Silas X. Floyd's Short Stories for Colored People Both Old and Young / Entertaining, Uplifting, Interesting

AN IDLE BOY.

HUNTING AN EASY PLACE.

A nicely dressed young man, fifteen or sixteen years old, who had just finished his course in the high school, stepped into the office of the president of the Smutville Short Line Railroad.

“Well,” said the president, looking up from a mass of correspondence, “what can I do for you, sir?”

“I have just finished my course in the high school,” the young man began nervously, “and I thought that I might be able to secure a desirable position with your company. I came in to talk with you about it.”

The president asked the young man to have a seat.

“So,” said the president, “you want a desirable place, eh?”

“I do, sir,” said the young man, his heart beating high with hope.

“A place,” continued the president, “that would pay you something like a hundred dollars a month?”

“Something like that,” said the young man eagerly.

“I guess you would like it very well, too, if I could arrange it so that you could report for work at nine o’clock in the mornings and get off every afternoon at three or four o’clock. In other words, you want something easy. I can see by looking at you that you are not accustomed to hard work, and you could not fill a place that required you to report at six o’clock every morning and work until six every afternoon. Do I size you up correctly?”

“I think so, sir,” was the reply.

“In plain English then, you are looking for a soft place with the Short Line?”

“I am, sir.”

“Well, sir,” said the president, smiling for the first time, “I regret to inform you that there is only one such place on our railroad. I occupy that place myself, and I am not thinking of resigning.”

The young man’s face flushed.

The president continued: “I hope you will not think that it is going beyond what is right and proper for me to say, but I must tell you, young man, that you have started out in life with the wrong notion. No brave and strong young man is going about looking for an easy place. The brave and true man asks only for work. And the men who are occupying what you call the easy places in this life today are the men who have climbed into them by hard work. You are very much mistaken if you think that they have stepped into them from the high school. In fact, and you’ll find it out soon enough for yourself, there are really no soft or easy places in this world, and the man who goes about seeking such places stamps himself at once as a failure. Nobody will ever employ such a boy, and such a boy would be no good if he were employed. Let me, as a friend, advise you, young man, that the next place you go to to apply for a job, you ask for a chance to begin at the bottom. If it happens to be a railroad, ask to be given a chance to do anything—firing an engine, or cleaning cars, or laboring in the roundhouse. Be willing to begin low down in the business, and, if you’re made out of the right stuff, you will fight your way to the front. I started in with the Short Line as a day laborer myself, and if I had not done so I would not be at its head today. You advertise your own folly when you go and ask a sensible business man to put you at the start at the head of something. You must begin at the bottom and work up to the top. That is the rule everywhere, and you will not, I am sure, prove an exception to it.”

Let us hope, boys and girls, that this young man left the president’s office a wiser young man. Be sure not to follow his example. Don’t go around hunting for easy places.

AT THE ZOO.

Father and son, making the rounds of the Zoological gardens, paused before a cage containing a beautiful zebra.

“Oh, papa,” exclaimed the little boy, “see that donkey with a baseball sweater on!”

THE BIG BLACK BURGLAR.

One cold winter night, about midnight, my good wife called to me, saying:

“Dan! Dan! Get up! Get up!”

“What’s the matter?” I asked, with much alarm.

“Somebody’s in the dining-room; I heard them rattling the dishes just a minute ago.”

“I don’t hear anything, wife,” I said slowly.

“There’s somebody in these sure; I heard them myself. Do get up, Dan, before they take everything we’ve got.”

“I haven’t got a gun or any kind of weapon,” I said, still fighting for time.

“Well, get up and make a noise—walk around heavy—that’s frighten ’em and make ’em leave.”

I got up quietly, turned up the lamp, and looked about me with a sigh.

“Be quick,” said my wife.

“In a minute,” said I.

I tipped around to the wall on the side of the bed, and took down an old iron sword, which had done duty in the Mexican war, and which we had preserved as an heirloom.

“Hurry, hurry, Dan!” said my wife.

“All right,” I said with meekness.

I took the sword in one hand and the lamp in the other, and moved gently toward the door, which opened from our bed-room into the dining-room.

Pausing at the door, I said,——

“Hallo! Hallo, in there!”

The response came from my wife in bed.

“Open the door, Dan; open the door!”

Humbly I placed the lamp on the floor close by the door, caught a tight grip on my old war-piece, and then quickly shoved the door wide open. I intended, of course, after getting my bearings, to pick up the lamp and enter the dining-room on a tour of inspection. But, I assure you, there was no time for any such careful procedure. As soon as the door was opened and the light went streaming into the dining-room, something fell to the floor with a terrible thud, and quicker than it takes to tell it a great big black something, that looked to me like a buffalo or elephant, came bounding toward me. It was all so sudden that it surprised me, and I fell back trembling. Over went the lamp. It broke. Out came the oil. It took fire, and pretty soon the Cambrequin close by took fire. Down I snatched it. I reached for the first thing handy, and tried to smother the fire on the floor. In doing so, I stepped on a piece of glass and cut my foot. I burnt my hands terribly. My night shirt caught on fire. I ran to the bed and sat down in order to quench the blaze. This shows I still had some presence of mind left, although, as a matter of fact, this new extinguishing process scorched my legs awfully.

When all was quiet again, and I lit another lamp in order to take an inventory, my bedroom was a sight to behold! I found that in the struggle, my old army sword had been plunged amidship into the handsome mirror of our dresser, and had also made havoc of a reproduction of Millets’ Angelus. I discovered, also, that I had used my brand-new $50 overcoat to extinguish the fire, and that many of the handsome photos of our friends that stood on the mantle had been ruined. Altogether that one night’s experience cost me in the neighborhood of $100, not to mention my own personal injuries. It was a terrible night, I tell you. And far off in one corner, I saw, crouching in abject fear, the cause of all my troubles—the burly black burglar. And what do you think it was? It was nothing in the world but an old black Tom Cat, who had been a member of our family for many years!

PIN-MONEY MADE WITH THE NEEDLE.

Surely all young girls ought to know how to sew, and, not only sew, but all girls, I think, ought to love the purely feminine occupation of sewing. Since I am sure that many of the little girls who will read this book know how to sew, I am going to tell you about some little sewing that my wife did.

In 1913 the Ladies’ Home Journal, of Philadelphia, offered a prize of fifty dollars for the best way to make pin-money at home. You know, girls, that pin-money means pocket change or spending money. Many hundreds of women all over the world sent in suggestions to the Ladies’ Home Journal, each one hoping, I am sure, that her suggestion would win first prize. The following letter sent to my wife will tell you just how her suggestion was received:

“THE LADIES’ HOME JOURNAL,

“Mrs. Ella Floyd.”

The check came all right, girls, and my wife thought, as she said to me, that in winning the prize she had found a new way to make pin-money—that is, by telling others how to make pin-money at home.

Two hundred of the little articles were afterwards published from time to time in The Ladies’ Home Journal. The first article of the series appeared in the magazine for January, 1914, and my wife’s little story, which won first money, was at the head of the list. I am going to give here the whole of the little article, as published in The Ladies’ Home Journal. Of course, I am proud that she won the prize, and I hope other young ladies by-and-by may be the happy winners in such contests. And here is the article:

“When one’s pin-money is all gone but twenty-five cents the question comes as to the way to replenish it. One day when I found that I had only that amount I invested it as follows:

“The same day I made three baby caps as daintily as I could with these materials. The next day I sold them for twenty-five cents each, and then I had seventy-five cents. I then bought

“With these materials I made two baby caps, somewhat larger than the first ones, and trimmed more prettily. I found no trouble in selling them for $1.50. Straightway I invested the sum in lawn, lace, ribbon, etc., and as I had done so well with the caps I thought I would try my hand on little bonnets. I made two. A friend offered me $5 for them before they were finished. I accepted her offer and from that day to this I have never been troubled about pin-money.

“In four weeks’ time I made and sold twenty caps and eleven bonnets. The material for the caps cost me $2.50—twelve and a half cents for each. I sold them for twenty-five cents each. The material for the bonnets cost me $8.25, or seventy-five cents each. I sold them for $2.50 each. So I netted $21.75 for my work. The time which I devoted to this enterprise was that which ordinarily I would have used in calling or in running up bills for my husband to pay.

“Since the first four weeks of which I have spoken in detail I have made more expensive caps and bonnets for babies from six months to about three years old. The last one I made was of silk, beautifully trimmed, tucked and hemstitched. I sold it for $6, making a clear profit of $3. My husband says I’ll soon be in position to organize a trust.”

SELF-HELP.

If there is one idea for which more than any other the public school system should stand, it is the idea of self-help. Self-help is the best kind of help in the world, and one cannot learn this lesson too early in life. Even little children—three, four, five, six and eight years old—should be taught to work. Any little child is just as capable of doing the little things in work as he is in play. Why should not the little girl be taught to trim and wash the dress of her doll? Why should not the little children be taught to sweep up the dirt that they have scattered in play? Why should they not be taught to remove the dishes from the table, brush up the crumbs, set back the chairs, pick up chips, put the kindling wood in its place, bring the potatoes in from the garden, help to pick over the berries, and so forth? We might argue this question from now until doom’s day, and nobody, I think, would be able to give any good reason why children should not be taught to do the little things. Little children who are accustomed to having everything done for them by others are very soon beset with the rust of laziness and the canker of pride. Whereas, on the other hand, if children are taught to help themselves as soon as and as much as they are able, it will tend to improve their faculties, and will, at the same time, have a good influence upon their dispositions.

Childhood and youth are periods of life which materially influence all of its following periods, and whether the earlier years of one’s life be passed in idleness and indolence, or in well-directed industry, is a point on which greatly depends the worth or the worthlessness of human character. Where is the man who guides his affairs with discretion, or the woman that looketh well to the ways of her household, and yet was not in some measure imbued with industrious and provident habits in early life? On the other hand, who that has been treated until the age of fifteen or twenty like a helpless infant, and had every want supplied without being put to the necessity of either mental or bodily exertion, was ever good for anything afterwards?

The tendency of the age is by far too much in the direction of keeping our young boys solely for the purpose of loafing about the streets, or standing around the soda fountains on Sunday—and our young girls for parties, social entertainments, picnics, excursions and the like. So that by the time our boys and girls reach manhood and womanhood, they despise honest labor and are afraid to engage in real hard work. A young woman may know how to read and write—may understand grammar, history, and geography—may sing sweetly and play the piano well; but, whatever else she may know or may not know, if she does not know how to bake a hoe-cake of bread, make her little brother or sister a pair of pants or a plain dress, she is only half educated. In fact, every young woman should not only know how to perform every duty connected with a household, but every young woman should take some part in household work. No girl need tell me that she really loves her mother if she is willing to leave to her mother the work of washing the dishes, sweeping and scouring the floors, caring for the little children, doing the Monday washings, the house cleaning, and the like, while she devotes herself to pleasure, novel reading, social calling, butterfly parties, or playing rag-time music or singing rag-time songs.

The home and the public school are the two great agencies which are jointly engaged, or which should be jointly engaged, in teaching children to help themselves. If children are taught, as boys and girls, to think for themselves, speak for themselves and act for themselves, when they are old they will not forget the precious lesson, and will be less likely to become burdens on the community. The highest ambition of every American man and woman should be to be of some useful service to the world; and the first step will be taken toward this noble end when we have thoroughly learned the value and importance of the lesson of self-help. First, learn to help yourself, and then you will be able to see more clearly how to help others.

AIMING AT SOMETHING.

It is true, boys and girls, that it is what you hit, not what you aim at, that counts; but, nevertheless, it is a very important thing to take the right aim. The man who aims deliberately at the center of the target stands a better chance, a hundred to one, than the man who shoots without taking aim. So, in life, that boy or girl who has a purpose—who is aiming at something—will be more successful than those boys and girls who have no plans and who aim at nothing.

It is not sufficient, in the moral world, to aim at something, but every boy and girl should aim at the best things. The best and highest things in this world are the unseen things, the eternal things, the things that will last forever. Money is a good thing, but there is something higher than money. A high position in the business or professional or political world is a good thing, but there is something higher and better than office and position. Character is the grandest, the highest and best thing in this world. We include in this one little word “character” a world of things. Honor, uprightness, speaking the truth, dealing fairly with people, being willing to help the lowly and unfortunate, paying your debts promptly, these things, and many other things like them, are included in the one word “character.” And these are the things that are worth while in this world. These are the things that every boy and girl should aim at. It may not be possible for every boy and girl to become a millionaire; it may not be possible for every boy and girl to fill high offices in this world, or succeed in large business enterprises; but one thing is certain: every boy can be a good and true boy, every girl can be a noble and beautiful girl. Beautiful as to conduct, as to words and deeds, I mean. Good boys are the fathers of good men. Pure girls are the mothers of pure women. For, what, after all, is a boy? And what is a girl? What is a man? What is a woman? I will tell you. A boy is a little man—that’s all; and a man is a grown-up boy. A girl is a little woman—that’s all; and a woman is a grown-up girl.

It is important, then, that boys and girls should aim at the right things, the good, the true and noble things early in life. What boys and girls aim at, in nine cases out of ten, they will reach as men and women. And to help you in taking the proper aim early in life, I am going to give you something to aim at. Let every boy and girl make this little motto his rule of life:

“THE BLACK SHEEP” OF THE REYNOLDS FAMILY.

Will Reynolds was “the black sheep” of the Reynolds family. He knew it and felt it, because he had been frequently slighted and treated with contempt by his relatives. The only person who never lost faith in him was his mother. She always felt that there was something good in her wayward son, and often said that it would show itself some day. But Will’s mother died in the early stages of his backslidings. Will’s father married the second time, and the boy, finding it impossible to get along with his stepmother, left home. He went from bad to worse. Being arrested on the charge of drunkenness and vagrancy, he sent to his two brothers, who were prosperous brokers in D. St., asking them to pay his fine. Word came back that they would not interfere in his behalf. His brothers sent word that he had brought the trouble upon himself and he must get out of it the best way he could. Will was sent to the Work House for six months. And nobody’s hand was raised to help him.

While he was serving his time, his only sister, a young woman not yet grown, died. He knew nothing of it until about a month after it occurred, and then he read the account in an old newspaper which he had borrowed from a fellow prisoner. The news of his sister’s death deeply affected him. His sentence was shortened by one month on account of his good behaviour. The first thing he did, on coming to the city, was to visit the family lot in Myrtle Hill Cemetery. He carried with him some wild flowers and green leaves, being too poor to purchase a floral offering from the dealers in such things. With uncovered head, he knelt and placed these tokens of respect on the graves of his mother and sister. This done, he stood in silence for a moment, and then wept like a little child. While riveted to the spot, he made a solemn vow that he would quit the old life and make a man of himself. “It’s in me,” he said to himself, “and I’m going to prove it.”

Slowly he turned away from the sacred place. He went directly to the offices of his brothers. He had been furnished with a new suit of clothes, according to custom, upon leaving prison, and so made quite a decent appearance. He found his oldest brother, John B. Reynolds, seated at a desk in the front office. He entered at once and said,—

“Well, John, I suppose sister is dead?”

“How dare you,” exclaimed John, rising to his feet,—“how dare you to speak of Annie as your sister, you jailbird, you miserable convict! Get out of here this minute! Leave this room at once, and never set foot in it again!”

There was fire in the man’s eye as he spoke. Will attempted to speak, but was not permitted. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he left the room. He had gone to tell of his new determination and ask for another chance, and this was the reception which he met. On his way down the steps, he came face to face with his other brother, Thomas Reynolds. Thomas tried to pass without speaking, but Will intercepted him.

“Tom,” he said, “I’m your brother still. I’m not asking help now; I only came to tell you that I’m going to do better. I thought you would be glad to hear it.”

“I want to hear nothing from you,” said Thomas. “You’ve disgraced us forever, and you can go your way; we don’t want anything to do with you; we don’t want to see you again!”

Will went forth into the street weeping.

*****

Thirty years have come and gone since Will was driven away from the offices of his brothers. What changes have these years worked?

Soon after leaving prison Will was a constant visitor at the Railroad Men’s Branch of the Y. M. C. A. Through the Secretary of the Association, he soon secured a place as a day laborer in the machine shops of the Big Bend Railroad. After securing regular employment, he went to live in the Y. M. C. A. building. At the close of his first year’s service with the railroad, he was promoted from a common laborer and made an apprentice. After four or five years, he had learned the trade and was receiving the daily wages of a machinist. After twelve years with the company, he was made the Master Machinist. At the end of fifteen years’ service, he was made Superintendent of Construction. Five years later he was made a Division Superintendent. At the expiration of more than twenty-five years of faithful service, Will Reynolds was able to write after his name, “General Manager of the Big Bend Railroad.” He had, also, been married for several years, and was the father of five children.

Will’s father and brothers lost sight of him for nearly twelve years, or until the papers announced his appointment as Master Machinist of the Big Bend Railroad. They suddenly awoke to find that their conclusions that he had probably long since died a drunkard’s death, or had gone off as a tramp and had been killed, or was again serving a sentence in prison somewhere—were wrong.

The same week that Will was made Superintendent of Construction of the Big Bend Railroad, the newspapers spread all over the country the news that Col. Oliver P. Reynolds had committed suicide. According to their way, the newspapers gave all the sickening details of the tragedy, together with the whole family history. They said that Col. Reynolds had been driven to suicide by his wife. They said that she was much younger than he; that she was extravagant; that she was a leader in gay society; they told how, on her account, Col. Reynolds had driven his son away from home fifteen years before; they declared that the old man’s life had been a hell to him; and that his wife had brought him almost to the verge of bankruptcy, and, in order to escape facing open disgrace, he had murdered himself.

When Will heard of his father’s death, he hastened at once to the city, but was denied admission to the family residence, and had to attend the funeral in the little church around the corner not as a member of the family but merely as an outsider.

We are not concerned in this story with the fate of Will’s stepmother. But, as to Will’s brothers,—well, the crash came eight or ten years after the death of Col. Reynolds, or a short while before Will became the General Manager of the Big Bend Railroad. John B. Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds, members of the firm of John B. Reynolds & Bro., had been arrested and placed in the Tombs, charged with misappropriating $175,000 of trust funds. Again the family history was rehearsed in the newspapers. The papers did not fail to recall the suicide of Col. Reynolds, nor did they fail to tell how these two brothers had earlier in life turned their backs on a younger brother.

Will read the papers, and, saying to his wife, “Well, Mary, perhaps they’ll be glad to see me this trip,” he went immediately to offer his services to his brothers.

He had prophesied correctly. John and Thomas were very glad to see him. They had no friends among those high in financial circles because they had for many years conducted their business in such a way that business men had no confidence in them. They had no credit and could get nobody to go on their bonds. Will took in the situation at a glance. He had been thoughtful enough to bring along with him the leading attorney of the Big Bend Railroad, and he put matters straightway into his hands. Bail was arranged, the brothers were released, and the lawyer then turned his attention to the prosecutors. It was discovered that almost half of the amount stolen was the property of Simon B. Nesmith, President of the Big Bend Railroad. When Will Reynolds and the lawyer found that their own superior officer had been so heavily hit by John B. Reynolds & Bro., they came near fainting. Fortunately Nesmith when he heard the whole story agreed not to prosecute, and not only said that he would be satisfied with any settlement that the Railroad’s Attorney might arrange but also volunteered to see the others concerned and use his influence in having them do likewise.

In a short time matters were adjusted, and John Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds were saved from prison. But they lost all their earthly possessions and their brother, “the black sheep” of the family, had to secure them for the sum of $40,000 besides.

John B. Reynolds and Thomas Reynolds came to their senses. It was their time to cry now. Amidst great sobs they said,——

“We treated you wrongly, brother Will; we ought to have helped you many years ago; we are so sorry we didn’t; and it was such a small matter, too.”

But Will said,——

“Don’t talk about the past: I’m your brother still. Go and do as I did. Start over and make men of yourselves—you’ll have enough time. That’s all I ask.”

THE HOLY BIBLE.

I heard a minister say the other day that a mother had not necessarily done much for her boy because she had bought him a nice Bible and put it in his trunk, when he was about to leave home to seek his fortune in the world. I think it wrong for anybody—minister or what not—to indulge in such loose and flippant talk. The effect is bad—always bad, and no hair splitting, and no higher criticism, and no curiously ingenious explanations can mend the matter. As for me, give me the old-fashioned mother who sends her son out into the world with a Bible in his trunk, and give me the old-fashioned boy who reads that Bible every night with tears in his eyes, as he thinks of the old folks at home and of their simple lives devoted to Jesus Christ. Give me the man, woman or child, whose hands touch the Bible reverently, instead of slinging it about as a dictionary or some common dime novel. Give me the plain old fellow who quickly takes leave of that circle in which critics are proceeding to ably explain away certain chapters of the Bible.

As for me, I want no new theories about the Bible—no new versions—no new criticisms. No man has a right to weaken the faith of others. No man has a right to knock away the staff that supports the crippled wayfarer. And no man has a right to tell an aged mother that it does no good to give her boy a Bible unless he can suggest a better substitute. Destroy the old-fashioned idea concerning the Bible, and we shall have a nation of infidels defying God, defying the law, and repeating the licentiousness and horrors of the French Revolution. We should make the Bible first in all things. Make the Bible first in the family, in the Sunday-school and church, make it first in state and society, and we shall have a Republic that will grow brighter and brighter as the years come and go, and then we “shall go out with joy, and be lead forth with peace: and the mountains and the hills shall break forth before us into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.”

ANDREW CARNEGIE’S ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN.

“Do not make riches, but usefulness, your first aim, and let your chief pride by that your daily occupation is in the line of progress and development; that your work, in whatever capacity it may be, is useful work, honestly conducted, and as such ennobles your life.

“Whatever your salary be, save a little; live within your means. The man who saves a little from his income has given the surest indication of the very qualities that every employer is seeking for.

“The great successes of life are made by concentration. Do not think you have done your full duty when you have performed the work assigned you. You will never rise if you only do this.

“You hear a good deal about poverty nowadays, and the cry goes up to abolish poverty, but it will be the saddest day of civilization when poverty is no longer with us. It is from the soil of poverty that all the virtues spring. Without poverty, where will your inventor, your artist, your philanthropist, come from?

“There are three classes of young men in the world. One starts out to be a millionaire. Another seeks reputation, perhaps at the cannon’s mouth. A third young man, who will be successful, is he who starts out in life with self-respect and who is true to himself and his fellow-men. He cannot fail to win.”

DIRECTIONS FOR LITTLE GENTLEMEN.

1. The essential part of good breeding is the practical desire to afford pleasure and to avoid giving pain. Any boy possessing this desire requires only opportunity and observation to become a little gentleman.

2. Never be guilty of what are called practical jokes; that is to say, never place a pin in a chair so that somebody may come along and sit on the pin’s point; never pull back a chair when a person is about to sit down, and in that way cause such a person to fall on the floor. No little gentleman will play such tricks.

3. Whenever a lady enters a room, it is proper for boys to rise, if they are seated, but you must never offer a lady a chair from which you have just risen, if there is another chair in the room.

4. Never engage in conversation while a person is singing. It is an insult not only to the singer but to the company.

5. Always take off your hat when assisting a lady to or from a carriage.

6. If in a public place, you pass and re-pass persons of your acquaintance, it is only necessary to salute them on the first occasion.

7. Do not wear anything that is so conspicuous as to attract attention; and, particularly, avoid the ruffian style.

8. Do not lose your temper. Particularly if you are playing innocent games for amusement and happen to lose; avoid the exhibition of anxiety or vexation at lack of success.

9. In all your associations, keep constantly in view the old adage, “too much familiarity breeds contempt.”

THE RIGHT TO PLAY.

The right to play is one of the divine rights of men and women, of boys and girls, and is just as essential to the peace, happiness and prosperity of the world as is the right to pray. Never be afraid or ashamed, my young friends, of honest, vigorous, healthy play. Dominoes, lawn tennis, baseball, football, ping-pong, golf, foot-racing, leaping and jumping, boxing and wrestling, pole-vaulting, punching the bag, swinging dumb-bells or Indian clubs, and a hundred other things are perfectly sane and wholesome amusements for old or young. To refrain from all forms of amusements is just as destructive of happiness and injurious to character as is the other extreme of indulging too freely in pleasures and pastimes. Puritan austerity and unrestrained excess are alike to be condemned. But a certain amount of play—play of the right kind and within proper limits—is a divine right of young people. Young people must have fun and relaxation, and, if they do not find it in their own homes, it will be sought in other and perhaps dangerous places.

For myself, I believe that anybody is an enemy to young people who desires to repress and crush out the naturally buoyant spirits of childhood and youth, and he is a benefactor of humanity who makes it a part of his business to see that proper places of amusement are provided for the young people. Aside from the physical advantages of play, there are moral advantages also. A man who helps to keep his body in good condition by regular exercise is, in that way, beyond a doubt, adding to the number of his days; that is to say, he will live longer than the man who doesn’t play. But beyond and above that, he is a happier man while he lives; he gets more joy and satisfaction out of life than the other fellow. Sane and healthy play tends to blot out the remembrance of cares and hardship; it gives our minds something else to think about. But young people must be careful not to become absorbed in these things. I believe in play; I believe in pleasure, in fun. But when I see young people, or old people for that matter, devoting all their time to wheeling, footballing, card parties, the giddy whirl of the dance, the bacchanalian hilarity of the dram shop, and so on, I am forced to say that things which may be right when taken in moderation, and as a relief from the overtaxing burdens of life, are wrong when they become the chief object for which one lives.

A CHRISTMAS PRESENT.

A forsaken little kitten wandered up and down the street on the day before Christmas. It had no home; it had no name; it had no ribbon around its neck; and it had no saucer of nice milk in one corner.

It began to grow dark, and colder too, and the stars came peeping out, and the first flakes of a real Christmas snowstorm began floating down through the air. The kitten mewed a trembling little mew, which told as plainly as it could that it was very hungry, and it fluffed out its fur to keep itself warm.

Now, somewhere along that street, up on top of a house (hiding behind a chimney where he couldn’t be seen), was Santa Claus, getting everything in shape before starting on his evening round. When old Santa saw that lonesome little kitten strolling around he smiled—yes, old Santa Claus smiled. He smiled because he knew that two blocks up the street a little girl was standing with her nose pressed against the window, looking out into the deepening night.

He had seen her as he went by. And he had also seen the poor little supper laid out for two on the table, and heard her say to her mother, in a quavering voice:

“Not even one present, mamma—not the teeniest little one!”

“No, Susie,” her mother had answered, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get anything for my little girl this year, but—you know there wasn’t any money, dear.” And there was a tremble in her mother’s voice, too.

Susie wiped away the tears, and turned to look out of the window. Perhaps she said to herself, “perhaps Santa Clause has something for me after all!”

Now, the sad, really dreadful part about it was that Santa Clause didn’t have one single thing for Susie in his pack. Perhaps it was because she had moved into that house since last Christmas, or perhaps for once old Santa had made a mistake. Anyway, he was just saying to himself: “Why, bless me, what shall I do about it?” when he caught sight of that shivering little kitten.

“The very thing!” he thought. “I’ll give them to each other!” and he chuckled till his reindeer looked around to see what was the matter.

And what happened next? Well, that kitten never knew really. It only seemed as if there was a sudden rush and jingle of bells, which frightened it so that it flew up the street as fast as its four little legs could carry it, until it saw a small friendly face at a window, and rushed up some steps nearby. Then a door opened, and two soft little arms picked it up gently from the cold snow and a voice cried:

“Oh, mamma, see the poor little kitten—it’s so cold—oh, we’ll keep it, won’t we, mamma! The poor little thing. Do you think it would drink milk?”

Would it drink milk? What a question to ask about a little kitten. While the little kitten was nearly choking itself trying to drink a saucerful of milk and purr at the same time, there was a jingle of bells outside, and Susie said:

“Mamma, I hear old Santa’s bells, and, of course, this is the present he brought.”

THE NICKEL THAT BURNED IN FRANK’S POCKET.

Deacon Hepworth kept a little fish market.

“Do you want a boy to help you?” asked Frank Shaw one day.

“Can you give good weight to my customers and take good care of my pennies?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Frank.

Forthwith he took his place in the little store, weighed the fish and kept the room in order.

“A whole day for fun, fireworks and noise tomorrow!” exclaimed Frank, as he buttoned his white apron about him the day before the Fourth of July. A great trout was thrown down on the counter by Ned Tant, one of Frank’s playmates.