At last a
fearful surge swept away my husband, and he never rose again. Ladies, no
one ever loved a husband more. But that was not trouble.

"Presently my sons saw their danger, and the struggle for life became the
only consideration. They were as brave, loving boys as ever blessed a
mother's heart; and I watched their efforts to escape, with such an agony
as only mothers can feel. They were so far off that I could not speak to
them; but I could see them closing nearer and nearer to each other, as
their little island grew smaller and smaller.

"The swollen river raged fearfully around the huge trees. Dead branches,
upturned trunks, wrecks of houses, drowning cattle, and masses of rubbish,
all went floating past us. My boys waved their hands to me, and then
pointed upward. I knew it was their farewell signal; and you, mothers, can
imagine my anguish. I saw them perish--all perish. Yet that was not
trouble.

"I hugged my baby close to my heart; and when the water rose at my feet, I
climbed into the low branches of the tree, and so kept retiring before it,
till the hand of God stayed the waters, that they should rise no farther. I
was saved. All my worldly possessions were swept away; all my earthly hopes
were blighted. Yet that was not trouble.

"My baby was all I had left on earth. I labored day and night to support
him and myself, and sought to train him in the right way. But, as he grew
older, evil companions won him away from me. He ceased to care for his
mother's counsels; he sneered at her entreaties and agonizing prayers. He
became fond of drink. He left my humble roof, that he might be unrestrained
in his evil ways. And at last one night, when heated by wine, he took the
life of a fellow creature. He ended his days upon the gallows. God had
filled my cup of sorrow before; now it ran over. That was trouble, my
friends, such as I hope the Lord of mercy will spare you from ever
knowing."

Boys and girls, can you bear to think that you might bring such sorrow on
your dear father or mother? If you would not, be on your guard against
intemperance. Let wine and liquors alone. Never touch them.--_Selected_.

* * * * *

"Ah, none but a mother can tell you, sir, how a mother's heart will ache
With the sorrow that comes of a sinning child,
with grief for a lost one's sake,
When she knows the feet she trained to walk have gone so far astray,
And the lips grown bold with curses that she taught to sing and pray!
A child may fear, a wife may weep, but of all sad things none other
Seems half so sorrowful to me as being a drunkard's mother."

THE REPRIMAND

At the sound of Mr. Troy's bell, Eleanor Graves vanished into his private
office. Ten minutes later she came out, with a deep flush on her face and
tears in her eyes.

"He lectured me on the spelling of a couple of words and a mistake in a
date," she complained to Jim Forbes. "Anybody's liable to misspell a word
or two in typing, and I know I took the date down exactly as he gave it to
me."

Jim looked uncomfortable. "I would not mind," he said awkwardly. "We all
have to take it sometime or other. Besides," he glanced hesitatingly at the
pretty, indignant face, "I suppose the boss thinks we ought not to make
mistakes."

"As if I wanted to!" Eleanor retorted, stiffly.

But she worked more carefully the next week; for her pride was touched.
Then, with restored confidence, came renewed carelessness, and an error
crept into one of the reports she was copying. The error was slight, but it
brought her a sharp reprimand from Mr. Troy. It was the second time, he
reminded her, that she had made that blunder. At the reproof the girl's
face flushed painfully, and then paled.

"If my work is not satisfactory, you had better find some one who can do it
better," she said.

Whirling round in his swivel-chair, Mr. Troy looked at her. He had really
never noticed his latest stenographer before, but now his keen eyes saw
many things that showed that she came from a home where she had been petted
and cared for.

"How long have you been at work?" he asked.

"This is my first position," Eleanor answered.

Mr. Troy nodded. "I understand. Now, Miss Graves, let me tell you
something. You have many of the qualities of a good business woman; you are
punctual, you are not afraid of work, you are fairly accurate. I have an
idea that you take pride in turning out a good piece of work. But you must
learn to stand criticism and profit by it. We must all take it sometime,
every one of us. A weakling goes under. A strong man or woman learns to
value it, to make every bit of it count. That is what I hope you will do."

Eleanor braced herself to meet his eyes.

"If you will let me, I will try again," she said.--_Youth's Companion_.

* * * * *

The Kingfisher

A kingfisher sat on a flagpole slim,
And watched for a fish till his eye was dim.
"I wonder," said he, "if the fishes know
That I, their enemy, love them so!
I sit and watch and blink my eye
And watch for fish and passers-by;
I must occasionally take to wing
On account of the stones that past me sing.
*
"I nearly always work alone;
For past experience has shown
That I can't gather something to eat,
And visit my neighbor across the street.
So whether I'm fishing early or late,
I usually work without a mate,
Since I can't visit and watch my game;
For fishing's my business, and Fisher's my name.
Maybe by watching, from day to day,
My life and habits in every way,
You might be taught a lesson or two
That all through life might profit you;
Or if you only closely look,
This sketch may prove an open book,
And teach a lesson you should learn.
Look closely, and you will discern."

CHAS. E.E. SANBORN.

AN EXAMPLE

Stealing away from the ones at home, who would be sad when they found out
about it; stealing away from honor, purity, cleanliness, goodness, and
manliness, the minister's boy and the boy next door were preparing to smoke
their first cigarettes. They had skulked across the back pasture, and were
nearing the stone wall that separated Mr. Meadow's corn-field from the
road; and here, screened by the wall on one side and by corn on the other,
they intended to roll the little "coffin nails," and smoke them unseen.

The minister's boy, whose name was Johnny Brighton, and who was an
innocent, unsuspicious child, agreed that it would be a fine, manly thing
to smoke. So the lads waited and planned, and now their opportunity had
come. The boy next door, whose name was Albert Beecher, saw old Jerry
Grimes, the worst character in Roseland, drop a small bag of tobacco and
some cigarette-papers. The lad, being unobserved, transferred the stuff
from the sidewalk to his pocket, then hid it in the wood-shed.

At last their plan seemed about to be carried out. Albert's mother was
nursing a sick friend, and the minister, secure in his study, was preparing
a sermon. Johnny's mother was dead. His aunt Priscilla was his father's
housekeeper, and she was usually so busy that she had little time for small
boys. Today, as she began her sewing, Johnny slipped quietly from the house
and joined his chum.

The boys reached the stone wall and sat down, with the tobacco between
them, to enjoy (?) what they considered a manly deed. After considerable
talk and a few blunders, each succeeded in rolling a cigarette, and was
about to pass it to his lips, when a strange voice, almost directly above
their heads, said, pleasantly, "Trying to kill yourselves, boys?"

With a guilty start, Johnny and Albert turned instantly, and beheld the
strangest specimen of humanity that either had ever seen. An unmistakable
tramp, with a pale, sickly face, covered partly with grime and partly with
stubby black beard, stood leaning with his arms on top of the wall, looking
down at them. Although it was summer, he wore a greasy winter cap, and his
coat, too, spoke of many rough journeys through dirt and bad weather. His
lips were screwed into something resembling a smile; but as he spoke, his
haunted, sunken eyes roved restlessly from one upturned face to the other.

As the only answer the boys gave him was an astonished, frightened stare,
the man continued: "I would not do it, boys. It is an awful thing--awful! I
was trying to get a little sleep over here," he continued, "when I heard
your voices, and thought I would see what was going on. Did not any one
ever tell you about cigarettes? Why, each one contains enough poison to
kill a cat; if it was fixed right, I mean." He passed a thin, shaking hand
over his face, and went on: "Do you want to fool with such things?--Not if
you are wise. You see, the cigarette habit will kill you sometime, by
inches, if not right away, or else drive you crazy; and no sane person
wants to kill himself or spoil his health. That is what I am doing,
though," he admitted, with a bitter smile and a sad shake of his head. "But
I cannot stop it now. I have gone too far, and I cannot help myself. I am a
wreck, a blot on the face of the earth."

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