Book: Our Boys

n >> ntertaining Stories by Popular Authors >> Our Boys



Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 16171-h.htm or 16171-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/6/1/7/16171/16171-h/16171-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/6/1/7/16171/16171-h.zip)





OUR BOYS

Entertaining Stories by Popular Authors

by

GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON, MARY E. WILKINS, FRANCES A. HUMPHREY, MARGARET
EYTINGE, MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY, MARY D. BRINE, ETC., ETC., ETC.

Profusely Illustrated

The Saalfield Publishing Company, Akron, Ohio

1904







[Illustration]



[Illustration]



[Illustration]




THE CAT-TAIL ARROW

BY CLARA DOTY BATES


Little Sammie made a bow,
Well indeed he loved to whittle,
Shaped it like the half of O--
How he could I scarcely know,
For his fingers were so little.
As he whittled came a sigh:
"If I only had an arrow;
Something light enough to fly
To the tree-tops or the sky!
Then I'd have such fun tomorrow."

Then he thought of all the slim
Things that grow--the hazel bushes,
Willow branches, poplars trim--
And yet nothing suited him
Till he chanced to think of rushes.
He knew well a quiet pool
Where he always paused a minute
On his way to district school,
Just to see the waters cool
And his own bright face within it.

There the cat-tails thickly grew,
With their heads so brown and furry;
They were straight and slender too,
Plenty strong enough he knew,
And he sought them in a hurry.
Such an arrow as he wrought--
Almost passed a boy's believing.
When he drew the bow-string taut,
Out of sight and quick as thought
Up it went, the blue air cleaving.

Who was Sammie, would you know?
It was grandpa--he was little
Nearly eighty years ago;
But 'tis no doubt as fine a bow
As the best he still could whittle.




[Illustration: A YOUNG SALT]

HE COULDN'T SAY NO.


[[I]]t was sad and it was strange!
He just was full of knowledge,
His studies swept the whole broad range
Of High School and of College;
He read in Greek and Latin too,
Loud Sanscrit he could utter,
But one small thing he couldn't do
That comes as pat to me and you
As eating bread and butter:
He couldn't say "No!" He couldn't say "No!"
I'm sorry to say it was really so!
He'd diddle, and dawdle, and stutter, but oh!
When it came to the point he could never say "No!"

Geometry he knew by rote,
Like any Harvard Proctor;
He'd sing a fugue out, note by note;
Knew Physics like a Doctor;
He spoke in German and in French;
Knew each Botanic table;
But one small word that you'll agree
Comes pat enough to you and me,
To speak he was not able:
For he couldn't say "No!" He couldn't say "No!"
'Tis dreadful, of course, but 'twas really so.
He'd diddle, and dawdle, and stutter, but oh!
When it came to the point he could never say "No!"

And he could fence, and swim, and float,
And use the gloves with ease too,
Could play base ball, and row a boat,
And hang on a trapeze too;
His temper was beyond rebuke,
And nothing made him lose it;
His strength was something quite superb,
But what's the use of having nerve
If one can never use it?
He couldn't say "No!" He couldn't say "No!"
If one asked him to come, if one asked him to go,
He'd diddle, and dawdle, and stutter, but oh!
When it came to the point he could never say "No!"

When he was but a little lad,
In life's small ways progressing,
He fell into this habit bad
Of always acquiescing;
'Twas such an amiable trait,
To friend as well as stranger,
That half unconsciously at last
The custom held him hard and fast
Before he knew the danger,
And he couldn't say "No!" He couldn't say "No!"
To his prospects you see 'twas a terrible blow.
He'd diddle, and dawdle, and stutter, but oh!
When it came to the point he could never say "No!"

And so for all his weary days
The best of chances failed him;
He lived in strange and troublous ways
And never knew what ailed him;
He'd go to skate when ice was thin;
He'd join in deeds unlawful,
He'd lend his name to worthless notes,
He'd speculate in stocks and oats;
'Twas positively awful,
For he couldn't say "No!" He couldn't say "No!"
He would veer like a weather-cock turning so slow;
He'd diddle, and dawdle, and stutter, but oh!
When it came to the point he could never say "No!"

Then boys and girls who hear my song,
Pray heed its theme alarming:
Be good, be wise, be kind, be strong--
These traits are always charming,
But all your learning, all your skill
With well-trained brain and muscle,
Might just as well be left alone,
If you can't cultivate backbone
To help you in life's tussle,
And learn to say "No!" Yes, learn to say "No!"
Or you'll fall from the heights to the rapids below!
You may waver, and falter, and tremble, but oh!
When your conscience requires it, be sure and shout "No!"

M.E.B.




[Illustration: Going into the Chapel.]

THE CHRISTMAS MONKS.


All children have wondered unceasingly from their very first Christmas
up to their very last Christmas, where the Christmas presents come
from. It is very easy to say that Santa Claus brought them. All well
regulated people know that, of course; about the reindeer, and the
sledge, and the pack crammed with toys, the chimney, and all the rest
of it--that is all true, of course, and everybody knows about it; but
that is not the question which puzzles. What children want to know is,
where do these Christmas presents come from in the first place? Where
does Santa Claus get them? Well, the answer to that is, _In the garden
of the Christmas Monks_. This has not been known until very lately;
that is, it has not been known till very lately except in the
immediate vicinity of the Christmas Monks. There, of course, it has
been known for ages. It is rather an out-of-the-way place; and that
accounts for our never hearing of it before.

The Convent of the Christmas Monks is a most charmingly picturesque
pile of old buildings; there are towers and turrets, and peaked roofs
and arches, and everything which could possibly be thought of the
architectural line, to make a convent picturesque. It is built
of graystone; but it is only once in a while that you can see the
graystone, for the walls are almost completely covered with mistletoe
and ivy and evergreen. There are the most delicious little arched
windows with diamond panes peeping out from the mistletoe and
evergreen, and always at all times of the year, a little Christmas
wreath of ivy and holly-berries is suspended in the centre of every
window. Over all the doors, which are likewise arched, are Christmas
garlands, and over the main entrance _Merry Christmas_ in evergreen
letters.

The Christmas Monks are a jolly brethren; the robes of their order
are white, gilded with green garlands, and they never are seen out at
any time of the year without Christmas wreaths on their heads. Every
morning they file in a long procession into the chapel to sing a
Christmas carol; and every evening they ring a Christmas chime on the
convent bells. They eat roast turkey and plum pudding and mince-pie
for dinner all the year round; and always carry what is left in
baskets trimmed with evergreen to the poor people. There are always
wax candles lighted and set in every window of the convent at
nightfall; and when the people in the country about get uncommonly
blue and down-hearted, they always go for a cure to look at the
Convent of the Christmas Monks after the candles are lighted and the
chimes are ringing. It brings to mind things which never fail to cheer
them.

But the principal thing about the Convent of the Christmas Monks is
the garden; for that is where the Christmas presents grow. This garden
extends over a large number of acres, and is divided into different
departments, just as we divide our flower and vegetable gardens;
one bed for onions, one for cabbages, and one for phlox, and one for
verbenas, etc.

Every spring the Christmas Monks go out to sow the Christmas-present
seeds after they have ploughed the ground and made it all ready.

There is one enormous bed devoted to rocking-horses. The rocking-horse
seed is curious enough; just little bits of rocking-horses so small
that they can only be seen through a very, very powerful microscope.
The Monks drop these at quite a distance from each other, so that they
will not interfere while growing; then they cover them up neatly with
earth, and put up a sign-post with "Rocking-horses" on it in evergreen
letters. Just so with the penny-trumpet seed, and the toy-furniture
seed, the skate-seed, the sled-seed, and all the others.

Perhaps the prettiest, and most interesting part of the garden, is
that devoted to wax dolls. There are other beds for the commoner
dolls--for the rag dolls, and the china dolls, and the rubber dolls,
but of course wax dolls would look much handsomer growing. Wax dolls
have to be planted quite early in the season; for they need a good
start before the sun is very high. The seeds are the loveliest bits
of microscopic dolls imaginable. The Monks sow them pretty close
together, and they begin to come up by the middle of May. There is
first just a little glimmer of gold, or flaxen, or black, or brown, as
the case may be, above the soil. Then the snowy foreheads appear, and
the blue eyes, and the black eyes, and, later on, all those enchanting
little heads are out of the ground, and are nodding and winking and
smiling to each other the whole extent of the field; with their pinky
cheeks and sparkling eyes and curly hair there is nothing so pretty as
these little wax doll heads peeping out of the earth. Gradually, more
and more of them come to light, and finally by Christmas they are all
ready to gather. There they stand, swaying to and fro, and dancing
lightly on their slender feet which are connected with the ground,
each by a tiny green stem; their dresses of pink, or blue, or
white--for their dresses grow with them--flutter in the air. Just
about the prettiest sight in the world is the bed of wax dolls in the
garden of the Christmas Monks at Christmas time. Of course ever since
this convent and garden were established (and that was so long ago
that the wisest man can find no books about it) their glories have
attracted a vast deal of admiration and curiosity from the young
people in the surrounding country; but as the garden is enclosed on
all sides by an immensely thick and high hedge, which no boy could
climb, or peep over, they could only judge of the garden by the fruits
which were parceled out to them on Christmas-day.

You can judge, then, of the sensation among the young folks, and older
ones, for that matter, when one evening there appeared hung upon a
conspicuous place in the garden-hedge, a broad strip of white cloth
trimmed with evergreen and printed with the following notice in
evergreen letters:

"WANTED--By the Christmas Monks, two _good_ boys to assist in garden
work. Applicants will be examined by Fathers Anselmus and Ambrose, in
the convent refectory, on April 10th."

This notice was hung out about five o'clock in the evening, some time
in the early part of February. By noon the street was so full of boys
staring at it with their mouths wide open, so as to see better, that
the king was obliged to send his bodyguard before him to clear the
way with brooms, when he wanted to pass on his way from his chamber of
state to his palace.

There was not a boy in the country but looked upon this position as
the height of human felicity. To work all the year in that wonderful
garden, and see those wonderful things growing! and without doubt any
body who worked there could have all the toys he wanted, just as a boy
who works in a candy-shop always has all the candy he wants!

But the great difficulty, of course, was about the degree of goodness
requisite to pass the examination. The boys in this country were no
worse than the boys in other countries, but there were not many of
them that would not have done a little differently if he had only
known beforehand of the advertisement of the Christmas Monks. However,
they made the most of the time remaining, and were so good all over
the kingdom that a very millennium seemed dawning. The school teachers
used their ferrules for fire wood, and the king ordered all the birch
trees cut down and exported, as he thought there would be no more call
for them in his own realm.

[Illustration: The boys read the notice.]

When the time for the examination drew near, there were two boys whom
every one thought would obtain the situation, although some of the
other boys had lingering hopes for themselves; if only the Monks would
examine them on the last six weeks, they thought they might pass.
Still all the older people had decided in their minds that the Monks
would choose these two boys. One was the Prince, the king's oldest
son; and the other was a poor boy named Peter. The Prince was no
better than the other boys; indeed, to tell the truth, he was not so
good; in fact, was the biggest rogue in the whole country; but all
the lords and the ladies, and all the people who admired the lords and
ladies, said it was their solemn belief that the Prince was the best
boy in the whole kingdom; and they were prepared to give in their
testimony, one and all, to that effect to the Christmas Monks.

Peter was really and truly such a good boy that there was no excuse
for saying he was not. His father and mother were poor people; and
Peter worked every minute out of school hours to help them along.
Then he had a sweet little crippled sister whom he was never tired of
caring for. Then, too, he contrived to find time to do lots of little
kindnesses for other people. He always studied his lessons faithfully,
and never ran away from school. Peter was such a good boy, and so
modest and unsuspicious that he was good, that everybody loved him. He
had not the least idea that he could get the place with the Christmas
Monks, but the Prince was sure of it.

When the examination day came all the boys from far and near, with
their hair neatly brushed and parted, and dressed in their best
clothes, flocked into the convent. Many of their relatives and friends
went with them to witness the examination.

The refectory of the convent, where they assembled, was a very large
hall with a delicious smell of roast turkey and plum pudding in it.
All the little boys sniffed, and their mouths watered.

The two fathers who were to examine the boys were perched up in a
high pulpit so profusely trimmed with evergreen that it looked like a
bird's nest; they were remarkably pleasant-looking men, and their eyes
twinkled merrily under their Christmas wreaths. Father Anselmus was
a little the taller of the two, and Father Ambrose was a little the
broader; and that was about all the difference between them in looks.

[Illustration: The Prince & Peter are examined by the Monks.]

The little boys all stood up in a row, their friends stationed
themselves in good places, and the examination began.

Then if one had been placed beside the entrance to the convent, he
would have seen one after another, a crestfallen little boy with his
arm lifted up and crooked, and his face hidden in it, come out and
walk forlornly away. He had failed to pass.

The two fathers found out that this boy had robbed birds' nests,
and this one stolen apples. And one after another they walked
disconsolately away till there were only two boys left: the Prince and
Peter.

"Now, your Highness," said Father Anselmus, who always took the lead
in the questions, "are you a good boy?"

"O holy Father!" exclaimed all the people--there were a good many fine
folks from the court present. "He is such a good boy! such a wonderful
boy! We never knew him to do a wrong thing in his sweet life."

"I don't suppose he ever robbed a bird's nest?" said Father Ambrose a
little doubtfully.

"No, no!" chorused the people.

"Nor tormented a kitten?"

"No, no, no!" cried they all.

At last everybody being so confident that here could be no reasonable
fault found with the Prince, he was pronounced competent to enter upon
the Monks' service. Peter they knew a great deal about before--indeed,
a glance at his face was enough to satisfy any one of his goodness;
for he did look more like one of the boy angels in the altar-piece
than anything else. So after a few questions, they accepted him also;
and the people went home and left the two boys with the Christmas
Monks.

The next morning Peter was obliged to lay aside his homespun coat,
and the Prince his velvet tunic, and both were dressed in some little
white robes with evergreen girdles like the Monks. Then the Prince
was set to sowing Noah's ark seed, and Peter picture-book seed. Up
and down they went scattering the seed. Peter sang a little psalm
to himself, but the Prince grumbled because they had not given him
gold-watch or gem seed to plant instead of the toy which he had
outgrown long ago. By noon Peter had planted all his picture-books,
and fastened up the card to mark them on the pole; but the Prince had
dawdled so his work was not half done.

"We are going to have a trial with this boy," said the Monks to each
other; "we shall have to set him a penance at once, or we cannot
manage him at all."

So the Prince had to go without his dinner, and kneel on dried peas in
the chapel all the afternoon. The next day he finished his Noah's Arks
meekly; but the next day he rebelled again and had to go the whole
length of the field where they planted jewsharps, on his knees. And so
it was about every other day for the whole year.

One of the brothers had to be set apart in a meditating cell to invent
new penances; for they had used up all on their list before the Prince
had been with them three months.

The Prince became dreadfully tired of his convent life, and if
he could have brought it about would have run away. Peter, on the
contrary, had never been so happy in his life. He worked like a bee,
and the pleasure he took in seeing the lovely things he had planted
come up, was unbounded, and the Christmas carols and chimes delighted
his soul. Then, too, he had never fared so well in his life. He could
never remember the time before when he had been a whole week without
being hungry. He sent his wages every month to his parents; and he
never ceased to wonder at the discontent of the Prince.

"They grow so slow," the Prince would say, wrinkling up his handsome
forehead. "I expected to have a bushelful of new toys every month; and
not one have I had yet. And these stingy old Monks say I can only have
my usual Christmas share anyway, nor can I pick them out myself. I
never saw such a stupid place to stay in my life. I want to have my
velvet tunic on and go home to the palace and ride on my white pony
with the silver tail, and hear them all tell me how charming I am."
Then the Prince would crook his arm and put his head on it and cry.

Peter pitied him, and tried to comfort him, but it was not of much
use, for the Prince got angry because he was not discontented as well
as himself.

Two weeks before Christmas everything in the garden was nearly ready
to be picked. Some few things needed a little more December sun, but
everything looked perfect. Some of the Jack-in-the-boxes would not
pop out quite quick enough, and some of the jumping-Jacks were hardly
as limber as they might be as yet; that was all. As it was so near
Christmas the Monks were engaged in their holy exercises in the chapel
for the greater part of the time, and only went over the garden once a
day to see if everything was all right.

The Prince and Peter were obliged to be there all the time. There was
plenty of work for them to do; for once in a while something would
blow over, and then there were the penny-trumpets to keep in tune; and
that was a vast sight of work.

One morning the Prince was at one end of the garden straightening up
some wooden soldiers which had toppled over, and Peter was in the wax
doll bed dusting the dolls. All of a sudden he heard a sweet little
voice: "O, Peter!" He thought at first one of the dolls was talking,
but they could not say anything but papa and mamma; and had the merest
apologies for voices anyway. "Here I am, Peter!" and there was a
little pull at his sleeve. There was his little sister. She was not
any taller than the dolls around her, and looked uncommonly like the
prettiest, pinkest-cheeked, yellowest-haired ones; so it was no wonder
that Peter did not see her at first. She stood there poising herself
on her crutches, poor little thing, and smiling lovingly up at Peter.

"Oh, you darling!" cried Peter, catching her up in his arms. "How did
you get in here?"

"I stole in behind one of the Monks," said she. "I saw him going up
the street past our house, and I ran out and kept behind him all the
way. When he opened the gate I whisked in too, and then I followed him
into the garden. I've been here with the dollies ever since."

"Well," said poor Peter, "I don't see what I am going to do with you,
now you are here. I can't let you out again; and I don't know what the
Monks will say."

"Oh, I know!" cried the little girl gayly. "I'll stay out here in
the garden. I can sleep in one of those beautiful dolls' cradles over
there; and you can bring me something to eat."

[Illustration: The boys at work in the Convent Garden.]

"But the Monks come out every morning to look over the garden, and
they'll be sure to find you," said her brother, anxiously.

"No, I'll hide! O Peter, here is a place where there isn't any doll!"

"Yes; that doll did not come up."

"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do! I'll just stand here in this place
where the doll didn't come up, and nobody can tell the difference."

"Well, I don't know but you can do that," said Peter, although he was
still ill at ease. He was so good a boy he was very much afraid of
doing wrong, and offending his kind friends the Monks; at the same
time he could not help being glad to see his dear little sister.

He smuggled some food out to her, and she played merrily about him all
day; and at night he tucked her into one of the dolls' cradles with
lace pillows and quilt of rose-colored silk.

The next morning when the Monks were going the rounds, the father who
inspected the wax doll bed was a bit nearsighted, and he never noticed
the difference between the dolls and Peter's little sister, who swung
herself on her crutches, and looked just as much like a wax doll as
she possibly could. So the two were delighted with the success of
their plan.

They went on thus for a few days, and Peter could not help being happy
with his darling little sister, although at the same time he could not
help worrying for fear he was doing wrong.

Something else happened now, which made him worry still more;
the Prince ran away. He had been watching for a long time for an
opportunity to possess himself of a certain long ladder made of
twisted evergreen ropes, which the Monks kept locked up in the
toolhouse. Lately, by some oversight, the toolhouse had been left
unlocked one day, and the Prince got the ladder. It was the latter
part of the afternoon, and the Christmas Monks were all in the chapel
practicing Christmas carols. The Prince found a very large hamper,
and picked as many Christmas presents for himself as he could stuff
into it; then he put the ladder against the high gate in front of
the convent, and climbed up, dragging the hamper after him. When he
reached the top of the gate, which was quite broad, he sat down to
rest for a moment before pulling the ladder up so as to drop it on the
other side.

He gave his feet a little triumphant kick as he looked back at his
prison, and down slid the evergreen ladder! The Prince lost his
balance, and would inevitably have broken his neck if he had not clung
desperately to the hamper which hung over on the convent side of the
fence; and as it was just the same weight as the Prince, it kept him
suspended on the other.

He screamed with all the force of his royal lungs; was heard by a
party of noblemen who were galloping up the street; was rescued, and
carried in state to the palace. But he was obliged to drop the hamper
of presents, for with it all the ingenuity of the noblemen could not
rescue him as speedily as it was necessary they should.

When the good Monks discovered the escape of the Prince they were
greatly grieved, for they had tried their best to do well by him; and
poor Peter could with difficulty be comforted. He had been very fond
of the Prince, although the latter had done little except torment him
for the whole year; but Peter had a way of being fond of folks.

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