Bolax, Imp or Angel—Which?

Then one of the little girls placed a crown of Lilies of the Valley on the little queen's head, and the other children laid their flowers at her feet.

This was a total surprise to Amy, for the children had been told not to let her know they were learning the song; her sweet face was a study while she received the homage of her little friends, but she was equal to the occasion, and rising from her seat made a profound bow and said, "Thank you! Oh! I thank you so much." After this came a violin solo by Adolph Lane, which was extremely well rendered. Edith Scot and her brother danced the "Sailors' Hornpipe" dressed in fancy costume.

Bolax and his chum, Robbie Thornton, spoke Whitcomb Riley's "When the World Busts Through." Suggested by an earthquake.

The little fellows recited this with scared faces and such comical gravity as to keep every one laughing. Amy came next with "Songs of Seven," by Jean Ingelow.

This was beautifully rendered and such a very appropriate selection for a seventh birthday. The entertainment ended, every one prepared to go home, one and all expressing their delight and declaring it was the most enjoyable birthday party they had ever witnessed.

CHAPTER IV.

Pleasant Controversy.

Mr. Allen sat on the porch smoking, when Mr. Steck, the Lutheran minister, opened the gate and walked in. Mr. Allen greeted him cordially and invited him to be seated.

The day was warm, but there was always a breeze on the corner of that porch, where the odor of the honeysuckle and climbing roses, which gave shade, made it a most inviting spot to rest.

"Have a segar, Mr. Steck." "Thank you, Mr. Allen, I am glad to see you at home on a week day, it is so seldom you take a holiday." "Holidays are not for men with a family to support; you may thank your stars, you are a bachelor." "That sounds as though you think I have a great share of leisure time. Well, I acknowledge my duties in this village are not very onerous, still I find enough to do. By the way, I have just been to see Miss Ogden. It is wonderful how the poor girl clings to life. As I left her house, I met Amy and Bolax, the dear children asked so kindly after the dying girl, but Bo—now don't be offended Mr. Allen, I have always taken a great interest in that boy having known him from a baby; he is wonderfully bright, makes such witty remarks," "and does such tormenting mischief at times," interrupted Mr. Allen. "Well," continued Mr. Steck, "When I told the children how ill Miss Ogden was, Bo gave me this medal of St. Benedict, telling me to put it on the poor girl's neck, and she would be sure to get well. I asked who told him that? Then Amy looked at me so earnestly and said: 'Oh, Saint Benedict can cure anybody. You know he was a great doctor when he was on earth, and he was so good our Lord gave him power to cure people who wear his medal.' 'Yes, and he cured Nannie,' said Bo, 'see I have the medal on her yet;' and lifting a daisy chain he showed me the medal on the goat's neck." "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mr. Allen, "that's so like Bolax, he is a mixture of imp and angel."

"Now my friend," continued Mr. Steck, "allow me to ask you, who have been brought up an Episcopalian, if you approve of such superstitions? I did not suppose that educated Romanists entered into ridiculous practices of this sort; putting faith in—well, I might as well say it: Idols!" "—Hold on, Mr. Steck, I am not versed in the theology of the Catholic Church, and do not try to account for a great many little customs such as my little ones spoke about, but I'll venture to assert they do not injure the souls or bodies of those who believe in them. My wife never bothers me about her religion, never enters into controversy, although I have a notion, that on the sly, she is praying me into it."

"And from what you say," remarked Mr. Steck, "I think her prayers are being heard. I don't object to the Catholic religion; I think many of its doctrines are good and sound, but it would be more edifying to the general run of Christians, if there were not so many superstitious practices allowed." "Come, now Mr. Steck do not condemn what you do not understand. I travel a great deal as you know, and often attend churches of different denominations; but whenever I try to get an explanation of their various beliefs, one and all answer me somewhat in this manner: 'Well, I don't believe thus and so;' 'I don't approve of this or that doctrine,' etc. I never can get any of them to say right out what they do believe. One point only do they all agree upon and that is, condemnation of the Roman Catholic Church." Opening a memorandum book, Mr. Allen took out a paper saying, "here is a hymn which I heard sung in a Campbellite Sunday School:

"Very poor verse, but I copied it from one of the Hymn Books. Now, what can be gained by teaching children such absurdities? If you were intimately acquainted with Catholic little ones, you would find they bring Jesus into their daily lives more than do those who are taught to ridicule them."

"Oh," said Mr. Steck, "I admit there are many ignorant preachers out West, who think they honor God by abusing the Catholic religion, but you never hear me or Mr. Patton make use of an uncharitable word in connection with any one religion."

"Mr. Steck let me tell you that even the children of illiterate parents, who are practical Catholics, you will find able to answer questions about their religion, and keep Jesus in their thoughts. Just to give you an example: yesterday my wife went over to Miss Scrips and found her tying up a rosebush in the garden, the cook's little boy, about seven years old, held the branch for her, while doing this, he uttered a cry of pain, tears came into his eyes, but checking himself, he said: "Oh, if one thorn hurts so much how dreadful He must have suffered with His head all covered with thorns. Poor Jesus!"

"Indeed," said Mr. Steck, "that was extraordinary. He must be an exceptional boy. Such a child will die young, or be a great preacher some day." "Well, I just tell this one instance," replied Mr. Allen, "to let you see the impression made on the heart of Catholic children by constantly keeping before them incidents in the life of Christ.

"Papa! Papa!" was heard in the distance. Mr. Allen got up saying: "That sounds like Bolax." Going to the gate he saw a crowd of youngsters following Bo, who was vainly trying to catch the goat. Nan was tearing down the road with Roy, Buz and Don his pet dogs, in full chase after her. It was too funny to see Nan turn on the dogs, stand on hind legs and with a loud Ma-a-a! start off again.

"I wish I were a few years younger," said Mr. Steck, "I'd join in the chase." Mr. Allen tried to head Nan off, Bo kept yelling—"Papa make the dogs stop barking, it frightens poor Nan." In going to the rescue, Mr. Allen left the garden gate open, Nannie rushed in tearing over the flower beds, to the great dismay of the onlookers, especially Hetty who had come out to see what the row was about, grumbling to herself: "If yo' flower beds is spiled, youse got yu' own self to blame, Mr. Allen, it ain't no sense in havin' so many live creters round de place no how."

Pat came on the scene laughing in his good-natured way and catching the goat led her off to the stable.

"Don't whip poor Nannie," cried Bolax, "it wasn't her fault, it was the dogs that made her run through the flowers, but, oh—Pat don't whip them neither; it was the boys who sicked them on Nan." "I'll not bate any of them shure," said Pat, "Master Bo, it's yourself is the tender-hearted spalpeen after all." Mr. Steck patted the boy, who looked ready to cry and consoled him by promising him a ride on horse-back. "Good-bye, my little man. Good-bye Mr. Steck," said Mr. Allen, "come again whenever you want to see a circus."

Papa did not say much about the wreck of his flower beds, seeing the distress of his little boy. Hetty took him into the kitchen to comfort him and put on a clean blouse. Mamma, Aunt Lucy and Amy had been out all the afternoon, so Bolax tried to amuse himself. Looking out of the window, he saw Buz, Roy and Don hunting something in the strawberry patch. Off he started to see what they were after. To his surprise, all three dogs were eating the nice big strawberries; he chased them out, and going through the fence went into the woods followed by the three rascals. Bo gathered all sorts of "plunder," as Hetty called his treasures.

When Aunt Lucy came home, he called to her saying he had such a beautiful horrible bug to show her. "I know you'll like him, he's a tremendous big fellow, I put him in your soap dish to save him for you." On opening the soap dish, however, the "beautiful horrible bug" was nowhere to be seen, although Aunt Lucy looked carefully in every corner and crevice for she did not fancy sleeping in a room with such company.

To pacify Bolax for the loss of his treasure Aunt Lucy told him about a stag-beetle her uncle had as a pet. "Uncle would put a drop of brandy and water in a spoon, and Mr. Beetle would sip a little, and then dance about, sometimes he would get quite frolicsome, and behave in such a funny way, staggering round, going one-sided, try to fly and at last give it up and go into a sound sleep. When he awoke he would make a buzzing noise, stretch out a leg or two, then fly as well as ever. Uncle kept him six months; I don't know how he happened to die, but one morning he was stiff—we were all so sorry."

Bolax listened, seeming quite interested, but when his aunt stopped speaking he began to whine: "But I want my beautiful horrible bug, I just do want him. Papa go upstairs and look for him, I had such trouble catching him in the woods. He has a red saddle under his black wings, and big horns, and stiff legs and red eyes. Please find him, Papa; I want to make a pet of him."

Here Mamma came up on the porch, and hearing about her boy going into the woods alone, was inclined to scold, as she had strictly forbidden the children to venture into lonely places without some one to watch over them. Bolax, then said, Adolph Layne had been with him. "Well," said Mamma, "I'm glad to know that—no doubt, we will find your 'beautiful horrible bug' in the morning. It cannot get away as the windows are all screened. He may have the room to himself and Aunt Lucy can sleep in the spare room."

Amy spied a Lady bug on the climbing rosebush, she caught it and gave it to her little brother to comfort him for his loss. Papa told the children never to harm a Lady bug because they are very useful insects. "In fact," said he, "I would like to have them on all my vines and bushes, for they always feed on the plant lice, which infest our choicest flowers. Indeed, I never could think of a Lady bug as a mere insect." "Oh!" said Amy, "why can't we call her Lady bird. She has strong little wings, and really seems like a tiny bird." "Well," continued Papa, "when I was very small, I often caught the dear little things, and firmly believed they understood when I said: 'Lady bug fly away home.' When one flew from my hand, I followed, watched her going home and found where she laid her eggs. She always selects a rosebush or honeysuckle or a hop vine, because they are more likely than others to have plant lice upon them. Lady bug's eggs are a bright yellow, small, flat and oval; when they are hatched out, the babies find their food all ready for them.

"At first, when just out of the egg, is the time the young ones eat millions of plant lice; after a few weeks good feeding, they get fat, and round, and casting off their first skin appear in their shining beauty coats." "Thank you, Papa, dear," said Amy, I always did love 'Lady birds,' but now I shall love them more than ever." "Papa, may I ask you, do you know anything about snakes?"

"Snakes!" cried Mamma and Aunt Lucy. "Yes, Mamma dear, the poor things everybody hates them, and no one says a good word about them."

"Ow! ow! help! for de Lord's sake!" It was Hetty's voice coming from the cellar. All rushed to the rescue, thinking the poor soul might have fallen. On opening the cellar door, Hetty was seen tumbling up the stairs, her eyes starting out of her head, scarcely able to articulate. "Oh, Miss Allen, de debble is arter me. He down dere, I done seed him plain. Oh! Oh! I'm done frustrated to death!" All tried to pacify the frightened creature, but it was no use. "I'se done gone dis time. My heart's pumpin' out of me!" Mr. Allen went to see what could have given Hetty such a shock, when he too, gave a very undignified yell, as he caught sight of a big black snake. Bolax ran to him, calling out, "Why Papa, what is the matter, what made you screech?" "Don't come down here," called Mr. Allen, "Lucy bring the poker." "Oh, what on earth is it, brother? A snake! I don't wonder Hetty is scared to death."

"Oh, Papa, dear," called Bolax. "Don't kill him. Tommy Hoden gave him to me to put in the cellar to catch mice. I thought Hetty would be glad, but she is such a scare cat."

Mrs. Allen told her sister to give Hetty some valerniate of ammonia to quiet her nerves, and let her rest for the evening; we will attend to dinner; stay with her until she is soothed.

"Bolax, come upstairs. What are we to do with you? Positively you must stop handling reptiles and insects; you will be poisoned some day."

The little fellow listened to all his mother had to say, but seemed surprised that every one found fault when he expected to be praised. "Ma, dear," said he, "I didn't mean to frighten anyone. I'm not afraid of snakes, and Tommy Hoden is a good boy now, since you have him in Catechism class, and he wanted that snake for himself, but he spared it just to please Hetty."

"Well, dear, I believe you would not willingly give pain to Hetty, but you are nearly six years old and it is time you should have some thought about you, say your prayers and go to bed." Bo's prayer:

Dear Jesus, Bless Hetty and don't let her be such a scare cat. Holy Mother of Jesus, bless me and don't let me be doing wrong things when I mean to do right things; help all the poor and the sick, and all the people in the world and don't let anyone be cruel to animals. Bless every one in the whole world, Amen. Oh, I forgot, bless Mamma and Papa and Sister and Auntie, but you know I always have them in my heart. Amen.

CHAPTER V.

The Picnic.

The feast of the Assumption. What a glorious day! Clear and bright, more like June than August.

Mrs. Allen and Amy went to early Mass. After breakfast Aunt Lucy proposed taking Bolax to high Mass, as the music was to be unusually fine. St. James' choir from the city volunteered their services. Mr. Van Horn sent out a fine organ to replace the squeaky, little melodeon, for it was the first anniversary of the dedication of the little country church, and all wanted to have an especially fine service.

Bo promised to be "better than good" while in Church. There was a very large congregation, the country people coming for miles around to hear the music and assist at the grand high Mass.

When Aunt Lucy and her charge entered the Church every seat seemed to be taken. Mrs. Allen's pew was filled with strangers, so dear old Madame Harte beckoned her to come into her pew.

From the beginning of the service, Bo was in an ecstasy of delight, except for an occasional tapping of his feet when the music was very inspiriting, he sat motionless.

Not to impose on the child's patience too long, Madame Harte offered to take him out during the sermon. "Oh, dear Hartie, is it all over?" said Bo. "No pet, but the priest is going to give a sermon, and you would be so tired." "No, I wouldn't, what is a sermon?" said Bo. "Oh, a very long talk, dear; come out with me," whispered Madame, "and I will bring you back when the music begins again."

"Will the priest tell stories?" asked Bo, when he got outside. "I like long talks when the talk is stories."

"Come dear, let us sit under that tree over there and I will tell you a true story." "Oh, thank you, Hartie dear."

"Once long ago, our dear Lord died and—" "Rose again and went up into Heaven," said Bo all in one breath. "Mamma tells me that every day at my prayers."

"Well," continued Mrs. Harte, "after Jesus went up to Heaven His holy Mother was very lonely, so she prayed and prayed to Jesus to take her up to Heaven, that she might be with Him forever. Well, one beautiful day, just like this, Jesus called a company of angels and sent them down to the earth to bring His blessed Mother up to Him."

"Did the Angels march out of Heaven like soldiers?" asked Bo.

"Yes, dear; they put on their brightest robes, and beautiful clouds of crimson and gold surrounded them, and then they carried the holy Mother up, up, until they came to the golden throne where Jesus sat, ready to welcome her; He placed her beside Him and there she remains happy forever."

When the organ began the grand music of the Credo, Bo made a dash for the door, and could scarcely be persuaded to enter the Church quietly. After he was seated, he listened intently and was apparently very much interested in the Altar boys.

At length came the "Agnus Dei," which ends, as all have heard, with "Dona nobis pacem." The music score called for a repetition of the word "Pacem," somewhat in this manner, "Dona Pacem, Pacem," the basso calling out "Pacem! Pacem!"

With startling suddenness, Bo exclaimed: "Why are they singing about a Possum?"

Aunt Lucy caught him by the hand and hurried him to the side door, which was fortunately near; those who were within hearing, with difficulty controlled their laughter. "Are you crying, Aunty?" said the funny youngster, as he saw the flushed face of his aunt. "No, Bo, dear; I came out because you spoke so loud." "Oh, I forgot; please forgive me; let me go in again; I'll be so good, but Aunty dear, I didn't know they ever let possums into Church." Mass was not over, and as it was a holy day of obligation, Aunt Lucy felt unwilling to leave until the last Gospel. On reflection, however, she thought it best not to give further distraction by returning to her seat.

On her way home, she stopped to see a child, who belonged to the Catechism class, hoping to find him able to join the rest of the children, who were going to have their annual picnic. The little fellow had hurt his foot, but his mother said he was now able to walk nicely.

After Mass, Miss Devine and Madame Harte drove over to Allen's to see about the proposed outing. There they met the ladies Keating, all discussed Bo's latest exploit and laughed heartily about the Possum.

"Our class has increased so largely this year, I fear we cannot have room for all the children on my grounds," observed Mrs. Allen. "Suppose we make it a straw ride," said Miss Keating. "We can give a substantial lunch, with ice cream and cake for dessert, and a bag of candy to take home." "Oh, grand! grand!" said Amy, clapping her hands, "and Ma, dear, I have two children I want to invite; they don't come to the class because they live so far away; I mean little Johnny Burke, who is lame, and Dotty, the blind child. I love them because they are afflicted."

"My darling, you shall invite the poor little ones, and I am glad to see you have such a compassionate heart." "Suppose we hire Johnson's big hay wagon," said Miss Keating, "it will hold all the children and two grown folks to look after them."

"That will be just the thing," said Miss Devine, "my contribution shall be the ice cream and cake." "and mine," said Madame Harte, "the candy." "I will help with the substantials and let the little things have more than enough for once in their lives," this from Miss Keating, whose whole time seemed to be taken up with helping the poor. "We can drive to Silver Lake woods," she proposed, "that is just six miles away and will not be too long a ride." After making all arrangements, the ladies took leave of Mrs. Allen, promising to be on hand on Thursday, August 20th.

The next day was Sunday. At Catechism class Mrs. Allen told the children of the proposed ride and picnic, which should take place on the next Thursday; all expressed their delight and you may be sure, thought of nothing else during the intervening days.

The next morning Bolax was playing with his dogs on the lawn when Tom Hoden made his appearance; he stood outside the gate, looking wistfully at Bo. Mrs. Allen called him in and gave him some breakfast. "Did your father tell you of my visit?" said the lady. Tom answered in his surly manner: "Yes, the old man said you was to the house, but I don't want to go to Sunday School, the fellows would call me 'rags,' and I ain't got no shoes." "That can be easily remedied," said Mrs. Allen, "come here tomorrow and see what I will have for you."

The poor boy's face brightened up, and making an awkward attempt to thank the lady, he ran out of the gate.

When Tom presented himself next day, Pat was called upon to give him a bath and dress him in a good suit of clothes. "Here he is, ma'am," said Pat, "and ye'd hardly believe it's the same boy."

Tom held up his head and seemed quite happy; so true it is, that be one ever so poor, a clean, respectable appearance makes one feel at ease with himself and on better terms with his fellows. "Now Tom, I expect you to be here on next Thursday morning at nine o'clock." Tom promised to come and thanked Mrs. Allen.

The appointed day arrived. Long before the wagon came, the children flocked into the garden. Pat was on the alert lest his flower beds should suffer.

Miss Keating and Mrs. Allen made all be seated, and to while away the time sang:

The children clapped for this; then Aunt Lucy played on the piano which could be heard distinctly out on the lawn.

Amy and Aunt Lucy sang:

Mary Dowry called Amy's attention to a charming little girl about six years old, who smiled through the railing and looked wistfully at the children. She was dressed in a pink frock, which set off her soft dark eyes.

Amy went towards her and she said, "Good morning," so sweetly. "I believe she wants to come with us," said Amy. "Oh, don't let her," cried Nellie Day, "she's only a Dago."

"Well, I'll give her some candy," said Bolax, "I like nice Dagos," and going to his mother, he told about the strange child. Mrs. Allen gave him a large bag of candy which he handed to the little girl.

On receiving it she said, "gracias, gracias." What is she saying "grassy ice for?" said Nellie Day, "perhaps she wants ice cream." "No" said Aunt Lucy "she is saying 'Thank you' in Italian. What pretty manners she has. I think some of our American children might profit by her sweet ways."

"I'm sure she has a nice mother," said Amy. "Let us take her with us." "I would, willingly dear," said Aunt Lucy, "but her people would think her lost, and we do not know where to send them word."

Great was the jubilation of the children, and not a little surprise among the ladies when the wagon appeared festooned with bunting, the driver carrying a flag, and the horses' heads decked in like manner. It was so kind of Mr. Johnson to give the decorations. Miss Keating and Aunt Lucy seated themselves and the children in the straw; then as the old song says:

Old and young joined in the fun and made the welkin ring with their mirth. Hetty and Pat put the lunch baskets and ice cream into the dayton, and with Miss Devine, Madame Harte and Mrs. Allen in the large carry-all followed the procession to Silver Lake woods.

The road strolled leisurely out of the village and then, abruptly left it behind, and curved about a hillside. Silver Lake woods sat on a hill slope studded with pine trees; at the foot of the hill could be seen a most beautiful piece of water glistening in the sunshine. This was the lake. Life of the forest seemed to enter into the veins of the children and they ran and capered like wild deer. The horses were unharnessed so that they might rest.

Pat and Mr. Johnson's man put up swings and hammocks. The Misses Keating and Aunt Lucy set the children to play games; Hare and Hounds suited the boys and they raced to hearts' content. The Lake was guarded by Miss Devine's coachman, John, so that no venturesome lad would put himself in danger. The girls were easily made happy with quiet games, swings and hammocks.

To the children, of course, the lunch was the principal feature, so the ladies spread an immense white cloth on the grass, around which all sat, and were served to as many chicken and ham sandwiches as they could eat. Tin cups of delicious milk and lots of sweet buns followed. Then came the ice cream and cake; by the time this was disposed of, it became evident the children could hold no more, so Madame Harte's candy was reserved for the homeward trip.

The men were not forgotten, and were well supplied with a substantial dinner of cold roast beef, pickles, bread and butter, a dozen of lemons and a pound of sugar to make lemonade. For, as Hetty, said, "dem dere fellows ain't goin' to care for soft vittles; dey wants sumpin' dat will keep dem from gettin' hollow inside." After the feast Pat and the other men gathered everything up, and packed all into the dayton, then Pat started for home.

The ladies were rather fatigued after their exertions in amusing and waiting on the children, so they rested in the hammocks awhile. As for the little ones, nothing seemed to tire them, they tore around as fresh and lively as if the day were just beginning. At four o'clock Mrs. Allen rang a bell to summon all to prepare for home. When the wagon came all piled in, laughing and shouting in their glee. Amy was most attentive to her little proteges, waiting on them and attending to all their wants. Little Dotty kept saying: "Dear Miss Amy, I love you; I thank you, and I'll always pray for you for giving me such a happy, happy day."

Bolax took little lame Johnny under his care, when the children were being placed in the wagon, he called out to the driver, "be sure to seat Johnny on a soft bunch of hay, because his leg is not strong." "Why did you say that?" said Nellie Day. "You ought to have said, because his is lame." "No, I just wouldn't say that," said Bo, "it might hurt Johnny's heart; my Mamma says we must never let lame people know we see their lameness, and never look at crooked-backed children, because it makes then feel worse."

When the wagon was ready to start, the driver offered to see all the children safely to their homes; he said most of them lived near the quarry, and he would take the pike road, which passed within a few minutes' walk of it. Johnny and little Dotty he promised to deliver into the hands of their mothers.

The ladies Keating had ordered their carriage to call for them, and Miss Devine's "carry-all" held the rest of the party, including Bo and Amy.

This ended one happy day filled with love and kindness, and sweet charity towards God's poor little ones.

CATECHISM CLASS.

On the Sunday after the picnic, the Catechism class met. All the pupils were eager to show their appreciation of the happy day their kind teachers had given them.

The subject of instruction was the Ten Commandments. Mrs. Allen made a few remarks in simple, plain words, showing the advantages of truth over falsehood; dwelling particularly on the Seventh and Eighth Commandments, saying how happy one felt when his conscience told him, he was entirely free from the mean habit of lying and taking little things which were the property of others.

After class was dismissed, Tom lingered on the piazza. Mrs. Allen went to him, and asked him if he wanted to speak to her. "Yes, ma'am;" said the boy, "I once took a wheelbarrow out of your yard; I am very sorry; if you will trust me, I'll work out the price of it on your place. I could help Pat if he'd let me. I'm strong; I'm twelve now." Mrs. Allen was touched with the evident sincerity of the boy, and thanked God that the good seed was already bearing fruit. Taking the boy's hand, she told him our Lord would certainly forgive and bless him since he bravely acknowledged his fault. "You may come tomorrow and I will give you work and keep you here until I can get you a permanent situation." Tom thanked his kind benefactress, promising to return the next day.

As he was passing out the gate Bo hailed him. "You're a good boy now Tom, so I can walk with you a little way; I am going to give you a pair of my darling white rats. They're such cute little things; they eat corn out of my mouth and run all over me." "Thank you, Bo, but I'd better don't take 'em, our place is full of black rats and they'd be sure to eat up the white ones." As Tom was speaking, he threw a stone at a bird that was hopping along the path. "Stop that!" said Bo, "you're getting bad again; that's a robin. Robins are blessed birds, because when our Lord was nailed on the Cross, a robin flew near and tried to pull the thorns out of His dear head, but robin was not strong, so he only could pull one thorn out, and the blood of poor Jesus got on the bird's feathers so that is why robin's breast is red." "Is that really so, who told you?" "My dear Mamma told me, and she knows everything in the world, so it is true Tom, and if you want my Mamma to love you, you must be kind to animals and kind to birds especially to robins."

"Well, little fellow, I will try for your sake. You see I never knowed about nothing, so I done bad acts. Now since I go to Catechism class I'll try to do good acts."

After leaving Tom, Bolax loitered on the way home, amusing himself with his dogs; when he went into the house, Hetty called him. "Where you done been such a long time, boy?" "Oh, I was only down the hill," replied Bo. "Well, here's me and sister a working while you'se playin'; just you come, let me wash you' hands and den you kin help us make dese here cookies." Amy was already busy rolling out dough and cutting cakes, so Bo was delighted to help. "Hetty, dear," said he, "if I roll this dough into cannon balls will they bake nice?" "Cannon balls in my oven," said Hetty, "suppose they go on to bust, what den?" "Oh, they won't bust, Hetty dear." So Hetty put the cannon balls to bake with the pan full of cookies and when they were done, she spread a nice white cloth on a little table near the window in the kitchen, bringing out the crabapple jelly, which the children always considered a treat. Then she put a bouquet in the center of the table and a pitcher of creamy milk. This with the cookies and some peaches made a delightful lunch. Amy understood why Hetty was particular to set the table so nicely and kept dancing 'round and talking nonsense.

Mamma and Aunt Lucy had gone out for the day and she wanted to keep Bo from noticing their absence. After enjoying the feast and feeding their pets, their friend, Adele, came and took them out in her pretty pony cart. It was five in the afternoon when the children returned. As soon as Bolax entered the house, he began his usual refrain: "Ma, dear." As he received no answer, he suddenly remembered he had not seen his mother all day. "Why Hetty," said he, "is Mamma not at home?" "No, honey," said Hetty, "she's been in town; she'll be home soon now, and she g'wan to give you a nice present when I tell her what a good boy you done been. Come now eat yon' supper, so you' Ma will find you in bed when she comes home."

Bo and Amy sat at the little table where they had had lunch. Hetty gave them a nice supper and allowed them each to have a doggie beside them, with a plate to eat from.

After supper they went upstairs to prepare for bed. Buz and Roy followed. Amy took Bo into the Oratory to say night prayer. Bo began very piously "Our Father," but just here Buz bit his foot. "Stop that, Buz, don't you see I'm saying my prayers. Our Father, who art in Heaven. Buz won't behave." Bo called out laughing, at the same time. "Hetty," said Amy, "you had better come up here, Bo's just giggling instead of saying his prayers." "I comin' up; you dogs git out of dis here Oritey; it ain't no place for laughin'. Now you better don't be a mockin' of de Lord, Bo. I tell you somethin' might come arter you some night." But Bo couldn't stop, he was so full of merriment. "Well, I was saying my prayers with a humble and contrite heart when Roy came and thumped me in the back." "Yes," replied Amy, "and you just let him; you had better stop your nonsense." Hetty tried all her arts to get Bo to bed, at last she said: "Well, you always wasn't a religion child, anyway. I remember one time when you was three years old, you' mother was a dressin' you up in a lovely coat and hat with white plume, she was buttoning of the coat and you kept wigglin', then she told you to try to be a good boy, else you' angel wouldn't love you. You said: 'Where is my angel.' 'Right behind you,' says you' Ma; then you pushed up against the wall and rubbed you back so hard. I was settin' dere and tried to make you stop. Your Ma, she say: 'What you doin' you bad boy,' and you answer 'Squashing the angel!' You' Ma couldn't help smilin' and I jest fall down on de floor with laughin,' We was so taken by surprise."

"Well, Hetty," said Amy, "that's the reason Bolax is bad, because people laugh at him." "Oh, I wouldn't say that now," said Bo, "I'm near six, and I do love my angel; the laughing is all gone now; I can say my prayers." So Bo said his prayers respectfully and went to bed.

A little after midnight, he ran into his mother's room. "Oh, Mamma, dear, did you hear it? Oh, it is awful, and I did say my prayers."

Out in the entry Hetty was heard saying: "For de Lord sake! Oh, Miss Allen, dere it is again."

Mrs. Allen and the whole household heard a most unearthly shriek, but immediately remembered it was the new fire alarm. After quieting the little boy and making Hetty understand what it was, Mrs. Allen looked out of the window, and saw that a large house on the top of a high hill was ablaze; as it was only a frame building it was soon destroyed, for the firemen could not reach it.

After the disturbance was over and all were going back to bed, Bo put his arm around his mother's neck, and said: "I guess I had better stay with you Mamma, dear; you might get afraid again."

CHAPTER VI.

A Talk About Our Boys.

Mrs. Carpenter, who was President of the Christian Mothers' Society, delivered a most entertaining lecture on "Our Boys." A subject in which every mother is always deeply interested.

Our Boys.

It is an acknowledged fact that many a boy who has had the advantage of good training at home and at school, fails to avail himself of his opportunities and grows up careless in dress and language, and, while not absolutely vicious yet, looking leniently upon much that his parents and friends regard as reprehensible.

Among the various causes that lead to such physical, mental and moral laxity, none is more potent than companionship with dirty, idle or immoral boys. Many a lad spends hours with comrades whom he despises, at first, then excuses, and finally associates with on terms of close intimacy.

We all desire that our sons should keep good company, and we cannot and should not deprive them of outdoor companionship with boys of their own age. What we most desire is that they themselves should choose their comrades among honest, studious, manly boys, and avoid the society of the mean, idle and vicious; yet at the same time they should treat all with the courtesy due from one human being to another.

We can scarcely understand the character of our boy's companions by his own description of them; since like the rest of humanity our boys regard their favorites with eyes that see only their good qualities, forgetting the coarse language, the vulgar jest, the cruel trick, the truant playing: "He is such a jolly fellow, plays such a good game."

Although we may notice occasionally that our boy is coarse in speech or manifests an unusual spirit of rebellion at school regulations still we do not often associate these effects with "such a good fellow always ready for fun." But if we occasionally saw this "good fellow" then indeed the cause would not be far to seek. Our boy himself would feel ashamed of his acquaintance, if he saw him in the home circle; he would suddenly discover that his friend was not ashamed that his hands were dirty, that he "talked to mother" with his hat on.

These boys of ours are apt to be very chivalrous about "mother," and then they learn not to care about companions of whom they are ashamed.

I once heard a mother say to her son, "Harry, I wonder at you to be seen on the street with that Murray boy. Why he is dressed like a beggar."

Now, I too, had seen Harry and the "Murray boy," and while the boy's clothes were old, they were whole and clean too, and I knew him to be an upright manly lad, more so indeed than Harry was ever likely to be with such training.

Provided a boy is truthful, clean and careful in his language we should not let the pecuniary circumstances of his family enter into consideration; for our desire is to build up a noble manhood in our boys, and how despicable is that man who esteems his friends according to the length of their purses. There is only one way of judging our boy's companions, and that is by knowing them ourselves. This we can do by encouraging him to invite his friends to visit him not always formally, but now and then, as it may happen. We can pleasantly welcome them, but let us be careful not to entertain them too much, for there is nothing a boy hates more than to have a "fuss" made over him.

An occasional taffy pulling is not an expensive luxury and a little hot water removes all traces from the kitchen, to which it should be limited. Some time when it is convenient, let us tell our boy to invite some of his friends to spend the evening, and use the best china and the preserves and cake he likes the best.

Do not say, "It is only those boys." Let him feel that his guests are well treated, and he will be the more anxious to have friends worthy of the treatment they receive.

I think that the clownish behavior of boys arises from the only-a-boy treatment they experience; feeling slighted they instinctively resent it, by being as disagreeable as possible.

Nor is it necessary that one's house should be turned into a barn for boys to carouse in. On the contrary, our boy should always tell mother when he wishes to invite a friend, or, if he knows that his friends are coming; not as a rigid rule, but as a courtesy due a lady in her own house; no matter whether the home consists of one room or twenty, the mother is always the hostess, and she can train her son into a well-bred man, or allow him, even though well educated to grow up a boor.

Many men owe their success in life to their observance of the minor courtesies in which they were trained by a good mother. These habits and that of correct speech should be insisted upon by every refined mother. There is another, and to me the most important point in the education of our boys, I refer to their religious training. Merely sending them to a short service on Sunday, will never impress boys with the respect they should have for God, and if they are not taught love and reverence for their Heavenly Father, they will disregard the authority of their parents and in after life, defy the laws of the land.

Above all things see to your boy's religious training, see that he does not associate with people who make flippant remarks about sacred things. Give a little time in the evening to conversations with your children. As I speak, one little mother comes to my mind, she always made it a duty to sit with her boys and talk over the incidents of the day, she inquired what new ideas they had received, etc.; they laughed and chatted together, "Ma dear" had their entire confidence. This mother warned her sons against vice, showing them the horrid pitfalls of sin.

Judicious advice coming from a loving mother will keep boys from sins, the memory of which even when repented of, would haunt them forever.

After Mrs. Carpenter's address she introduced Mrs. Blondell, who gave her thoughts on the duties of mothers towards their children.

We often hear severe criticisms on the manners of young people of the present day and contrast them unfavorably with the manners of a generation ago. No doubt much of this criticism is warranted. The great mass of young people of today are lacking in deference, courtesy and respect. But the fathers and mothers who complain of these faults rarely question themselves if they are not wholly or in part to blame for the bad manners of their offspring.

I have known parents who sit at table or in the home circle, and in the presence of their children freely criticise or comment on the conduct of their neighbors or friends, permitting their children to tell all they have seen or heard in a neighbor's house.

Such parents must not be disappointed if those children grow up with the habit of gossiping and commenting just as freely on themselves. Now there is no one thing more destructive of good manners than the gossiping and tale-bearing habit.

If urbanity were persistently taught and practiced in the home there would not be so much to learn, and especially to unlearn with regard to intercourse with the world at large.

People would not then have two manners, one to use in public and one in private. There would be less self-consciousness and less affectation, for these arise from trying to do a thing of which we are uncertain, to assume a manner which we have imperfectly acquired.

Sometimes one meets with children who seem to lack the idea of truth, then it must be developed, and great exactness is demanded of the mother in every statement.

In describing a garden with five trees, say five, not five or six or several. Go to extremes in accuracy of detail, for the sake of giving the child the habit of telling only the exact truth.

If a promise has been made to such a child there is more than ordinary necessity for keeping it to the letter.

Some time ago I heard of a gentleman who promised his little son that he should be present at the building of a stone wall, while the boy was absent the wall was built. Coming home he was greatly disappointed. "Papa you promised I should see it." "So I did my child." And the father ordered the wall to be torn down and rebuilt. Being expostulated with regarding the expense and time which he could ill afford, he replied: "I had rather spend many times the amount than have my son feel that I would be knowingly false to my word, or that it mattered little if a promise was broken."

Though truth and faithfulness might have been taught and the wall remained, because all accidents of life are not under our control, no one can doubt the impression made upon that boy's mind.

A mother speaking to me about two of her children said that they tell her most wonderful stories of school life and play time. She hears them quietly and says: "That is very interesting; now, how much did you see and hear, and how much do you think you saw and heard." They stop, think, and sift out the actual from the imaginative, sometimes correcting each other. One day the little boy said: "I really thought, Mamma, it was all so, but I guess only this part was."

Much license is commonly allowed in order to tell a "good story," and many a child thus unconsciously gains a light conception of the value of truth, or they think their elders are privileged to use prevarications. I will give an illustration of this.

One day a group of ladies seated on the porch of a hotel were entertaining each other, among them was one notorious for her habit of exaggeration. We were all listening to one of this lady's "good stories" when her eldest little girl, a child of seven, came towards us, leading her small sister of four. Going up to her mother the child said in a most serious tone of voice: "Mamma, Elsie told a lie. You said it was naughty for little girls to tell lies; they must wait until they are big ladies; musn't they?"

The laugh that followed was joined in by the mother, who seemed quite unconscious of the reproof contained in the innocent speech of her little child.

Another point to which I would call your attention is showing partiality; sometimes severely reproving a fault in one child, which you would pass over in a favorite. Children feel this keenly while childhood lasts, and sometimes resent it when they grow up. I have here a little piece which I am sure will appeal to you.

The lady who wrote it evidently understands child-nature.

SOLILOQUY BY MISS ETHEL M. KELLY.