The Golden Rule, by Madeline Leslie │ Project Gutenberg

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The Golden Rule.

"All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye
even so to them."—CHRIST.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by

REV. A. R. BAKER,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.

THESE SMALL VOLUMES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,

WITH THE EARNEST PRAYER

THAT THEIR LIVES MAY PROVE THEM TO BE LAMBS IN THE FOLD

OF THE GREAT AND GOOD

CHAPTER I.

Oscar Russel stood by the side of the road, with his fingers in his mouth. He heard the gentleman's question; but, instead of answering, he only stared at the carriage, the persons seated in it, and at the horse, pawing in his impatience to be gone.

"Are you deaf, child? Is this the direct road?" again inquired Mr. Bryant, feeling annoyed at the boy's obstinacy.

"There's a sign-board on ahead," said a woman, opening the door of the house opposite. "You'll find the way by that."

"That child has never learned politeness," remarked the lady in the carriage, smiling.

They rode on for another mile, when they came to a neat cottage set on the side of a hill. There was a pretty garden in front with cowslips and other flowers, all in bloom. At the side of the house there was a wide gate which stood open, and a cart, loaded with gravel, was rolling toward the barn, while the fat oxen drawing it were steaming from their toiling up the hill.

Mr. Bryant's horse went slowly, and both the lady and gentleman gazed at the rural scene. When they were opposite the front gate, a pleasant face, surrounded by dark auburn curls, peeped out at them from among the flowers.

The little fellow had a tiny cart, which he was filling with pebbles; but he stopped suddenly when he saw the travellers looking at him.

"Well, Charley, you are very busy, I see. What are you going to do with your stones?"

"Oh, no, sir!" Charley laughed. "He's our hired man. There he is tipping up the load."

"Oh, yes, ma'am!" He ran toward the door; but returned in a minute, asking, "Don't you like milk? We've got plenty of nice, fresh milk."

"It is easy to tell that he has a good mother," Mr. Bryant said, gazing at the neat orchards and nicely tilled fields.

In about five minutes Charley appeared again. In one hand he held a pitcher, and in the other a tumbler.

Mr. Bryant threw the reins on Dolly's back (Dolly was the name of the horse), and took the pitcher from the boy.

Then he filled the tumbler and passed it to his wife, who said she hadn't tasted such nice milk for many a day.

"Oh, yes, indeed!" And he made a funny bow, at which Charley laughed and blushed.

"Now, how much shall I pay you for the milk, my boy? It's a great treat, I assure you."

"Oh, we don't want any pay, sir!" Charley's cheeks grew rosier than ever, as he drew back his hand, into which the gentleman was trying to put some money. "Mother was very happy to get it for you."

"Tell your mother," said Mrs. Bryant, "that her son has honored her this afternoon by his good conduct."

The little fellow ran in with sparkling eyes. When he had carried the empty pitcher to the kitchen, he sat down by his mother and told her all about his new friends.

CHAPTER II.

THE next day, Mr. Bryant walked into a large bookstore in the city where he lived. There were shelves of books for men and women, and shelves for children, filled with prettily bound volumes.

Mr. Bryant was not a stranger in the store, and he walked at once to this part of the room. The clerk knew him, and asked,—

"I want a book about animals," the gentleman answered; "something that will be useful and interesting for a child of eight years."

"There is just the thing for you, sir. There are six volumes full of anecdotes of the dog, cat, horse, sheep, etc., besides a natural history of the animals."

"Capital! Let me see," taking out his watch; "yes, I have fifteen minutes, and I'll examine them."

He sat down on a high stool, and the clerk laughed as he saw him sitting there an hour after. Then the gentleman rose in a great hurry, saying, as he paid for the books,—

"I'm afraid your dog stories have made me lose a valuable customer. I quite forgot how the time was passing."

Mrs. Bryant did not forget Charley. She often told her daughter Ida about the little fellow. She also told her of Oscar Russel, though at that time she did not know his name, and how much better it was to be polite like Charley, than rude like Oscar.

In a few weeks, Mr. Bryant told his wife he had ordered a horse for a ride into the country, and should take the opportunity to make a call on their polite friend.

When they came in sight of the house, Abel was at work on the sidewalk. He had finished the avenue, and it looked very nice, indeed; but Charley was nowhere to be seen.

Mr. Bryant gave his wife the reins, got out, and went through the gate to the front door. This was wide open; and, as he put up his hand to ring the bell, he heard the sound of a child's voice crying, up the stairs.

She showed him to the parlor, and presently a lady, with the very brightest of blue eyes, came down the stairs into the room.

Mr. Bryant told her he was Charley's friend, and was very sorry to hear of his illness. "I told my little girl how polite he was, and she is very anxious to see him."

The lady then explained that her boy was not ill; he was in bed, in consequence of a blow he had received on his head from a bad boy, named Oscar Russel; that the doctor had been there and wanted to have them send a constable after Oscar, who was quite a nuisance in the town.

"I remember the boy very well," Mr. Bryant said; "and I hope you will have him punished."

Charley's mother smiled. "We shall try to prevent him from hurting any one again," she said. "My boy and I have a plan; but wont your little girl come in? Charley will be delighted to see her."

Cannot you imagine how pleased our little friend was when his mother ushered Mr. and Mrs. Bryant and Ida into the chamber? His face, to be sure, was very pale; but his eyes sparkled, and he held out his hand cordially to welcome them.

Ida looked very solemn when she saw the bandage around the boy's head. At first she could not be persuaded to go near the couch, but clung to her mother, saying, softly, "I want to go home."

But in less than five minutes she was chatting away as if she had known the sick boy all her life.

Oh, how prettily the color flashed over Charley's thee, when he saw what his friends had brought him!

Mrs. Monson thanked them, too, and said, "Nothing could have pleased Charley more, because he is so fond of hearing about animals."

By and by Mrs. Bryant said it was time for them to go; but her husband told Charley he wanted to know the plan about Oscar Russel first; for it was very certain that he must be prevented from throwing stones, and doing such things injurious to himself and others.

"Nobody loves Oscar, and that's the reason he does so. His father drinks rum, and his mother scolds him whenever he goes into the house, and so—"

He hesitated, and the gentleman said, "That does not excuse him for hurting you."

"Oh, I don't think he meant to hurt me and, if he did, he didn't know how much I pitied him. He has real bad clothes; and all last winter he didn't wear shoes. When I get well, mother's going to send for him; and we'll fix him up real nice. Mother says he isn't half as much to blame as if he had good parents to teach him."

"Of course I forgive him. You know the prayer says, 'Forgive us as we forgive our debtors.' Mother says that means that, if I don't forgive those who injure me, I ask God not to forgive my sins; and that would be awful, you know."

"I'm going to when I say my prayers. I know he will, because he loves to have boys grow good."

"Well, Charley, I feel sure you will succeed. But you must not forget to thank God for giving you a good mother."

CHAPTER III.

AFTER the visitors had a gone, Charley begged his mother to raise his head by pillows, and let him look at the pictures in his new books. He amused himself for an hour in this way, and in spelling out a page or two of reading, when his head began to ache so hard that his mother took the books away.

By the time his father came home, he was a great deal worse. His cheeks were crimson, and his pulse beat very fast.

Mrs. Monson brought some ice and bathed his poor head with the cold water, and gave him a powder to check the fever. He soon fell into a troubled sleep, and talked wildly about Mr. Bryant, Oscar, new boots, and Ida, all mixed up together.

What do you think comforted his mother, as she bent over his couch during that long night? It was that, even in his dreams, Charley did not feel unkindly or unforgiving toward the wicked boy who had injured him.

Once he called out, "Don't, Oscar, don't! I wouldn't hurt you so;" and again he said, "Poor boy! I'm afraid I should grow wicked, too, if I had no kind mother to love me."

Many, many times the lady was obliged to wipe the tears from her eyes when she heard her poor, sick boy talk so kindly of his cruel companion.

Many times, too, she knelt by his low couch, keeping fast hold of his hot hand, and prayed to Jesus to make him well. Even in the midst of her care and sorrow, there was one thing that made her happy.

Can you guess, Susy, or you, George, what could make her happy at such a time? It was this. She felt sure if God called her darling child away from earth, he would go at once to live with his Saviour in heaven. I suppose you will want to know how she could feel sure of this, and I will tell you.

Charley loved Jesus. Now, if I were to tell you that Oscar, the sullen, impolite, cruel child, loved Jesus, you would say at once, "I don't believe it."

Young as you are, you know that little boys and girls who love Jesus, do all they can to please him; that they never tell lies, nor take anything that does not belong to them; that they are gentle and kind and forgiving, as dear Charley was; that they try to do good to others, even to those who have injured them. The Bible says, "He that loveth God, loveth his brother, also."

Ever since Charley was five years old he had tried to please the Saviour. His heart was full of love for him; and this made the sweet child love everybody else.

Toward morning the medicine began to take effect, and he fell into a quiet slumber, and did not wake until it was quite late, and the family had breakfasted.

Mr. Monson tried to persuade his mother to lie down herself, and let him watch by their boy; but she only smiled sweetly as she whispered,—

So she sat there close to the bed, where she could listen to his low and rather irregular breathing, and thought.

Perhaps you would like to know what she was thinking of that made so pleasant a smile linger about her mouth.

First, her thoughts went back to the time when God gave her a tiny baby. She loved it, oh, so much! Every day she used to wash and dress the little fellow, asking her Father in heaven to keep him from sin. Soon he learned to walk and call her by that sweet name, mamma. Then he began to lisp his infant prayer, and loved more than anything else to listen to the stories of the dear Saviour, who took little children in his arms, and blessed them.

Since that time, he would scarcely do anything without first asking, "Would Jesus be pleased?" or, "Would it make Jesus sorry?"

How well she remembered the time when his cousin, a rude girl, was visiting them, and insisted on having all his toys! Charley gave up one after another of his treasures, until they came to a wooden horse and cart, which he greatly prized. This he held behind him, until she snatched it from his grasp.

For one moment his face looked red and angry; but he left his rude playmate and came to his mother's side. Then, when she asked him about it, he only said,—

Do you wonder that, when his mother thought of all this, she felt sure that Jesus had given her darling a new heart, and that, whether he lived or died, he would still be happy?

CHAPTER IV.

I MUST now go back a little, and tell you how it happened that Oscar, who lived nearly a mile away, should come to Charley's house, and be so angry with him.

Mr. Russel, Oscar's father, was a brickmaker; that is, he made bricks, such as many houses are built with. The brick-yard, as it was called, was but a short distance from Mr. Monson's house, and the man had to pass it to get to his work.

He toiled very hard for twelve long hours, and of course needed good food to sustain him. He used to ask his wife to send Oscar at noon with some warm dinner; and she would often have cooked it, if she could have persuaded her boy to carry it.

But many times he would say, "I wont," or he would cry and stamp his foot, and complain that no other boy had to walk so far.

Sometimes she would coax him to go, by the promise of candy or cake; but, as he soon found that his mother did not hesitate to tell a lie; that she often promised what she did not intend to perform; he flatly refused to obey her.

But, on the day of Mr. Bryant's visit, Mrs. Russel had some beef soup, of which her husband was very fond; so she told Oscar he must carry a pailful to his father, or he should have none for himself.

After a great deal of trouble and many hard words from both the mother and son, he started away, Mrs. Russel standing in the doorway and telling him to hurry as fast as he could, or the soup would be cold.

But Oscar had no idea of hurrying. He walked on very leisurely for a while, until he saw a squirrel run along the top of the stone wall. Then he set down his pail and chased the poor, frightened creature until it fled for safety into the limb of a large oak-tree.

In his haste to catch the squirrel, he had set the pail on a stone which had tipped over, and nearly half of the soup was spilled.

Instead of being sorry that his father's dinner was spoiled, he only laughed, and said,—

By and by he came to Mr. Monson's neat cottage. Charley was playing with his cart in the yard, and said, pleasantly,—

"Now, if I had that cart," said Oscar, "it would be easy to drag my pail." He waited till Charley came very near, and then he snatched it, and began to run away.

All this time Charley stood still with astonishment. He could not conceive what made Oscar so very naughty.

Abel turned back to his work, when, all at once, he heard a dreadful scream. The wicked boy had thrown a large stone and hit the little fellow in the temple.

Abel was very angry, indeed. He wanted to run after Oscar and punish him as he deserved; but he saw his little pet lying on the ground, and he concluded to attend to him, and let the rascal, as he called him, go till another time.

When Mrs. Monson saw her precious child lying faint and trembling in Abel's arms, she was frightened, indeed. She told the man to saddle the horse and ride as quickly as he could for the doctor.

Then she bathed the great swelling with cold water, until the physician came. He said it was a dangerous place to be hurt, and that it would take a long time to heal.

When Charley felt better, she talked with him about Oscar, pitying the child that he had not been better taught, and then asked her boy if he would like to have Abel catch Oscar and beat him, as he was anxious to do.

"Mother, I've thought of a plan. I wish we could get Oscar here. You might talk with him; and then I'd give him some of my toys. I think he would be a good boy if he knew anybody loved him."

This was what Mrs. Monson meant when she told Mr. Bryant that she and Charley had a plan. In the next chapter, I shall tell you how the plan succeeded. Now I will only say that Oscar was so frightened at what he had done, and so sure he should get the punishment he deserved, that he dared not go home till it was quite dark, and then he crept along past Mr. Monson's house very slyly, like a thief.

CHAPTER V.

OSCAR was not in the habit of telling his mother what he had done, as good boys and girls always do. I am sorry to say that, when he had reached home, and his mother had scolded him for staying so long, he told her a wicked lie.

"I was going by Mr. Monson's gate," he said, peevishly, "and Charley came out, and knocked me down, and spilled most all the soup."

Oscar said nothing; but, after eating his supper in silence, he went off to bed.

Two days after this, he was sitting idly in the sun, near a pile of small wood, which his mother had tried to coax him to split, when Mr. Monson's carriage stopped at the door, and Charley jumped out. He had a bandage around his head, and looked very pale.

Oscar trembled. Bad boys are always cowards, because their consciences tell them they have done wrong and deserve punishment.

But Charley had already seen him, and ran pleasantly forward, exclaiming, in a cheerful voice,—

Oscar looked into the bright, happy face and wondered. His thoughts were very much confused; but if he could only have straightened them out, they would have been something very much like this,—

"What does it mean? She bring me something! If anybody had thrown a stone at me, I guess you wouldn't catch mother carrying 'em anything."

Charley could not get at Oscar's thoughts; but he imagined it very strange the boy did not answer. Presently he said again,—

"I wont either," was the sullen reply. "I know what she's after; she's going to give me a licking."

"Oh, no, indeed!" was Charley's eager reply. "You don't know how much mother talks about you. She and I want to have you grow a real good boy; and then you could come and play with me. I've got ever so many pretty games. Oh, we'd have real nice times! Come into the house, and mother will tell you all about it."

Oscar, though he had all his life been a wicked child, had a warm place in his heart. Charley's kind words touched this place and made the tears come into his eyes. He couldn't understand what it meant; but when Charley held out his hand, he took it and walked up the narrow path to the front door.

Mrs. Russel had threatened that if she ever saw Charley or his mother, she'd tell what an ugly scamp the boy was, to knock her son down. But when she saw them, she knew at once that Oscar had told a lie.

Mrs. Monson seemed so much interested for her, and inquired so earnestly about Oscar's studies, whether he was fond of reading, whether he went regularly to school, that she was about to tell the lady all her trials with him, when the children entered.

"Do you like pretty stories?" she added, untying the bundle. "See, I have brought you some books. I hope you will like them. Charley likes them very much."

All this time Oscar stood with his fingers in his mouth, making figures with his bare toes on the floor. When the lady held the books toward him, instead of taking them he burst into a loud cry, and tried to run away.

His mother caught him and would have boxed his ears; but Mrs. Monson begged her not to do so.

Charley, too, tried to soothe his companion; but the more they said, the more he cried, until all at once, he called out,—

"Didn't you know I threw a stone at him? I did, and I tried to run off with his cart. I don't want the books; I'd rather you'd lick me and done with it."

"I'm sure you will never throw another stone at him," said Mrs. Monson, seriously. "The doctor said it was a wonder it had not killed him." She lifted the bandage and showed him the blackened skin.

"No," said the lady, kindly; "Charley and I want to do something better than that; we wish to forgive you, and try to make you a better boy."

To his surprise the boy threw himself on the floor, and sobbed as if his heart would break.

His mother began to scold him; but he paid no attention to her; he kept sobbing out,—

"Oh, dear! I'm sorry. I wish you'd lick me. Oh, oh! I never was sorry before. Oh, dear!"

CHAPTER VI.

IT was a long time before either Mrs. Monson or Charley could quiet the lad. The lady saw that he had a kind heart, and she hoped much for him from her son's influence. She saw that his mother was wholly unfit to manage him, and she determined to have some talk with her.

When Oscar began to grow calm, she told Charley to take the books to the outside door, and show him the nice pictures. Pretty soon she heard them talking and laughing together, and then she told Mrs. Russel that she wished to help Oscar to be good, so that he would be a comfort to her.

But, after the lady had talked long and earnestly with her of her own duties as a mother, and reminded her that God would hold her responsible for the manner in which she trained her boy; she confessed that she had no patience, that she was passionate and often whipped him when out of temper.

She thanked Mrs. Monson over and over again, and said she would try to do better; and Oscar should go to Sunday school or anywhere else the lady said was best.

Mrs. Monson was surprised, when she left the house, to find that the sun had set. She looked at her watch, and found it wanted only half an hour to seven; but when they were riding home, she told Charley she felt greatly encouraged both for the mother and son.

"If they will do as they have promised," she said, "I shall be well paid for my afternoon's work."

This was Saturday. The next Tuesday, Charley was looking from the window, when he saw Oscar at the gate, gazing wistfully toward the house, as if he would like, but dared not, to go in.

"I found some posies. Do you like posies?" inquired Oscar, bashfully crowding the flowers into the boy's hand.

The rest of the afternoon was passed by the happy children in the nursery, looking at Charley's toys.

Once Mrs. Monson thought, "I must talk with him before he goes;" and she went quietly to the nursery door for this purpose, but stopped suddenly.

"I know it's hard, Oscar; but Jesus will help you, if you really try to be good. Did you ever pray to Jesus?"

"Let's kneel down, then, and pray now," the little missionary went on. Then he began,—

"Dear Jesus, Oscar wants to be good. Will you help him; and help his mother, too, and me; and forgive all our sins; and let us go to heaven when we die? For Christ's sake. Amen."

Then Mrs. Monson opened the door quietly, and, calling the boys to her side, she told the poor, ignorant child, of the dear Saviour, who came into the world to save children, and all who will trust in him. She told him that God was our heavenly Father, who loves us, and wants us to be good; that his eyes are everywhere, seeing what little boys do, and what they need to make them happy; and his ears are everywhere, so that he can hear the faintest whisper spoken to him by any little child who wants help to do right.

"I would like to be good if it would make me like Charley. I think Charley is the best boy in all the world. I'd rather take a hundred lickings than to hurt him again."

When Mr. Bryant went away, after leaving Charley's present, he made the boy promise to send him word how his plan with Oscar succeeded.

CHAPTER VII.

NO little girl or boy will suppose that Oscar, after all the years he had been sullen, disobedient, and revengeful, could become good in a day, or even a week. To be sure, by the kindness of Mrs. Monson, he had learned something of what his Saviour had done for him, and what he must himself do in order to please God; but there were still many ugly weeds which needed rooting out of his heart.

His new friends were greatly interested in him; but they were not always at hand to remind him how wrong it was to speak disrespectfully to his parents, or to be cruel to animals.

One morning, soon after Oscar's visit to Charley, Mrs. Russel was startled by hearing a great noise from the barn-yard; and, rushing to the door, she saw her son chasing the cat among a brood of young chickens, while the poor, frightened hen screeched and ran about trying to protect her little ones under her wings.

"You good-for-nothing boy! Aren't you ashamed of yourself to act so? Here, kitty, kitty, come away. There, she knows enough to let the chickens alone, if you would behave yourself. Come out of that yard, or I'll start right off and tell Mrs. Monson you're a worse boy than ever."

"No you wont tell her any such thing!" yelled Oscar, his face flaming with passion. "You just mind your own business. The chickens are mine; father gave 'em to me."

Mrs. Russel started forward to strike the boy, who stood defiantly before her; but, suddenly remembering her resolution to command her own temper, she let her hand fall to her side. Without another word she went into the house.

"Whew!" exclaimed Oscar, beginning to come to his senses. "I wonder why she didn't give me a cuff."

He sat down on the step of the barn door. If you had seen him, you would have thought he was counting the pretty yellow chicks, he gazed so intently at them, as they picked up the dough from the board. But he was not. He had forgotten they were before him. The poor boy was thinking about himself; and presently one, two big tears came rolling down his brown cheeks, and he looked very sad.

"I wish she had licked me. How could I forget so soon? I might just as well give up. It's no use for me to try and be good, like Charley. Oh, dear! I wish I hadn't forgot. I wish old Tom had been in the pond, and then I wouldn't have chased her in here. I wonder whether ma will tell of me. If Mrs. Monson knows it, she wont let Charley play with me any more."

All at once he stopped crying, and his face brightened. What do you think made him look pleased?

He remembered something that Mrs. Monson had said, the last time she talked with him. Charley was holding his hand all the time and gazing lovingly in his face. It was this,—

"Oscar, you may find it hard to conquer your temper. Perhaps sometimes you will forget. But God is watching you every moment, and when he sees that you try to be a good boy; that you keep from lying, and endeavor to honor your parents, he will help you. If ever you are discouraged, you must put up a little prayer to him; and, though he lives in the sky, and has thousands of angels bowing before him, he will certainly hear and answer you."

Oscar sat very still, thinking of all this; and the chickens had made a hearty meal, and were taking a nap under their mother's wings, when he said, aloud,—

He did not kneel down. You know he had never been taught, as you have been, to kneel at his mother's side and pray; but he covered his face in both his hands, and began to repeat, as well as he could remember, Charley's prayer,—

"O God! I know I've been awful wicked. I'm real sorry, God, that I forgot. I do want to be a good boy. I don't like being ugly and cross and naughty all the time, as I used to be. Will you help me be like Charley, who is good and happy all the time? Will you help mother be good, too? For I know she's trying real hard."

CHAPTER VIII.

I TOLD you that Mrs. Russel went back into the house. She had told her husband that very morning that she never knew a boy so changed as Oscar was. "Only," she said, "I'm afraid it wont last. If it does, I shall think Mrs. Monson is a witch."

Now she said in her heart, flinging herself into a large rocking-chair, with a sigh,—

"There, it's all over! I knew it would be. He's just as ugly as ever. I wish I hadn't given him the chickens. I thought 'twould kind of encourage him to keep on being good. But now, after all my fuss in feeding the old hen, there he was setting Tom on to kill her. I declare, I can't help crying."

She sat thinking for a few minutes, and then said to herself, "He's up to some mischief again, I'll warrant. He always is when he's still."

She went out, softly, and stood behind the barn door. She could not see him, and was just about to call his name, "Oscar! Oscar!" when she heard his voice.

I think no mother was ever more astonished at what she heard. She held her breath to listen. Could it be her wicked boy asking God to help him to be good, and praying for her, too?

She covered her face with her apron, and began to sob. Oscar heard her and ran out.

"O ma!" he cried. "You may lick me, if you want to; but I am sorry I was naughty. O ma! I like trying to be good. I guess God is going to help me. Don't you?"

Instead of answering, Mrs. Russel threw her arms round her boy's neck, and kissed him ever so many times.

"I heard you praying," she said, at last; "and for me, too. O Oscar! I used to pray; but I forgot it years ago. We'll try to be good together; and you shall have some new clothes, and we'll all go to church. You know Mrs. Monson said we ought. I'm sure your pa will be willing when he knows what's making you so different."

I wish you could have seen Oscar that afternoon! His face was full of smiles. He was very happy. When his mother said her wood was too large for her stove, he went out and split quite a pile of it for her, whistling all the time.

Toward night he sat on the front step, trying to spell out some words in a book Charley gave him, when Mr. Monson's carriage drove slowly toward the gate. Charley was inside, and Oscar heard him say,—

"Just a minute, mamma. I want to speak to him." And then the driver stopped and Charley jumped out.

"Charley! Charley!" called Oscar, as the carriage was driving away. "Do you like birch whistles? 'Cause father showed me how to make 'em, and I'll make you one."

"I should admire one!" shouted back Charley, and then he told his mother that Oscar had begun to pray, and how happy he was because he was trying to be good.

A day or two after this, Mrs. Monson and Charley went to the city for a visit. They often talked about Oscar, and wondered how he was getting on. The lady determined to urge his mother to send him to school regularly, and to form habits of industry in her boy.

One day they went to a hat store, and Mrs. Monson made Charley very happy by giving him a nice cap for his friend, to wear to Sunday school.

They reached home Saturday evening, and, of course, had no time to see Oscar; but the servant said he had been there, and left a parcel of whistles. She said, too, that he seemed dreadfully disappointed not to see Charley.

The next day they were scarcely seated in church, when a man, woman, and boy walked up the aisle, following the sexton to one of the wing pews.

Charley pulled his mother's dress, his eyes sparkling with pleasure; while Oscar, in a nice new suit of clothes, sat gazing around with great interest. I suppose you can hardly believe it; but, though living scarcely a mile from church, this was the first time he had ever been inside its walls.

Mrs. Monson was delighted to see with what reverence both father and mother listened to the services; and she offered up a silent prayer that God, for the sake of Jesus Christ, his well-beloved Son, would convert them and their boy to himself.

CHAPTER IX.

AFTER this, every day Oscar went to carry his father's dinner, on his way to school. The teacher had always considered him one of the worst boys in his class; but now she wondered at the change. One day she said,—

"I'm trying to be good and to please Jesus," the boy answered, his lip quivering, while a new expression of humility was stamped upon his countenance.

It was nearly two months after Mr. Bryant's visit, when the gentleman received the following note from his little friend,—

"DEAR MR. BRYANT AND MRS. BRYANT AND IDA,—I like the books very much, indeed. I like the parrot volume best, because it is so funny to hear about parrots talking. I think the dog book is a very nice one, too. Mamma read me about the dogs that were dressed up in a party, and I laughed a good deal; but I don't like them so well as I do Gelert, the good dog, that saved the baby from the wolf.

"Oscar Russel comes here most every day. He is getting to be a real nice boy. I like him, and so does mamma. He never throws stones now. He has begun to pray to Jesus. His mother is growing good, too. She says she can't believe Oscar is her boy, he is so good at home. He tells mamma every naughty thing that he does, just as I do, you know; and she tells him how to conquer his bad temper, and how to be good, so that people will love and respect him.

"It is now very pleasant weather, and I have made a nice plan; but I cannot do it unless you all consent. It is for Abel to harness the old General into our large wagon, and take us together to a berry pasture, about three miles away. Mamma says, there is a beautiful grove near the place, where we can eat the lunch she means to carry, and where the horse can be tied in the shade. Mamma sends her love, and says she hopes you will join our party, and she invites you to leave your horse in our barn, and to come back with us and eat blueberries and milk for tea.

"Your little friend,

"CHARLEY MONSON."

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