Golden Moments Part 11

"Give us what is left!" cried one of the cats, jumping up quickly, and earnestly looking the judge in the face.

"What is left belongs to me," replied the judge. "I must be paid for my services in this difficult case."

He then devoured the last piece, and said:--

"Justice is satisfied, and the court is dismissed."

The hungry cats went back to the barn wiser than when they came.

They had learned that ill-gotten gains are unprofitable, and that they should never employ the dishonest to adjust their difficulties. They also learned another lesson:--

"The scales of the law are seldom poised till little or nothing remains in either."

PICTURES IN THE FIRE.

Have you noticed, little children, When the fire is burning low, As the embers flash and darken, How the pictures come and go?

Strange the shapes, and strange the fancies, As beyond the bars you gaze, Bringing back some olden mem'ries, Thoughts of half-forgotten days!

There's the Church across the meadows, Shadow'd by the spreading yew; There's the quaintly-carven pulpit, And the olden oaken pew.

Changed the scene, and on the ocean Sails a ship amid the spray; 'Tis the one you watch'd departing, When some lov'd-one went away!

Yes! and there are faces plenty, Faces dear, both old and young And they cause you to remember Words their lips oft said or sung.

Fancy even brings the voices, Tho' they may be far away; Only pictures, only fancies, Yes! but very sweet are they!

Little Children, let me tell you Tis yourselves who shape the scene!

In your minds a memory lingers, And it peeps the bars between!

If you doubt me, choose a subject, Any one you may desire, And you will, by dint of looking, Find its picture in the fire!

E. Oxenford.

HASTY CHARLIE.

Charlie never could wait. It was no use telling him "more haste less speed," "slow and sure," or anything of that kind. You might as well talk to the winds. He scrambled up in the morning, scurried over the parts of his toilet that he was trusted to do for himself, hurried over his breakfast, rushed through his lessons, with many mistakes of course, and by his hasty, impatient behavior worried his quiet, gentle little sister Ethel nearly out of her wits, and almost drove patient Miss Smith, the governess, to despair. He burnt his mouth with hot food, because he couldn't wait for it to cool; fell down-stairs, racing down, times out of number; his toys were always getting broken because he couldn't stop to put them away; his canary flew away because he, fuming with impatience about something, neglected to fasten the cage door one day; and indeed s.p.a.ce would fail to tell of all the troubles he brought upon himself by his perpetual, heedless haste.

There were some exceptions to this general state of things. He didn't hurry to begin his lessons,--nor to go to bed. Here he would wait as long as you liked to let him. One thing he was obliged to wait for, sorely against his will, and that was to grow up. It did take such a long time, and oh, the things he meant to do when once he was a man!

Father hoped he would alter a great deal before that time came, for, as he told him, a hasty, impatient man makes other people unhappy and cannot be happy himself.

Charlie meant to have a balloon when he grew up, and a sweet-stuff shop, an elephant, a garden full of apples and plums, a tall black horse, and a donkey.

"You needn't wait so long for the donkey," Father said one day. "I have seen a boy with two nice donkeys in Pine-tree Walk; when you and Ethel have been good children at your lessons, Miss Smith shall let you ride them, and when you can ride nicely I will buy you each a donkey of your own."

Lessons certainly went better after this, and the rides were much enjoyed on every fine day, though timid little Ethel was always just a wee bit afraid at first starting. Miss Smith always safely mounted Ethel first.

"Wait a minute, Charlie!" she said one day, when he was pulling and tugging impatiently at Neddie's bridle, "we'll have you up directly."

But Charlie couldn't wait: he dragged the donkey into the road and scrambled upon its back.

"Charlie! Charlie! you mustn't start without us. Wait a minute!"

"I can ride by my own self now," he said; and jerking the bridle, off he went clattering down the road, the donkey-boy after him.

To mount a donkey is one thing, to manage him another, especially if you don't know how. On galloped Neddie, and after having knocked down a little girl and upset a barrow of fruit, he pitched Charlie over his head, and having thus got rid of his rider began to enjoy himself on the gra.s.s. Poor Charlie! He had such a bruised face that he was obliged to stay at home for days.

Miss Smith couldn't take him out like that. It hurt him very much, but it hurt him more when Father said that such a silly, impatient boy was not fit to be trusted to ride, and that he must wait a whole year before he could be allowed to mount a donkey again. "For your own sake, Charlie, and for other people's."

The little girl he had knocked down was more frightened than hurt; but Charlie was very sorry, for he was not at all an ill-natured boy; and when he was at home by himself, while Ethel went for her donkey-rides, he had plenty of time to think things over, and made a good use of it.

At first he found it very hard to be patient, but after a little while he found it becoming much easier to wait, and every time he tried it became easier still.

Next summer, when Father gave him and Ethel the promised donkeys, he said, "I am proud to trust you now, Charlie, and hope that you will have some happy times with your Neddie."

And very happy times they had.

JOHNNIE'S DICTATION.

"There now, dear, run away, and make haste, or you'll be late to school, and that will never do."

Little Johnnie Strong obediently gathered his books together, and with an effort to keep back the tears that were filling his eyes, held up his face for a last kiss.

"Good-by, then, mother dear, and I'll try to be brave and remember what you've been saying. I'll just do the very best I can, and perhaps I shall be able to manage it after all."

"That's my brave little man, now; good-by, dearie." And Johnnie was gone.

Very often Mrs. Strong and Johnnie had little talks at breakfast-time about his troubles, and he used to say it helped him through the day to remember his mother's loving words. The conversation with which this story began was the end of one of these talks. It was getting near examination time, and Johnnie had been trying very hard to catch up with the other boys in his spelling and writing. Sums he could manage now pretty well, and he read very fairly; but it seemed to him he should _never_ be able to spell properly. "Thousands of words," he would say, despairingly, "and no two spelt alike." However, he went off to school very bravely, and his determination to do the best he could was a wonderful help.

He got on very well that morning until the time came for "dictation,"

and then poor Johnnie's troubles began. He knew there were boys in his cla.s.s very little better at spelling than he, who copied from their neighbors whenever a word was given out that they could not spell; but Johnnie was above doing that. It was cheating and deceiving, and he would rather every word of his exercise were wrong than be a cheat. But that morning he was sorely tempted. He thought there had never been such a hard piece of dictation; and when Jimmy Lane, who sat next to him, tried to help him by whispering the letters of one very hard word, it required some courage to ask him to stop.

At the end of the lesson the boys had to pa.s.s their books up to the teacher for inspection, and Johnnie's worst fears were realized when his book came back with ever so many words marked in blue pencil.

While the teacher was finishing marking the exercises, the master's bell sounded, and the boys were dismissed for a few minutes' run in the playground; but Johnnie was obliged to stay behind to learn to spell correctly the words he had blundered over. Poor Johnnie! It was very hard for him to have to stay there, trying to fix in his mind the fact that "Receive" is spelt with the E before the I, and "Believe" with the I before the E, while every other boy of the school was outside, enjoying the games in which he delighted as much as any of them.

Not quite every other boy though. There was one other prisoner besides himself--Will Maynard, and he had to stay behind because he couldn't always remember to _pay back_ when he _borrowed_! Not that he was by any means dishonest--it was only when he had a subtraction sum to do that he got into this difficulty!

Johnnie and he were not chums, but, somehow, when they had the whole school to themselves they couldn't sit on forms ten yards apart--it seemed so very unsociable and unfriendly. So Will brought his slate over to Johnnie, and they were soon busily discussing the difficulties of sums and spelling.

Although Will was a good deal the older, he was not nearly so clever at sums as Johnnie, and, moreover, he was not too proud to accept the help that Johnnie rather timidly offered. They soon settled the difference between the various rows of obstinate figures, and Will laid down his slate with a sigh of relief and a grateful "Thank you, Johnnie. Now," he continued, "let's have a go at your spelling."

By this time they began to feel quite warm friends--for it is wonderful how quickly a little mutual help creates feelings of friendship.

Together they went over the mis-spelt words, and, with Will to help and encourage, Johnnie soon felt quite sure that the spelling of the particular words of that morning's exercise would never trouble him again.