Our Young Folks at Home and Abroad Part 58

And so for the love of the dear Master, who said,--"Go and teach all nations," they were willing to leave father and mother, and home, loving sister and friends, even their own young children, for His sake.

Don't you believe our heavenly Father will watch over Knox and Elsie, and make them grow up wise and true; ready to go back to the land where they were born, to carry on the good work their father and mother are doing in that strange, far-off country?

Do you know of any ways in which children at home can help such work in China, or in other far-off foreign lands?

KITTY STRIKER.

Little Kitty Striker saw A handsome, fat, old goose Out a-walking with her gosling.

And she said,--"Now what's the use, Of letting that old waddler have Such a pretty thing as that?

I'll run right out and get it; I'll go without my hat."

Out she ran upon the dusty path, On the gra.s.s, all wet with dew, And the old goose turned round quickly, She wished an interview.

And Kitty said,--"Oh, open your mouth As much as ever you please; I'm going to take your gosling, Because I love to tease Such a cranky, impudent squawker as you."

And she laughed right out, and stooped To take the toddling little thing, When down upon her swooped, The angry goose with hisses fierce, And wildly flapping wing, And gave her a nip that was no joke!

On the heel of her red stocking!

Miss Kitty screamed, but tightly held The little yellow ball, And you know she'd not the shadow of right To that goose's gosling at all.

Then its mother made a terrible snap At Kitty's pretty blue dress!

And that thoughtless, mischievous little girl, Was pretty well frightened I guess.

For she jumped and screamed, danced round like a top, And the goose's eyes flashed red; And she struck her wings in Kitty's eyes, And on her little brown head!

She dropped the gosling, and ran for home, Screaming, and crying,--"Boo! hoo!"

And learned a lesson she never forgot, And it's as wholesome for me and for you, That it's best to be kind to our barnyard friends, And let them have their fun too.

MAYING.

Phil says he thinks it is a great pity when the May isn't out till June, because you can't go Maying if there isn't any May, and it's so stupid to go Maying in June. Phil is eleven months and fourteen days younger than I am, and his birthday is on the fourteenth of February and mine is on the first of March; so for fourteen days we are the same age, and when it's Leap Year we are the same age for fifteen days.

I don't understand _why_ it should be a day more some years and not others, but mother says we shall learn about it by-and-by. Phil says he will like learning all that, but I don't think I shall, because I like playing better.

Phil and I have a little dog of our own, and he belongs between us.

His name is Dash. He came from the Home for Lost Dogs, and we didn't know his name, so Phil and I sat on the gra.s.s, and we called him by every name we could think of, until Phil thought of Dash, and when Dash heard that name he jumped up, and ran to Phil, and licked his face. We don't know what kind of dog he is, and father called him a 'terrier spaniel;' but he laughed as he said it, and so we're not quite sure that he wasn't in fun. But it doesn't matter what kind of dog Dash is, because we are all fond of him, and if you're fond of any one if doesn't matter what they're like, or if they have a pretty name.

Dash goes out with us when we take a walk, and I'm sure he knew yesterday when we went out without leave, because we wanted to go Maying. There's a beautiful hedge full of May blossoms down the lane and across the meadow, and we _did_ want some May very badly. So Phil and I went without asking mother, and Dash went with us.

We found the place quite easily, and had pulled down several boughs of it, when we heard a gruff voice calling to us, and the farmer came up, asking what we were doing to _his_ hedge.

I said, "Please, we didn't know it was yours, and we want some May very much, because to-morrow's the first of June, you know, and Phil says we can't go Maying then."

The farmer didn't say any thing until he caught sight of Dash, and then he called out, angrily,--"If that dog gets among my chickens, I shall have him shot!"

We were so frightened at that, that we ran away; and Dash ran too, as if he understood what the farmer said. We didn't stop for any May blossoms though we had picked them, and we did want them so, because of its being the thirty-first of May.

Phil said the farmer was calling after us, but we only ran the faster, for fear he should shoot Dash. When we got home, mother met us in the porch, and asked where we had been; then we told her all about the farmer, and how we wanted to go Maying while we could.

She laughed a little, but presently she looked quite grave, and said,--"I'm very glad to find you have told me the whole truth, because if you had not I should still have known it. Farmer Grey has been here, and he told me about your having gone across his meadow that he is keeping for hay. He has brought you all the May you left behind, and he says you may have some more if you want it, only you must not walk through the long gra.s.s, but go round the meadow by the little side-path. He said he was afraid he had frightened you, and he was sorry."

Phil and I had a splendid Maying after that. We made wreaths for ourselves, and one for Dash, only we couldn't get him to wear his, which was a pity.

But the best of all is that mother says she can always trust us, because we told the truth at once; and Phil and I think we would rather never go Maying any more (though we like it so much) than not tell her every thing. I'm sure it's a very good plan, and we mean to do it _always_, even when we're quite grown up. Mother laughs at that, and says,--"You will have your secrets then;" but Phil and I don't think we shall, because it couldn't be a really nice secret if we mightn't tell mother.

I. T.

GRACIE'S TEMPER.

"Once a gentle, snow-white birdie, Came and built its nest, In a spot you'd never dream of,-- In a baby's breast.

Then how happy, gentle, loving, Grew the baby, Grace; All the smiles and all the dimples Brightened in her face.

But a black and ugly raven Came one morn that way; Came and drove the gentle birdie.

From its nest away.

Ah! how frowning and unlovely Was our Gracie then.

Until evening brought the white dove To its nest again.

Children, this was Gracie's raven, This her gentle dove,-- In heart a naughty _temper_ Drove away the _love_."

[Ill.u.s.tration: {A BEE.}]

Among the pa.s.sengers on board a river-steamer recently was a woman, accompanied by a bright-looking nurse-girl, and a self-willed boy, about three years old.

The boy aroused the indignation of the pa.s.sengers by his continued shrieks and kicks and screams, and his viciousness toward the patient nurse. He tore her bonnet, scratched her hands, without a word of remonstrance from the mother.

Whenever the nurse showed any firmness, the mother would chide her sharply, and say,--"Let him have it, Mary. Let him alone."

Finally the mother composed herself for a nap; and about the time the boy had slapped the nurse for the fiftieth time, a bee came sailing in and flew on the window of the nurse's seat. The boy at once tried to catch it.

The nurse caught his hand, and said, coaxingly:

"Harry mustn't touch. It will bite Harry."

Harry screamed savagely, and began to kick and pound the nurse.

The mother, without opening her eyes or lifting her head, cried out, sharply:

"Why will you tease that child so, Mary? Let him have what he wants at once."