Book: The Nest in the Honeysuckles, and other Stories

V >> Various >> The Nest in the Honeysuckles, and other Stories




[Illustration: "I wouldn't be so mean."]

"You have no right to call me mean," replied Reuben Porter, "because I
don't spend my money for candy."

"You never spend it for any thing," continued George, tauntingly.

It was true. Reuben did not spend his money. Do you suppose it was
because he loved it more than other boys do?

Reuben turned slowly away, meditating upon what had occurred.

"I will not care for what George thinks," he at length said to
himself; "I have four dollars now, and when I have sold my cabbages, I
shall have another dollar. _I shall soon have enough_," and his heart
bounded joyfully, his step recovered its elasticity and his pace
quickened, as the pleasant thought removed the sting which the
accusation of meanness had inflicted on his sensitive spirit.

Enough did not mean the same with Reuben as it means with grown
people. It had a limit. He hastened cheerfully home, or to the place
he called home. He had no father or mother there, but kind and loving
friends in their stead. His father had died two years before, leaving
a wife and four children without property to sustain them. Reuben was
the eldest, and as he was old enough to assist in the labours of a
farm, it was thought best he should leave his mother. Mr. Johnson, a
neighbour took him into his family, where he soon became a great
favourite.

There was one thing about the child, however, which good Mrs. Johnson
regarded as a great fault. It was what she called "a spirit of
hoarding." She said she never gave him an orange, or an apple, that he
did not carry it to his room, instead of eating it. Perhaps his
sisters at home, or dear little brother Benny, could tell what became
of them.

Mrs. Johnson had noticed, too, in his drawer, a box, which was quite
heavy with money. She did not believe he had bought so much as a
fish-hook, since he had been in their family. If he should go on in
this way he will grow up to be a miser. Mr. Johnson smiled at his
wife's earnestness, and remarked that with such an example of
generosity as Reuben had constantly before him, he could not believe
the child was in much danger from the fault she feared. "It must be
remembered," he said, "that Reuben has his own way to make in life.
He must early learn to save, or he will always be poor. There are his
mother and sisters, too, who need his aid."

In various ways Reuben added to his store. When the snow came, he made
nice broad paths about the house, which so attracted the notice of a
neighbour, that she asked if he might be allowed to make paths for
her. He rose early that he might have time for this extra work, and
was well paid for his efforts. The box grew heavier from week to week.
_Reuben had almost enough._

One day there was a barrel of flour left at Mrs. Porter's. She thought
there must be a mistake about it; but the man said he was directed at
the store to take it to that house. Mrs. Porter went immediately to
learn about it, and what was her surprise on finding her son had been
the purchaser. How could he pay for a whole barrel of flour? "The
money," said the merchant; "he brought in a box. It was in small bits,
which took me some time to count, but there was enough."

The mother called, with a full heart, at Mrs. Johnson's, and related
what had occurred. Reuben wondered why his mother should cry so. He
thought she would be happy. He was sure he was happy. He had been
thinking two years of that barrel of flour, and now he felt more like
laughing than crying.

Those tears, noble boy, are not tears of sorrow, but of the deepest,
fullest joy. You are more than repaid for your self-denial. You have
persevered in your determination. You have resisted every temptation
to deviate from the course which you marked out as right. You have
borne meekly the charge of meanness so galling to your generous
spirit, and now you receive your reward. You are happy, and so is your
mother, and so are your kind friends, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.

That night, Mr. Johnson remarked to his wife, as they sat together
before the cheerful fire, that he had some idea of keeping the little
_miser_ and educating him. "A boy who could form such a purpose, and
keep it, will, in all probability, make a useful man." After-years
proved the correctness of this conclusion. Reuben is now a man of
intelligence and wealth. He is one whom the world delights to honour;
but among his pleasantest memories, I doubt not, is that of the barrel
of flour he bought for his beloved mother.

"Filial love will never go unrewarded."

[Illustration]




MARY'S STORY.


Mary and Eddie had retired to their little beds. Their mother had said
"good night," and had given them both a kiss. She was just leaving the
room, when Eddie said to his sister,

"Now you can tell me about Jesus."

This simple remark revealed to Mrs. Dudley the subject of their
conversation after she left them for the night. It gave her great
pleasure, for she desires nothing so much as that her children may
love the Saviour, and she knows the more they think about him, and the
more they learn of his life, the more they will find him worthy of
love. Mrs. Dudley offered up a silent prayer to her heavenly Father
that the Holy Spirit would teach them and guide them into all truth.

She did not remain with the children to hear them as they talked
together, but a few days afterwards she asked Eddie what Mary told him
about Jesus. He repeated the history of his birth, of the cruel
persecution of Herod, of his blameless life, and his death upon the
cross.

Eddie is too young to realize much about the great love of Christ,
and how much he has done for us that we may be happy, but he is not
too young to love him.

I hope he will never forget the sweet story Mary told him. Jesus loves
little children. He is their best friend, always ready to forgive them
when they are sorry for doing wrong, and to help them when they try to
do what is right.

Even now, as I am writing, I hear children singing

"There is a happy land
Far far away."

The sound grows fainter and fainter--eyelids are drooping--sleep is
near--the voices are hushed--the little ones are slumbering. May "holy
angels guard their bed."

[Illustration]




THE SUNNY FACE, AND THE SHADY FACE;
OR, JUNE AND NOVEMBER.


"How happy I am to-night! I love you so much I want to be with you all
the time," said Willie to his mother, as he followed her from the
dining-room to the nursery, one stormy evening.

What made Willie so happy? It was not because the day had been
pleasant, and he had been permitted to enjoy himself out of doors, for
a chilling snow had been falling, and Willie had been obliged to
remain in the house. It was not because he was well, for many hours of
the day he had been lying on the bed too ill to sit up all the time.
It was not because he had received a handsome present, for none had
been given him.

There had been nothing unusual to make him so happy, excepting a
thought hidden in the secret recesses of his heart. Shall I tell you
what that thought was, that made his face so bright and sunny, that
made his eyes sparkle, and wreathed his lips with smiles? I will tell
you in his own words, and I hope you will treasure it in your heart.
If you do, your face, too, will be cheerful and smiling, and your
friends will love to look upon you.

When Willie told his mother how happy he was, she put her arm around
him, and drew him lovingly to her side. "What makes you so happy?" she
inquired.

"I suppose it is because I have been trying to be good," he answered.

"That always makes people happy," his mother replied.

Willie is generally a good boy, but he sometimes does wrong, and
wrong-doing always makes him sad. It was a great pleasure to him that
he had tried to be good, and had been enabled to overcome temptation.

All children are sometimes tempted to do wrong, and it often requires
a severe struggle to decide to do right. But every child who overcomes
evil feels a conscious happiness and self-respect in so doing. I hope
you will "try to be good." If you do, and look to Christ for strength,
he will aid you, and through his grace you will be able to become
conqueror over the sins that "so easily beset you."

Henry Maxwell lives in the same town with Willie, and is of the same
age. These boys often play together. I regret to be obliged to say
that Henry is not so good a child as Willie. He does not so promptly
obey his mother, and of course he cannot be so happy. Sometimes he
pouts out his lips, when his mother wishes him to do something which
he does not exactly like.

I one day heard his mother talking to him about his teeth. She wished
him to brush them again, as he had not done it thoroughly the first
time. It was astonishing to see how that fair, round face was
disfigured by that ugly pout, and it was sad to hear his dissatisfied
"I don't want to." When his mother insisted on obedience, Henry
reluctantly complied with her wishes, closing the door behind him with
great violence.

His face was not sunny and bright like Willie's, when he had tried to
be good, but was dark and shady, like a clouded sky. It was not
pleasant to look upon, and it made the heart of his mother heavy and
sad to see it. I hope Henry will learn to be cheerful and prompt in
his obedience to his mother, for, if he should not, the expression of
his face will grow more and more disagreeable, till, when he is a man,
it will look more like a chilly day in November, than a sweet,
gladsome day in June.

I do not wish you should tell me, but I should like to have you ask
yourself, when you have read about these two boys, which of them you
are most like. Is your face sunny, or shady?




"IT ISN'T FAIR. I PEEPED."


Willie and Eddie were playing Hide the Button. After they had played
some time, and it was Willie's turn to find it, he came into the
nursery with his face flushed, and evidently much excited. "It isn't
fair," said he, and the tears gathered in his eyes, and his lips
quivered with emotion, "I peeped. Eddie must hide it again;" and he
went out of the room, for Eddie to put the button in another place.

Willie had been overcome by temptation. He had done a dishonourable
act, but his conscience was quick to reprove him, and he had listened
to its admonitions. There had been a short but severe struggle in his
mind, and truth and honour had conquered. He was brave enough to
confess his fault, and to do what he could to make amends for it.

Mrs. Dudley was not at home, but a friend who had charge of the
children told her the circumstance. It rejoiced her greatly that her
dear boy should have had the manliness to acknowledge his error; and
it encouraged her to hope that he would never be guilty of a similar
fault again. Willie is a conscientious boy. He sometimes does wrong,
as in this instance, but when he reflects, he is always sorry.

Mrs. Dudley did not say any thing to Willie about the occurrence; but
a few evenings afterwards as she was sitting at the tea-table alone,
the others having all left, he came to her and stood by her side,
leaning his elbow upon the table, and resting his head upon his hand.
She knew by his manner and his serious look that he had something in
particular to say to her. She put her arm around him and drew him
close to her.

"Mother," said he, "the other day, when you were gone, I peeped while
Eddie hid the button;" and then went on and told her all about it.
Mrs. Dudley talked with him a short time, and said he had done right
in confessing his fault, and in refusing to profit by his wrong act.
She knew he was much happier than he could have been if he had done
otherwise. "He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso
confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy." Willie found the
happiness of an approving conscience; and I doubt not that Jesus
looked down with love upon him, as he does upon all true penitents.
"There is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth."

If Willie had not confessed his fault, and been sorry for it, his
conscience would have been hardened and he would probably have
"peeped" another time, when the children played the same game. But
now, if he should be tempted in this way again, he would remember how
much he suffered in consequence of having once yielded to a similar
temptation, and would not allow himself to commit the wrong.

It is very important that children should early learn to confess their
faults, and not form the habit of endeavouring to hide them from
others. If they have injured any individual, they should apologize to
that individual. Sometimes it is only necessary to confess to God, but
we should not be satisfied with doing it in a general manner. Each
wrong act, so far as we remember it, should be mentioned.

If we really love our heavenly Father, we shall wish to tell him all
about ourselves. We shall have no desire to conceal any thing from
him, and it will be a pleasure to us to think that he knows every
thought and feeling of our hearts.

Willie had no wish to conceal from his mother the wrong he had done;
he preferred to tell her about it; and I have no doubt he had
previously told his Father in heaven.

"If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our
sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."




THE CHRYSALIS.


"O mother, look here! What is this?" exclaimed Eddie, as he was in the
garden with his mother and Mary and Willie. He was standing by a tall
pole, around which a Lima bean-vine had wound itself. He had been
gathering the great dry pods in a basket to preserve them for winter,
when his grandmother would come to Clover-Hill to see her dear
grandchildren. His attention had been attracted by something peculiar,
and he immediately called his mother to come and see it. Mary and
Willie ran to look. Mrs. Dudley found it was a beautiful green
chrysalis, suspended by its silken cords to the vine. The colour was
soft and delicate, and it was ornamented with a black line, and with
bright golden spots.

"Isn't it pretty, mother?" "How did it get here?" and many more
questions were rapidly asked, while the little folks carefully
examined it.

Mrs. Dudley told them what it was, and that if they preserved it, they
would in a few days see a butterfly escape from it. Eddie looked up
astonished. She also told them that it was once a worm, crawling
about upon the earth; that it had climbed up, and suspended itself
under the shelter of the leaves, to await its change into a new and
more attractive form of being.

Mrs. Dudley took the chrysalis from the vine and carried it to the
house, and put it on the mantle in her room. Every day the children
looked at it to ascertain if there was any change. Soon the colour
began to fade, and the delicate pea-green became an ashen white. Then
it opened slightly, where there had from the first seemed to be lines
of division, and they could peep in at the imprisoned insect. The
opening became wider and wider, and one day, when Eddie came into the
room and went as usual to look at the chrysalis, the shell was empty!
The butterfly had escaped. He uttered an exclamation of mingled
surprise and disappointment. As he turned his head, he saw, on the
little cotton muff of Mary's doll, the butterfly for which he had so
patiently watched.

"Here it is, mother!" he shouted in the most joyous tones, and his
eyes sparkled with delight.

Eddie and his mother observed it for some time. Its long, slender legs
rested on the muff, and ever and anon it would open and close its
brilliant wings, as if to try their power, or to dry the miniature
feathers which adorned them. Its colour was a rich orange, shaded from
the lighter tints to the deeper, and variegated with stripes of black.
The children examined it with a microscope, which made it appear even
more beautiful and wonderful than before.

It remained on the muff several hours, and then flew to the window,
and alighted on the curtain. At evening, it was found on the cushion
of a spool-stand, and there it passed the night. The next day it
disappeared, and the children saw it no more. It probably flew away
through the open window, to enjoy its brief life under the smiling
sun.

The children talked much about the transformations which had taken
place in the life of that caterpillar. Their mother told them that the
butterfly was sometimes considered a type of immortality. In this
world we are, like the worm, in an inferior state of existence. Our
bodies are laid in the grave, but _we_ are not dead, any more than the
unmoving chrysalis--which remained so long on the mantel just where it
was placed--was dead. The spirit still lives, and, after it has freed
itself from the imprisoning flesh, is more beautiful than before, and
is susceptible of more perfect enjoyment in the pure atmosphere of
heaven.




CHRISTMAS AT THE COTTAGE.


Mrs. Dudley's children look forward to Christmas with many
anticipations of pleasure, for several weeks before it comes. They are
quite busy in preparing for it. Their mother is the repository of
their secrets, and assists them by her advice in making their
arrangements. Many important deliberations take place about mats,
pin-cushions, and bookmarks.

As the day approached, the children often expressed the wish that it
was here. A few days was a long time for them to wait. But time did
not hasten. The hours were just sixty minutes, and the minutes just
sixty seconds. The clock ticked on as usual. It was unmoved by all the
excitement, and never, for an instant, quickened its pace.

When Saturday came, their mother proposed that the presents should be
distributed that evening. She did not like to have the children wish
the Sabbath past, and on Monday morning there would be but little time
to make their arrangements before the hour for school. She knew they
would be quiet and happy if they had some new books to read, and
would be perfectly willing to lay aside other gifts till Monday.

Mary wished to decorate the parlour with evergreens. Mrs. Dudley sent
a man to get some for her. She and Willie arranged them in bunches and
wreaths. Eddie helped all he could, and was as happy as any of them.
In the afternoon their mother assisted them. She put the bunches made
of the delicate, feathery hemlock, and the dark glossy laurel, over
the windows, and suspended the wreaths where the bay-windows projected
from the room. Small branches of cedar and spruce were tastefully
arranged in vases, relieved by the rich, green leaves of the ivy, and
the bright, lively twigs of box.

The children wished for a Christmas tree, but the evergreens they had
were all too small for that purpose Mrs. Dudley suggested that the
hat-stand might be substituted. They were delighted, and immediately
busied themselves in adorning it with garlands. It proved quite
ornamental, and the pegs served a very useful purpose. Mary arranged
on some strips of white paper the words, "A merry Christmas." The
letters were made of the small leaves of the box, and were fastened on
with gum-arabic. These were placed amid the wreaths on the transformed
hat-stand.

When all these arrangements were completed to their satisfaction,
they left the room. Mrs. Dudley remained some time longer. When she
left, the door was locked.

Mr. Dudley returned from the city, where he had been spending the day,
bringing some friends with him. Tea was speedily despatched, and then
all the family were summoned. The parlour door was unlocked. There
were various toys, baskets, and reticules suspended on the hat-stand.
There was a nice little felt hat for one of Mary's dolls, and a
looking-glass for the baby-house, and an embroidered cushion, which
Willie's industrious fingers had made for Minnie Dudley, as the doll
is called--a far better employment for him, I think, than throwing it
about and treating it roughly, as I have sometimes heard of boys
doing. There were humming-tops, which reminded me, by their music, of
the great spinning-wheel that whirred away in my mother's kitchen when
I was a child. There were graces, and battle-doors, and jack-straws
for the amusement of the children when it was too cold or stormy to
play out of doors.

On a table was an array of slippers, which Mary and her mother had
wrought for father and the boys. There was merry capering when they
were transferred to the feet of their owners. I shall not tell you
whether Mr. Dudley so far forgot his dignity as to partake of the
excitement, but I am quite sure he was much gratified by the present
Mary had made for him with her own hands, and that he kissed his
thanks with great fondness.

Most valuable of all to the little folks, and most gladly welcomed,
were the books. How eagerly they looked them over.

There was a present to Mrs. Dudley from her children, which I must not
forget to tell you about. It was a plain gold pin, in which, neatly
plaited, were six bunches of hair. One of them was dark, streaked with
gray--the others were auburn, flaxen, and brown. She knew whence the
treasures came to unite in that beautiful mosaic, and the tears were
ready to start from her eyes as she received that precious token of
family love.

When I was a child, I heard little about Christmas. It came and went
without my knowledge. But I enjoy the return of it very much now, and
sympathize with children in the interest with which they regard it. I
like to think they are treasuring up such cheerful memories to make
their early home attractive to their age.

The little Dudley's will always like to look back to this pleasant
evening, and wherever they are, their hearts will warm more fondly on
account of it to their father's cottage, nestled in the valley, and
they will be in less danger of forgetting the lessons of love and
kindness they have learned there.




I WILL CONQUER MYSELF.


In one of the oldest towns of New-England there lived, many years ago,
a little girl, whom I shall call Helen Earle. Her father had been
engaged in the East Indian trade, and had accumulated great wealth.
Her mother was a sweet, gentle woman, who most tenderly loved her
children, and endeavoured to correct their faults, and develop their
excellencies. In Helen's home there was every comfort and every luxury
that heart could desire, but she was not always happy. She had one
fault, which often made herself and her friends very unhappy. It was
the indulgence of a violent temper. She would allow herself to become
exceedingly angry, and her usually beautiful face was then disfigured
by passion. Her mother was greatly grieved and distressed by these
outbreaks of ill temper, and did all in her power to restrain them.
She talked with her daughter earnestly in regard to the sin of such a
temper. Helen would weep bitter tears, and express much regret for the
past, but she could not quite make up her mind to determine to
overcome temptation. The task seemed too difficult, and she shrunk
from the attempt.

Mrs. Earle shed many tears in secret over this sad failing in her
beloved child, and most fervently pleaded for help from Him who had
given her the care of this immortal spirit to educate for eternity.
She knew that God alone could change Helen's heart, and give her power
to overcome sin, even though assaulted by the fiercest temptation.

One day, when Helen was very angry at something which had occurred,
her mother led her up stairs to her own room and left her alone. For a
time she cried violently, then she grew calm and quiet, and her mother
could hear her walking back and forth across the room, talking to
herself. She listened. How her heart rejoiced when she heard her
repeating, again and again, "I WILL CONQUER MYSELF! I WILL CONQUER
MYSELF!"

And Helen did conquer herself. She had come to the determination, not
that she would try to conquer, but that she would conquer, and, by the
gracious help which is always given to those who ask,--she nobly
succeeded. From that hour she was able to overcome the temptation, and
was not overcome by it. She grew up to womanhood remarkable for the
evenness and gentleness of her temper. None, who had not known her in
childhood, would have suspected that she was not always thus mild and
lovely.

Helen did for herself what no earthly friend could do for her. By the
power of her will she controlled her impulses, and this triumph was
of far more value to her than all the wealth of her father. It made
her a blessing to her friends, strengthened all her good purposes, and
enabled her to perform the duties of life without the friction which a
bad temper always occasions. It gave her that true self-respect which
elevates the character, and which none can feel who are not conscious
of the power to rule their own spirits.

No child is blamed for having a quick temper, but he is blamed if he
allows himself to be overpowered by it. If he really determines, as
Helen did, to conquer himself, he will succeed. The old proverb,
"Where there is a will, there is a way," will never fail in such a
case as this. "God helps those who help themselves," and he is ever
ready to assist us in subduing what is wrong in our own spirits.

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.