Shaping the Values of Youth: Sunday School Books in 19th Century America

"It's another equinoctial, I know," sighed funny little Prue, who could not look cross,


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though she tried to show as many wrinkles as Dick.

"I declare," said Flaxy Bell, parting the red curtains at the corner brick house, "I can hardly see two inches in this mist. One would think it was a grand washing-day, and every body's chimney was turned upside down, and smoking the wrong way."

"No nutting to-day," called out Bernard Granville, from the green blinds across the street.

But they were all mistaken. An hour passed on, and behold! down the gray dropped a little yellow thread of light, which grew till it was a great golden cord, strong enough to lift the heavy gray curtain. The eager eyes could hardly believe it, but slowly, slowly, it was raised. Now they could see the old tree at the end of the meadow which had grown yellow,--the greedy old fellow,--from drinking so much sunlight all summer, and now they could see the crimson maples like gay soldiers on guard at the edge of the pine woods. Oh! there was never any thing so beautiful! The sky changed by magic to the tenderest blue, and the watching eyes grew so soft and sunny, you would hardly


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have known them for the same. And so the nutting party came off, after all. But this isn't at all what I meant to tell you. I only meant to say that it was a very pleasant day; but then, after all, you would never have guessed just how pleasant it was, and I wanted you to know exactly how happy all these children felt.

Well, I won't tell you much about the nutting. You can just imagine that all the baskets are very full, and that after they have made fires of dead leaves, and roasted some of their nuts, and done a variety of other things, they yet do not feel quite ready to go home. So they sit down on some nice, dry pine-needles on the western side of the wood, with the warm sun shining on the pretty plaid shawls and red caps, with the bright yellow and scarlet trees bowing around like so many great princes at some grand Eastern court, and begin to talk cosily together.

"Let some one tell a story," cried Dudley Wylde.

"Let's each tell one," said his pale cousin Bernard, "just as the people did in the stage-coach that Dickens once told about."

"Why, they all told their own story," said Madge Pattison.

"Well, so can we, too," retorted Bernard.

"I'm sure I haven't a word to tell," cried one. "Nor I," "Nor I," came from every side; while Dudley Wylde exclaimed, "Nothing ever happened to me, but breakfast and dinner, and going to school, and going to bed. Sometimes I have a good dinner, and sometimes I don't, sometimes I know my lessons, and sometimes I don't; and that's all my story."

"No, no!" said Bernard, laughing. "I'm sure something has happened to every one of us, that would be very interesting if we would only think, and tell it as well as we could."

"Tell it just like a book," asked little Dick Bloom, "with a nice little moral pinned on to the end?"

"Oh, just as you please about that," said Bernard. "If the story-teller hasn't a moral handy, we'll each fit one to suit ourselves."

"Agreed," cried they all. "Who shall begin?"

"Well," cried little Flaxy,--whose real name was Mary, but who was always called


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Flaxy because her hair was almost white,--"I believe I'll begin, for I haven't a very good story to tell, and I'd like to have it over with." So she folded her little red shawl around her, and began.

"Once, you know, before we moved into the village, we lived away up in the country, and the neighbors were almost as far from each other as from one end of the town to the other. Well, one night in December,--a dreary, windy night,--there came a boy for father and mother to go and see 'old Uncle Benny,'--he wasn't a real relation, you know, but a sort of every body's uncle. Well, the boy said Uncle Benny was dying, and wanted to see father and mother. So, of course, they bundled all up, and went. And when they kissed us good-night, said father:

"'Now, Flaxy, we will come back as soon as we can, but we may have to stay very late. If you would like to sit up, and keep Peggy company, you may, but Charley must go to bed. And Peggy must shut the windows, and put the bar to the door, and if any one comes, you must first ask who it is; and you had better send all strangers on to the tavern, for it is only a little further; and if


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you should happen to get a bad man in here, I don't know what you and Peggy would do all alone.'

"So I promised to do just as he said, and they both drove away. After they were gone, it was very lonely. Peggy barred the door, and we all went to sit in the kitchen. Charley begged to stay up a little while, and we sat on two little low stools, holding each other's hands, listening to the wind, and looking into the great fire, and watching the shadows that went bobbing around when the tallow candle flickered, and the wick grew long. Then once in a while Peggy told us a dreary story about evil spirits being out such nights as this; and though Charley and I knew that God is always near his children, and can take care of them, no matter how dark and dreadful the night, we could not help shuddering when the sleet dashed up against the panes, and we heard the wind screech and groan, just as if some one was being murdered. We were just talking in a very low whisper about poor Uncle Benny, and how terrible it was to die in such a storm, when suddenly there came a loud knock at the door. It was so very sudden


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and loud that we all jumped, and Charley fairly fell off his stool.

"'Who do you suppose it is, Peggy?' said I; but Peggy covered her face with her apron, and rocked to and fro. So we were just as still as death for a few minutes, and then we heard something at the window.

"'Oh! what is it, Peggy?' said I again.

"'Uncle Benny's ghost!' said Peggy, in an awful whisper, with her teeth all knocking together.

"Charley caught my hand so tight that it hurt me, and for a minute I shook all over. Then I knew there were no such things as ghosts, for father and mother had told me so often; and when another knock came, I went over quite boldly to the door. 'Who's there?' 'A poor man,' cried a shaky voice. 'A poor man, who is almost dead with cold and hunger. Please, for the love of God, let him come in a minute to the fire.'

"I was just going to open the door, when Peggy cried, in a great hurry,--

"'Remember what your father said, Miss Flaxy.' I was quite angry with her; but I called through the door that he must go on to the tavern, which was very near. But he


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begged so humbly just to come in and warm himself, 'only a minute, and then he would go right on,' that I was quite determined to let him.

"'Take down the bar, Peggy,' said I; but she only said, 'Miss, you ought to mind your father.'

"But I'm sorry to say," said Flaxy, with tears in her eyes, "that I wasn't at all obedient in those days. I was quite determined to have my own way; for I was angry with Peggy; and father was so kind that I thought I could soon make it all right with him when he came home. So, with very hot cheeks, I said, 'Peggy, you are hard-hearted, and a coward.' Then I began taking down the bar myself, though poor Charley kept begging,--'Please don't sister.'

"To tell the truth, I was sorry the minute it was down, for I didn't like the man's looks at all, and I would have given the whole world if he were only out of the kitchen, and the door all safely barred again. But I kept feeling worse and worse every minute; for as soon as he grew warm, and looked around, and saw there was only Peggy and Charley and I, he grew very disagreeable


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indeed, and ordered us to get some supper, the best we had in the house. He spoke so loud, and looked so fierce, that we all ran like so many slaves. He made Peggy cook ham, and fry eggs, and make the tea for him; and he ordered me to set the table, just as I would for the king of England.

"'Put on all your silver spoons and forks,' said he, 'for I always use a dozen at a time; and how do you dare bring on this old earthen sugar-bowl? Haven't you a silver set?'

"So, all in a tremble, I brought out dear mother's old-fashioned set, with the little carved angels, that used to be grandmother's.

"Then Charley followed me into the pantry, with great big eyes, and whispered, 'Oh, sister! he's cramming his pockets with spoons and every thing.'

"I never can tell you," cried Flaxy, the tears streaming down her cheeks, "how I felt then. To think that my disobedience was going to bring such sorrow on my darling father and mother; and how did I know what the end might be? Perhaps he would finish by murdering Charley and all of us. I looked up at the clock. It was only nine, and father might not be back till midnight. So I whispered


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to Charley, 'Slip out of the back door, and run like lightning to neighbor Gaston's.'

"So dear, good Charley stole like a cat over the floor; but just as I thought he was almost safe, the horrid man sprang and caught him, and almost shook the breath out of his body.

"'There,' said he, 'if I catch you at that again, I wouldn't a bit mind roasting you on these coals.'

"Poor Charley dropped down on his little stool, and never stirred again; and I stole into the pantry to cry, and ask God to help me; though I didn't deserve it a bit, you know;" and Flaxy fairly broke down and sobbed, while several of the circle kept her company.

"But all of a sudden," continued Flaxy, "a thought came into my head, and I wondered it hadn't come sooner, why I couldn't climb out of the pantry window, and run myself to one of the neighbors.

"No sooner said than done. I lifted the window, and dropped out as softly as a feather. Oh! how I did run. It was a terrible night, and I hadn't any bonnet or shawl, but I never thought any thing about it then.


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I hadn't gone far before I heard some people talking, and thought I saw a dim light; but while I was wondering where they all were, I ran right into somebody, and almost knocked him over.

"'Hallo!' said he, 'just bring the lantern, Bob. I've stumbled into the queerest kind of a post;' and in another minute he said, 'I declare, if it isn't little Flaxy Bell!'

"And there, do you know, it was neighbor Gaston's two nice strong sons, and his hired man. I didn't have time to feel ashamed, then, but I just talked as fast as I could, and told every thing.

"'Poor Flaxy!' said Ned Gaston, when I got through; and, without asking my leave, he caught me right up in his arms, and then all three started to run for the house, as if it was the greatest fun in the world.

"When we came into the garden, Phinney, the man, found some stout sticks, and Ned took down Peggy's clothes-line, and then they all burst into the kitchen door, just as the robber had finished his supper, and was buttoning up his coat to go. He was so taken by surprise that he didn't seem to think of defending himself; and in no time at all,


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they had him down on his back with his bad hands and feet tied up tight with the old rope. Oh! you ought to have heard him beg them to let him go. I declare I almost felt sorry for him, especially when he said that he was only in joke, and didn't really mean to carry off the silver. But Ned only laughed, and Phinney harnessed up, and took him off to jail. Ned stayed till father and mother came home, and tried to comfort me; but I couldn't rest till I had told the whole story. Then Ned tried to praise me, and tell father how brave and self-possessed I had been; but I couldn't bear to hear it; I could only think how terrible it might have been if God hadn't helped me, and I only wanted to hear father say, again and again,--'I do certainly forgive you, Flaxy.' And since that time I do think I have always tried to be obedient."

"And now," cried little Dick Bloom, jumping up, and falling over two or three baskets, "I propose, first, a vote of thanks to Flaxy. Second, that we repeat the fifth commandment, 'all hands round;' and, third, that we start for home 'double quick,' or night will get there first."

II. THE OLD CASTLE.

H OW pleasant the parlor looked on the evening of "Flaxy's" birthday. To be sure it was November, and the wind was setting the poor dying leaves in a miserable shiver with some dreadful story of an iceberg he had just been visiting. But what cared Dicky and Prue, or Dudley and Flaxy, or all the rest, sitting cosily around that charming fire, which glowed as if some kind fairy had filled up the little black grate with carbuncles and rubies? Over the mantle-piece were branches of pretty, white sperm candles, whose light fell softly on the heavy red curtains and the roses in the carpet, and danced in the eyes of the happy children.

They, the children, had been having a "splendid time." They had played games, and put together dissected maps, and tried puzzles, and read in Flaxy's wonderful books; and since tea they had had a grand romp at


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"fox and geese," even such big boys as Bernard and Dudley joining in; and now they were resting, with pretty red cheeks and parted mouths.

"Well, what shall we do now?" cried little Prue, who could not bear that a minute of the precious time should be wasted in mere sitting still.

"Why isn't it a good time for some one else to tell his story?" asked Flaxy.

"Just the thing," was the unanimous response. "Another story! A story!" and then a voice cried, "And let Dudley Wylde tell it."

"Well," said Dudley, slowly, "if I must tell a true story about myself, I'm afraid it won't be much to my credit; but as Flaxy wasn't a coward about it, I'll try to be as brave as a girl. Shall I tell you something that happened to Bernard and me when we lived over in England?"

"Oh, please don't tell that story, Dud," pleaded Bernard, with reddening cheeks; but all the rest cried, "Oh, yes; go on, go on;" and Dudley began.

"You all know that Bernard and I were both left orphans when we were almost little


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babies, and Uncle Wylde sent for us to come and live with him--me first, and Bernard about a year afterward. I was only six years old when Bernard came, but I remember I was very angry about it. Old Joe, the coach-man, and I had had a quarrel that morning, and he told me 'uncle would never care for me any more after cousin Bernard came; for he was a much finer boy than I, and looked like a young English lord, with his blue eyes and white skin; but I was a little, dark, ill-tempered foreigner (my mother was an Italian, you know), and he wondered how uncle could like me at all.'"

"But uncle did love you dearly, you know," broke in Bernard.

"A great deal better than I deserved, that's certain," said Dudley; "but I almost worshiped him, and I couldn't bear the thoughts of his loving any one better than me. So all the day that Bernard was expected I stood sulkily by the window, and would not play, nor eat, nor even speak when Uncle Wylde came and took me in his lap.

"'Poor child,' said uncle, at last. 'He needs some one of his own age to play with.


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I hope the little cousins will be fine company for each other.'

"Just then the carriage drove up, and uncle ran out and took such a lovely little boy in his arms; but when I heard him say, almost with a sob, 'Darling child, you are just the image of your dear, dear mother,' then I thought, 'There, it is all true what Joe said; uncle loves him the best already;' and I bit my fingers, so that when uncle bade me hold out my hand to my cousin he was frightened to see it covered with blood, and drew back with a shiver; and then I grew angry about that, too, and called him 'proud,' and went and hid away every plaything I could find.

"Well, I won't have time to tell you every little thing; only that as Bernard and I grew up together, I did not love him any better. He was almost always kind and good."

"Now, Dud, you must not say so," said Bernard, blushing. "I did every thing to tease you."

"You must not interrupt," cried Dudley. "This is my story, remember. You never teased me much; but the great thing I couldn't forgive you for was that uncle loved you best."

"No, I'm sure he didn't," cried Bernard.

"No more interruptions," said all the children; and Dudley went on.

"Well, you see I was very suspicious and miserable, and I always thought Bernard wanted to make fun of me. When he first began to call me 'Dud,' for short, I thought he meant that I was like the old rags that Joe used to clean the carriages with, for he always used to call them 'old duds.' And then sometimes, when I came in from riding on Lightfoot's bare back, with my hair blown every sort of a way, if he said, 'Shall we have our lessons now, uncle? Here comes Wylde,' I always thought he was trying to make uncle think I was wild, like those horrid Indians we used to read about, while he, Bernard, was always neat and smooth, like a little gentleman. So you see there was nothing that Bernard could do or say that I did not twist around to make myself miserable.

"One day, when I had been playing with my dog Sambo half the morning, and riding Lightfoot the rest of the time, I was called on to recite Latin to uncle, and didn't know one word. But Bernard recited like a book, and when it was over, uncle did not scold me,


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--he never did,--but just gave Bernard the pretty picture I had long been wanting, of the boy climbing up over crag and ice, shouting 'Excelsior.'

"That very afternoon we had planned to take a walk together to an old ruined castle; but I was so cross and sullen I wonder Bernard did not slip away and go alone. I can't begin to tell you how envious and unhappy I felt; and I quarreled so with him about every little thing, that at last he scarcely opened his mouth."

"I don't believe the story is true," said Flaxy, indignantly. "I'm sure the Dudley Wylde we know was never so bad and quarrelsome."

Dudley smiled, while Bettine whispered, softly, "But he's different now, Flaxy. Do you know his uncle says he is trying to be a Christian?"

Flaxy looked up, with a bright tear of sympathy, as Dudley continued:--

"At last we reached the castle, where we had often been before, and for a while I was more good-natured; for there was nothing I liked better than climbing up and down the broken stairway, which wound round and


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round like a great screw, or looking into every queer little room hid away in the thick walls, or climbing to the turrets to wave my handkerchief like the flag of a conquering hero.

"But this afternoon there was something new to see. In the great hall, just under the stairs, the floor had lately caved away, and you could see down into a deep vault. Bernard and I lay down, with our faces just over the edge, and tried to see the bottom; but it was dark as pitch, and we couldn't make out any thing.

"'I shouldn't wonder if they buried dead people there, a great while ago,' said Bernard, with a little shiver; and when we both got up, feeling very sober, he said, just to raise our spirits,--

"'Let's have a race up the steps, and see which will get to the roof first.'

"Off we started. I could generally climb like a wildcat; but in some way I stumbled and hurt my knee, and Bernard gained very fast. I felt my quick temper rising again.

"'Shall he beat me in every thing?' I said to myself; and with a great spring I caught up to him, and seized his jacket. Then began


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a struggle. Bernard cried 'fair play,' and tried to throw me off; but I was very angry, and strong as a young tiger, and all of a sudden--for I didn't know what I was about--I just flung him, with all my might, right over the edge, where the railing was half broken down."

"Oh dear! Oh dear!" cried little Prue, bursting into tears, "did it kill him?"

A merry laugh from Bernard, followed by a hearty chorus from the rest, restored bewildered little Prue to her senses. But Dudley went on, very soberly:--

"Bernard screamed as he went over, and with that scream al my anger died in a minute, and I sat down on the stairs, shaking from head to foot. Then I listened, but I didn't hear a sound. I don't know how long I sat there, but at last I got up very slowly and began to come down just like an old man. It was so dreadfully still in the old castle, that I felt, in a queer way, as if I must be very careful, too, and I stepped on my tip-toes, and held my breath. When I got to the foot, I felt as if a big hand held my heart tight, and when I tried to walk towards the spot where I thought Bernard must have fallen,


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I could not move a step. But after a great while,--it seemed like a year,--I managed to drag myself to the place, and, do you know, no one was there!"

"Why, where could he be?" cried the astonished children.

"Well, I thought he might have fallen, and rolled off under the stairs into that dreadful vault."

"Oh, don't have him get in there, please," cried tender little Prue.

"Then," said Dudley, slowly, "I leaned over the vault, and called his name, 'Bernard! Bernard!' and then I jumped back and almost screamed, for I thought some other boy had spoken. I did not know my own voice, it sounded so strange and solemn. But no one answered, and I dragged myself away, feeling as if that awful hand grew tighter on my heart, and thinking, as I went out of the door, how two of us went in, and why I was coming out alone. Then I sat down on the grass, and, though it was warm summer weather, I shivered from head to foot; and I remember thinking to myself, 'This queer boy sitting here isn't Dudley Wylde; this boy couldn't get angry; he's as


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cold as an icicle, and Dudley Wylde's heart used to beat, beat, oh! so lively and quick; but this boy's heart is under a great weight, and will never stir again; this boy will never run again, nor laugh, nor care for any thing; this boy isn't, he can't be Dudley Wylde;' and I felt so sorry for him I almost cried. Then, all of a sudden, I remember I began to work very hard. I picked up stones out of the path, and carried them a great way off, and worked till I was just ready to drop. Then I took some flowers, and picked them all to pieces, so curious to see how they were put together, and I worked at that till I was nearly wild with headache. Then I sat very still, and wondered if that boy who wasn't, couldn't be Dudley Wylde, was ever going home; and then I thought that perhaps if he sat there a little while longer he would die, and that was the best thing that could happen to him; for then he would never hear any one say,--'Where is Bernard?' So I sat there, in this queer way, waiting for the boy to die, when I heard a noise, and, looking up, saw"--

"Oh, what?" cried little Prue, clasping her hands,--"a griffin, with claws?"

But Dudley could not speak, and Bernard went on: "It's too bad for 'Dud' to tell that story, when he makes himself so much worse than he really was. I was as much to blame as he in that quarrel, and I ought to have had my share of the misery. You see, when he threw me over, my tippet caught on the rough edge of the railing, and held me just a minute; but that minute saved me, for in some way, I hardly know how, I swung in, and dropped safely on the steps just under 'Dud.' Then I hurried into one of those queer little places in the wall, and hid, for I was angry, and meant to give him a good fright; and as I happened to have a little book in my pocket, I began to read, and got so interested that I forgot every thing till it began to grow dark. Then I hurried down, wondering that every thing was so still. But when I saw 'Dud,'" said he, turning with an affectionate glance to his cousin, "I was frightened; for he was so changed I hardly knew him, and I was afraid he was dying. So I ran to him, and took him right in my arms, and called him every dear name I could think of; but he only stared at me, with the biggest, wildest eyes you ever


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saw. 'Dud,' said I, ' dear old fellow, what is the matter? don't you know me?' Then all of a sudden he burst out crying. Oh, girls, you never cried like that, and I hope you never will--great, big sobs, and I helped him. Then he flung his arms tight around my neck, and kissed me for the first time in his life--kissed me over and over, my cheeks and my hair and my hands; and then he laughed, and, right in the midst, cried as if his heart would break, and I began to understand that poor 'Dud' thought he had killed me. No one knows how long we laughed and cried and kissed each other; but, when we grew a little calmer, we went back into the old castle, and on the very steps where we had our quarrel we knelt down, holding each other's hands, and promised always to love each other, and try to keep down our wicked tempers."

"And we asked some one to help us keep the resolution," said Dudley, gently.

"Well, how is it?" said little Prue, with a bewildered air. "Was it you and 'Dud' that went and knelt on the steps to pray?"

"Yes, 'Dud' and I."

"Well, then, what became of that other


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wicked boy that wasn't Dudley Wylde at all?"

Another shout covered poor Prue with confusion, as Bernard answered,--

"Would you believe it, you dear little Prue, we have never seen any thing of him from that day to this."

III. PRUE'S GOLDEN RULE.

T HEY had been skating all the afternoon, boys and girls together, on the great pond back of the village, and had the "greatest fun," as even little Prue would have told you, although there hadn't been five minutes of the whole time when her head and feet hadn't been contending as to which should be uppermost. But now, just at dark, they were all gathered together warming themselves around the great fire in Flaxy's comfortable kitchen, and Flaxy's kind mother had asked them all to stay to tea. Now, while they were waiting for the nice short-cake to get quite brown, Dick Bloom suddenly cried--

"How long it is since we have had a story! Isn't there time to tell one before tea?"

This suggestion met with the usual immense favor, and there were various cries for Madge, Bettine, and Bernard. But at the first pause little Prue broke in,--

"I think some one might ask me to tell a story."

"Don't be a goose, Prue!" cried Dick, in the complimentary style brothers use to their sisters.

But Bernard said, "I vote for little Prue. If she has a story to tell, let us hear it by all means."

"Well, I can tell a story," said Prue, with a slightly offended air, "all about myself, and I won't get it mixed up with another girl that was me, and wasn't either."

"Good!" cried Dudley, joining in the laugh at his expense. "Go on, little one. We are all ears, as a highly respectable animal once remarked. Come sit on my lap and tell your story."

"You didn't sit on mine when you told yours, did you?" asked Prue with dignity.

"No; that's a clincher, you terribly sharp little Prue!" said Dudley, with a comical, crest-fallen air, and little Prue, smoothing her apron, began her story.

"I suppose I must tell something true about myself, and just as bad as it can be."

"Yes; that seems to be the fashion," said Dudley; "but I'm almost afraid to hear the


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worst about you. Suppose you give us the next worse."

But Prue, disdaining the interruption, went bravely on. "You all know when I went to visit Uncle Seymour last fall?"

"Oh, yes," said Bernard; "we were perfectly inconsolable."

"Well, perhaps you didn't know that I had a cousin there, a little bit older than Dick, and just the greatest tease in all the world. Indeed," said little Prue, with a confidential air, "I don't think he always did quite right. I remember the very first day I got there, and unpacked my three dolls, he made believe he thought they were beautiful, and that he loved 'em just as well as I did, and afterwards, when I was 'playing church' with 'em, he got me to baptize (a very wrong and wicked thing for any child to do, at least after he is told better, as we have no right to 'play' such a sacred thing as that) all the poor things in a pail of water, and then, do you know, their pretty red cheeks all ran in streaks, and one had her eyes washed out, so that I've had to call her 'blind Jenny' ever since. I felt very bad about this, but I tried not to be angry, and we got along pretty


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pleasantly together, till one day uncle brought me two beautiful little kittens, one white and one black, and I used to call the black one Jeff Davis, and the white one McClellan. You never saw such cunning kittens. They would set up their little round backs, and curl their funny little tails, and make a great scamper for the other side of the room, rolling over and over each other like soft little balls. Well, just about this time, Joe--that was his name--was very busy making a little painting. You see, he was very fond of drawing, and just with a piece of charcoal he could make two or three little scratches on the garden fence, and there would be a horse, or a cow, or, may be, a great hungry lion, just ready to roar. Well, uncle was so proud of Joe, and Joe was so glad to have him proud, that he was making a lovely little picture all secret up in his room, and he meant to give it to uncle on his birthday. He worked very hard on it, but just the day before the birthday, when it wasn't quite finished, uncle sent him on an errand way out in the country, so he'd have to be gone almost all day. Poor Joe!

"'Now I can't finish it any way,' said he


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to me when he went out of the door; 'and it was all done except a little piece of the ground, and one wash over the sky to make it look a little more like a sunset.'

"Then he bit his lip, and went away, and I felt so sorry for him. After a while, I went up to his room, and took out the picture. It did seem too bad that he had to leave it, and I couldn't help thinking how pleased he would be if he could come home and find it all done. Then I thought of the 'golden rule,' 'Do unto others as you would that they should do to you;' and though I was half crazy to play with 'Mac' and 'Jeff' I just took out the box of colors, and made up my mind to finish the picture."

"Oh, Prue! How could you?" groaned Dick, while Bernard and Dudley choked behind their handkerchiefs.

"Well, it was hard," said little Prue complacently, "but I put Jeff and Mac out of the room, and painted as hard as ever I could almost all day, and I made a lovely red cloud in the sky, and the grass was the brightest green."

"The kindest little Prue!" murmured Bernard, in a smothered voice.

"Well, now, would you believe it," said Prue, with a troubled air, "when Joe came home, and saw it, instead of being pleased, he stamped his feet, and tore the picture right in two, and was so very angry, that I went away and cried till I thought my heart was broken. I never could tell the reason why he acted so."

"I can't imagine, I'm sure," said Dudley.

"But he felt very sorry afterwards," continued little Prue, "and we kissed and made up, and then he began to paint another picture, and told me not to touch it, because he wanted it to be all his own. But now comes the saddest part of the story."

Bernard and Dudley drew their handkerchiefs with anxious, lengthening faces.

"One day, while Joe was painting, he was called away in a great hurry, and he just left every thing careless on the table. How it all happened I don't know, but I suppose first the wind blew the paper off the table, and the next thing I knew, there was Jeff and Mac dragging the picture around, biting it with their sharp teeth, and scratching it with their claws. I chased after, and got it just as quick as I could, and just then Joe came


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up with a great cry, and said it was all ruined and spoiled. I couldn't begin to tell you how mad he was then. He said he just hated me and my two horrid little kittens, and then he slammed the door, and I didn't see him again that night.

"You may know I scolded 'Mac' and 'Jeff' well, and tied their fore-paws together, to punish 'em. But they didn't seem to mind it at all, and in a few minutes they had slipped off the string, and were chasing each other's tails just as gay as ever. Poor little kittens! I don't believe they knew any better. But the next morning when I woke up," said Prue, with a little tremble in her voice, "what do you think I saw hanging from the tree right in front of the window?"

"An apple!" suggested Dick, triumphantly.

"No," said Prue, with a mournful shake, "it was my two precious little kittens, hung up by their necks, every bit dead!"

"Now that was too bad," cried all the children together. "What did you do?"

"Why, first I cried, you know,--I had to; and then I staid up in mother's room, and let all my dolls have the measles, but I couldn't forget it all I could do; and when I


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came down stairs, just before tea, and saw Joe lying aleep [sic] on the sofa, I felt so angry, Oh, so angry, that I thought I should like to choke him just as he did poor little 'Mac' and 'Jeff.' So I went and got the string I played 'cat's cradle' with, and put it softly around his neck."

"Oh, you dreadful little Prue," cried Bernard, clasping his hands; "don't tell us you really meant to kill him!"

"I don't quite remember," said innocent little Prue, "but I think I did. I think I felt a good deal like that boy that wasn't Dudley Wylde."

"Who ever would have thought it?" ejaculated Bernard.

"Now, Prue, that's a likely story," cried Dick. " You kill him! why, you cried like a baby when little Tom only pulled the wings off a fly."

But little Prue quite insisted that she was very bad, only admitting that perhaps she wouldn't have killed him, if she found it was going to hurt him very much.

"Well, what happened next?" asked Flaxy.

"Well, you know he woke up all of a sudden,


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and caught my hands, and when he found I was going to kill him, he was so frightened that he shook all over, and run his head into the sofa cushion, and then he got right down on his knees, and asked my pardon, and begged me not to do it, and--well, I was so sorry to see him so frightened that I couldn't help forgiving him, and telling him I would never kill him again as long as he lived. Then I ran away by myself, and felt so very bad to think I had been so wicked, that I thought I could never be happy again till I had done something kind for Joe. I tried ever so long to think what would please me most, if I was going to have a present, and once I had about made up my mind to dress my biggest doll, Victoria, in her best clothes, and give her to Joe. Then I thought some way there seemed to be something wrong about the 'golden rule,' the last time I tried it with Joe, and I didn't at all know what to do, till all of a sudden I remembered that grandpa gave me a half a dollar when I came from home, so I got it, and ran down street as fast as I could go, and bought Joe a splendid knife, with six blades."

"The darlingest little Prue," murmured Bernard.

"Well, you never saw any one so glad as Joe was. He kissed the knife, and he kissed me, and I almost thought he was going to cry. I hadn't the least idea he wanted a knife so much. Then he said something queer about that I 'had killed something, if I hadn't killed him; and he was going to try to be like me;' and I said, 'Oh, no! I'd a great deal rather you'd stay a boy.' Then he laughed, and kissed me again, and ever since we've been just the best of friends, and Christmas he sent me the loveliest book, and in it was--'For dear little Prue. Of such is the kingdom of heaven,'--though I'm sure I don't know what he put that verse in for. He must have known that I learned it ever so long ago. Now that's all the story," said little Prue, complacently. "Wasn't it just as good as anybody's?"

"Yes, a good story," said Dudley, gravely, "but I'm afraid it'll have a bad tendency. I can't see a moral anywhere; and I've got so confused, since I sat here, I'm afraid I shall be terribly suspicious of the 'golden rule' all the rest of my life."

"Dear me," said little Prue, with a quivering lip, "I didn't mean to be so bad. Can't any one fix on a moral?"

"Yes, Moppet," said Dick, " I'll do it. If you're angry with any one, instead of killing him, it's better to buy him a jack-knife, and then he'll live, and send you a 'lovely book' at Christmas."

Prue looked troubled.

"Never mind, darling," whispered Bernard, "it's a dear little story, and I'm sure I think more of the 'golden rule' than I ever did in my life."

"Come, children, tea is all ready," cried a pleasant voice from the dining-room; and little Prue, greatly comforted, rode in triumphantly upon Bernard's shoulder.

IV. PRINCESS PEARLYPAT;
OR, REMEMBER THE SABBATH DAY TO KEEP IT HOLY.

L