The New McGuffey Fourth Reader Part 12

Next morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and waistcoat, just as the ten minutes' bell began to ring, and then in the face of the whole room he knelt down to pray. Not five words could he say,--the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper in the room,--what were they all thinking of him?

He was ashamed to go on kneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees.

At last, as it were from his inmost heart, a still, small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of the publican, "G.o.d be merciful to me a sinner!" He repeated them over and over, and rose from his knees comforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world.

It was not needed: two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his example, and he went down to the great school with a glimmering of another lesson in his heart,--the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward spirit has conquered the whole outward world; and also that however we may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King and Lord of men is nowhere without his witnesses.

He found, too, how greatly he had exaggerated the effect to be produced by his act. For a few nights there was a sneer or a laugh when he knelt down, but this pa.s.sed off soon, and one by one all the other boys but three or four followed the lead.

--Adapted from "School Days at Rugby."

DEFINITIONS:--Waistcoat, a vest. Overwhelmed, overcome, cast down. Novelty, newness. Ablution, the act of washing. Sneered, showed contempt. Bully, a noisy, bl.u.s.tering fellow, more insolent than courageous. Tingling, having a thrilling feeling. Leaven, to make a general change, to imbue. Loathed, hated, detested.

Braggart, a boaster. Vowing, making a solemn promise to G.o.d.

Testimony, open declaration. Faltered, hesitated. Motive, that which causes action, cause, reason. Subtle, artful, cunning.

NOTES.--"Rugby" the scene of this story, is a celebrated grammar school which was established at the town of Rugby, England, in 1667.

Sixth-form boy. The school was graded into six cla.s.ses or "forms," and the boys of the highest, or sixth, form were expected to keep the smaller boys under them in order.

SOMEBODY'S DARLING.

BY MARIA LA COSTE.

Into a ward of the whitewashed halls, Where the dead and dying lay, Wounded by bayonets, sh.e.l.ls, and b.a.l.l.s, Somebody's darling was borne one day;

Somebody's darling, so young and brave, Wearing yet on his pale, sweet face, Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave,

The lingering light of his boyhood's grace.

Matted and damp are the curls of gold, Kissing the snow of that fair young brow; Pale are the lips of delicate mold Somebody's darling is dying now.

Back from his beautiful, blue-veined brow, Brush all the wandering waves of gold; Cross his hands, on his bosom now; Somebody's darling is still and cold.

Kiss him once for somebody's sake, Murmur a prayer soft and low; One bright curl from its fair mates take; They were somebody's pride, you know;

Somebody's hand has rested there; Was it a mother's, soft and white?

And have the lips of a sister fair Been baptized in the waves of light?

G.o.d knows best! he was somebody's love.

Somebody's heart enshrined him there; Somebody wafted his name above, Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.

Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay; Somebody clung to his parting hand.

Somebody's watching and waiting for him, Yearning to hold him again to her heart; And there he lies, with his blue eyes dim, And the smiling, childlike lips apart.

Tenderly bury the fair young dead, Pausing to drop on his grave a tear; Carve on the wooden slab at his head, "Somebody's darling slumbers here."

DEFINITIONS:--Bayonet, a short, pointed iron weapon, fitted to the muzzle of a gun. Darling, one dearly loved. Lingering, protracted. Matted, twisted together. Delicate, soft and fair.

Mold, shape. Wandering, straying. Enshrined, cherished. Wafted, caused to float. Yearning, being eager, longing. Tenderly, gently, kindly.

THE CAPTIVE.

BY JOHN R. MUSICK.

There is no more beautiful and thrilling tale of early pioneer days than the story of Helen Patterson. She was born in Kentucky; but while she was still a child her parents removed to St. Louis County, Missouri, and lived for a time in a settlement called Cold Water, which is in St. Ferdinand township. About the year 1808 or 1809, her father took his family to the St. Charles district, and settled only a few miles from the home of the veteran backwoodsman, Daniel Boone.

At the time of this last removal, Helen was about eighteen years of age. She was a very religious girl, and had been taught to believe that whatever she prayed for would be granted.

Shortly after the family had settled in their new home, bands of prowling savages began to roam about the neighborhood. The Indians would plunder the cabins of the settlers during their absence, and drive away their cattle, horses, and hogs.

One day business called all the Patterson family to the village, except Helen. She was busily engaged in spinning, when the house was surrounded by nine Indians. Resistance was useless. She did not attempt to escape or even cry out for help; for one of the savages who spoke English gave her to understand that she would be killed if she did so.

She was told that she must follow the Indians. They took such things as they could conveniently carry, and with their captive set off on foot through the forest, in a northwestern direction.

The shrewd girl had brought a ball of yarn with her, and from this she occasionally broke off a bit and dropped it at the side of the path, as a guide to her father and friends, who she knew would soon be in pursuit.

This came very near being fatal to Helen, for one of the Indians observed what she was doing, and raised his hatchet to brain her.

The others interceded, but the ball of yarn was taken from her, and she was closely watched lest she might resort to some other device for marking a trail.

It was early in the morning when Helen was captured. Her parents were expected to return to the cabin by noon, and she reasoned that they would be in pursuit before the Indians had gone very far. As the savages were on foot, and her father would no doubt follow them on horseback, he might overtake them before dark. The uneasiness expressed by her captors during the afternoon encouraged her in the belief that her friends were in pursuit.

A little before sunset, two of the Indians went back to reconnoiter, and the other seven, with the captive, continued on in the forest. Shortly after sunset, the two Indians who had fallen behind joined the others, and all held a short consultation, which the white girl could not understand.

The conference lasted but a few moments, and then the savages hastened forward with Helen to a creek, where the banks were sloping, and the water shallow enough for them to wade the stream. By the time they had crossed, it was quite dark. The night was cloudy, and distant thunder could occasionally be heard.

The Indians hurried their captive to a place half a mile from the ford, and there tied her with strips of deerskin to one of the low branches of an elm. Her hands were extended above her head, and her wrists were crossed and tied so tightly that she found it impossible to release them. When they had secured her to their own satisfaction, the Indians left her, a.s.suring her that they were going back to the ford to shoot her father and his companions as they crossed it.

Helen was almost frantic with fear and grief. Added to the uncertainty of her own fate was the knowledge that her father and friends were marching right into an Indian ambuscade.

In the midst of her trouble, she did not forget her pious teaching. She prayed G.o.d to send down his angels and release her.

But no angel came. In her distress, the rumbling thunders in the distance were unheard, and she hardly noticed the shower until she was drenched to the skin.

The rain thoroughly wet the strips of deerskin with which she was tied, and as they stretched she almost unconsciously slipped her hands from them. Her prayer had been answered by the rain. She hastily untied her feet, and sped away toward the creek. Guided by the lightning's friendly glare, she crossed the stream half a mile above the ford, and hastened to meet her father and friends.

At every flash of lightning she strained her eyes, hoping to catch sight of them. At last moving forms were seen in the distance, but they were too far away for her to determine whether they were white men or Indians. Crouching down at the root of a tree by the path, she waited until they were within a few rods of her, and then cried in a low voice,"Father! Father!"

"That is Helen," said Mr. Patterson.

She bounded to her feet, and in a moment was at his side, telling him how she had escaped. The rescuing party was composed of her father and two brothers, a neighbor named Shultz, and Nathan and Daniel M. Boone, sons of the great pioneer, Daniel Boone.

She told them where the Indians were lying in ambush, and the frontiersmen decided to surprise them. They crossed the creek on a log, and stole down to the ford, but the Indians were gone. No doubt the savages had discovered the escape of the prisoner, and, knowing that their plan to surprise the white men had failed, became frightened and fled.

Helen Patterson always believed it was her prayers that saved her father, her brothers, and herself in that trying hour.

--From "Stories of Missouri."