LXV.
NOT FIT TO KNOW.
“Frances.”
Susan and Mamie and Lillian and Marjorie were always close friends. They usually went together and played together and it was very unusual to see one of them without the others. At school they always made it a rule to lunch together and play together. One day at recess they were standing in a little group all by themselves when Frances joined them.
“What are you talking about, girls?” asked Frances in cheerful tones.
“I’m telling them a secret,” said Susie, “and we will let you know, too, Frances, if you’ll promise not to tell any one.”
“I’ll promise you not to tell anybody but my mother,” said Frances, “for I have made it a rule to tell my mother everything.”
“No; you can’t even tell your mother,” answered Susie; “you must not tell any one in the world.”
“Well, then, I refuse to hear it,” said Frances, as she walked away, “for what I can’t tell my mother is not fit for me to know.”
Don’t you think Frances was right, girls? I think so. As soon as little boys and girls begin to listen to words and stories which they would be ashamed to repeat to their mothers they are on the road to temptation, and nobody can tell how soon they will reach the end, which is always disgrace and death.
I wish all the boys and girls who will read this book would make the reply of Frances their motto: “What I cannot tell my mother is not fit to know.” Stick to this rule through thick and thin, and you will avoid many of the snares and pitfalls by which many of your companions and playmates sink into shame and sin. Don’t read a note that you would be afraid to have your mother read. Don’t look at a picture that you would be ashamed to have your mother see. Don’t speak any word, and don’t allow any to be spoken to you, that you would not like to have your mother hear. A girl’s best friend is her mother. A boy’s best friend is his mother. And, boys and girls, be very sure that if a thing isn’t fit for your mothers to know it isn’t fit for you to know.