The King's Daughter and Other Stories for Girls

HOW BESS MANAGED TOM

Tom's sister Nell was a pretty girl, and being a year older than Tom, wanted to show her authority over him.

The boy was rough and awkward, and just at that age when a boy refuses all meddling with "his rights." He would put his hands in his pockets, his chair on Nell's dress, and his feet on the window-sill.

Of course, they often quarreled: "For pity sake, Tom, do take your hands out of your pockets," Nell would say in her most vexing manner.

"What are pockets for? I'd like to know, if not to put one's hands in," and Tom would whistle and march off.

"Tom, I don't believe you've combed your hair for a week!"

"Well, what's the use? it would be all roughed up again in less than an hour."

"I do wish, Tom, you would take your great boots off the window-sill!"

"O don't bother me; I'm reading;" Tom would say: and the boots refused to stir an inch,—which of course was very bad of Tom. And so it would go on from morning till night.

But Sister Bess had a different way of managing her big brother. She seemed to understand that coaxing was better than driving. Sometimes when he sat with both hands plunged into his pockets, Bess would nestle down close beside him, with a book or a picture, and almost before he knew it, one hand would be patting her curls, while the other turned the leaves or held the pictures.

If she chanced to see his feet on the window-sill, she would say, "Just try my ottoman, Tom dear, and see how comfortable it is;" and though Tom occasionally growled in a good natured way about its being too low, the boots always came down to its level.

Whenever his hair looked very rough, she would steal behind him and brush it for him herself, in a way that Tom liked so well that it was a temptation to let it go rough, just for the pleasure of having her do it.

Yet for the next three days at least, he would take special pains to keep every hair in its place, simply to please little sister.

As they grew older, Bess, in the same quiet, loving way, helped him to grow wise and manly. If she had an interesting book, she always wanted Tom to enjoy it with her. If she was going to call on any of her young friends, Tom was always invited to go with her.

"I can't understand," said Sister Nell, "why you should always want that boy at your elbow; he's rough and awkward as a bear."

"Some bears are as gentle as kittens," declared Bess, slipping her arm through his with a loving hug, while "the bear" felt a warm glow at his heart as he walked away with Bess, and determined to be "gentle as a kitten" for her sake.

A LITTLE GIRL'S THOUGHTS

 
Why does the wind lie down at night
When all the sky is red,
Why does the moon begin to shine
When I am put to bed,
And all the little stars come out
And twinkle overhead?
 
 
I see the sun shine all the day,
I gather daisies in my play,
But oh, I truly wish that I
Could see the stars bloom in the sky!
I'd love to see the moon shine down
And silver all the roofs in town,
But always off to sleep I go
Just as the sun is getting low.
 

ALICE VAN LEER CARRICK.

CARELESS GRACIE'S LESSON

Gracie and Norma Wilson were sisters, aged respectively, fourteen and twelve. But I think that two sisters were never more unlike than were Gracie and Norma. Norma, who was the younger, was as orderly a little lady as one could wish to see, while Gracie was just the reverse.

Often their mother would say, in a despairing tone, "Gracie, I do wish you would care for your room and frocks as Norma cares for hers. Why, you go out with buttons loose, or entirely off your dress, or your frocks unmended, not to speak of the untidiness of your room. If only you would take an interest in such things it would gratify me so much. Without an orderly mind no girl can aspire to become a useful member of society."

Then Gracie would try to make excuses for her shortcomings, pleading this thing or that as the real cause of her negligence. But her poor mother, at her wits' end to devise some way by which Gracie might be aroused to a sense of her duty, would shake her head and say: "Dearest child, there is no excuse for your slighting your work, either on your clothes or in your room. You have plenty of time for both and should force yourself to perform your share of the labor that falls to you to do."

And while Mrs. Wilson was thus advising and entreating her eldest daughter to do her duty in such small household matters, Norma was busy tidying up her dainty room or sewing on her summer frocks, mending lace, ribbons, or putting on buttons and hooks and eyes. She was such a cheerfully busy little miss that Gracie's laziness was the more pronounced by contrast with her industry.

One afternoon, while Gracie was sitting idly in the hammock which swung in the broad, awning-covered porch, the phone bell rang and Norma answered it. The message which reached her ear made her smile very happily, and she answered, "Oh, yes, indeed, we shall be delighted to go, and thank you for both of us ever and ever so much. What time shall we be ready—at four o'clock this afternoon? All right. And we shall prepare some luncheon? Yes, all right, we'll be most happy to do so. Good-bye."

Then to the porch ran Norma, crying to Gracie, excitedly: "Oh, sister, Mrs. Jackson has invited us—you and me—to go with her and Flora and Tommy for a long automobile ride. We are to stop on the beach—down at Blake Island—and have a picnic supper by moonlight. We'll return home about nine o'clock. Won't that be splendid? I know mamma will be so happy to have us go, so I accepted for both of us. Mamma won't be home for over an hour. And we are to start at four. It is now two o'clock. We'll have to be stirring if we are ready when Mrs. Jackson calls. And she must not be kept waiting."

"Are we to carry luncheon?" asked Gracie, lazily, not making any sign of getting out of the hammock.

"Yes. Mrs. Jackson said we'd carry luncheon. She said she would take sandwiches, cookies, and jelly. We can supply something else. Suppose we have some boiled eggs. And I'll run to our favorite baker's and get a nice cake—one of those delicious white ones, you know. Won't it be splendid?"

"What shall you wear?" asked Gracie, now bestirring herself a bit.

"My pink lawn, I guess," replied Norma. "But I shall have to hurry, for the eggs must be boiled at once, so as to give them time to get cold and solid in the ice box. Otherwise, they wouldn't be fit for the lunch basket."

And away ran busy Norma to the kitchen to put the eggs to boil.

Within a short time Norma had the eggs nicely boiled and cooling in the ice box while she was getting her frock, shoes, hat, and other accessories to her afternoon attire, laid out all ready to wear.

But Gracie was not quite so energetic. She had left the hammock and gone to her own room to look over her frocks to see which one might be fit to wear. A blue dimity was selected as being in the best wearing condition, but in looking it over she found a rent in the skirt and two buttons gone. "Oh, just my luck," she declared petulantly. "I never have a frock in shape to put right on. I do believe I'll ask mamma—if she has returned—to sew on the buttons and mend the rent. Let me see—the lace is all torn in places on my white lawn. The buttons are off my checked batiste. Yes, this blue dimity will be the best." So taking it in her arms, she went down stairs to the sitting room.

Mrs. Wilson had just returned from making some calls and was listening to Norma's explanation of the good time in store for Gracie and herself that afternoon and evening. "I knew you would not mind our going mamma," Norma was saying, "so I just accepted at the moment."

"No, indeed, I shall not object," said Mrs. Wilson. "On the other hand, I am delighted that Mrs. Jackson has invited you to go with her and her lovely children. You will have a splendid time, I know. And how about your luncheon? Have you everything ready?"

"I am just going to prepare some eggs this very minute," explained Norma. "And," turning to Gracie, "won't you go after some cake and some fruit, sister?"

Gracie frowned. "I'll not have the time." she complained. "And," appealing to her mother, "mamma, will you be good enough to fix this frock for me to wear? I've got to wash and comb and do ever so many things."

Mrs. Wilson shook her head. "Gracie, you must have your lesson first or last. Now is a very good time for it. You must fix your own frock, my child. I have urged you, time and again, to keep your clothes neatly mended. If you let your things go—well, you must suffer the consequences. And, you must assist Norma in preparing the luncheon. It is not fair that she should have the bulk of the work of preparation to do. You must shoulder your share of it."

Gracie, her face aflame with shame, went upstairs and began to fix her frock. But hardly had she begun when her mother's voice called to her: "You would better go for the cake, daughter, before sitting down to mend. If by any chance you should not be ready to go when Mrs. Jackson calls for you, Norma must not be disappointed and shall have her basket of luncheon ready."

Gracie began to beg off, but her mother was firm. "Do as I say, daughter, and start at once to the baker's for the cake. Stop on the way back and buy a bag of nice fruit."

Gracie had to obey, but did it reluctantly. She feared she would not be ready to go when four o'clock arrived, for there was so much to be done in preparation. She hurried to the baker's and got the cake; stopped on the way back home and bought a bag of fruit. But she saw by the town clock that it wanted only forty-five minutes till time to start on their automobile outing.

For a moment she felt very much out of sorts over the fact that she had been obliged to go after the cake and fruit, but the longer she thought of it the clearer became her own fault. Yes, she had been very indifferent about her work. And if she missed getting the trip—well, it would be her lesson.

As soon as Gracie gave the cake and fruit into Norma's hands she ran up stairs to fix her frock. Norma was all ready, looking as sweet in her fresh lawn frock as could be. The basket was prepared for the luncheon, lined with a soft white napkin.

Into the basket Norma put a dozen nicely prepared eggs, wrapped about with white paper. Then came the cake, also appetizingly fixed in dainty fashion; then the yellow oranges, luscious, pink peaches and golden yellow pears.

At precisely ten minutes before four Norma was waiting on the porch. At exactly four Mrs. Jackson's automobile came dashing round the corner, Flora and Tommy in the rear seat and their mother in front beside the chauffeur. Room for Norma and Gracie was in the big back seat beside Flora and Tommy.

"All ready?" called out Mrs. Jackson.

Just as Norma was about to offer some excuse for her tardy sister, her mother came upon the porch, and, after chatting in a cordial manner for a few moments with Mrs. Jackson, she told Norma to take her basket and go to the automobile. "It is Gracie's own fault that she is delayed this way, and she'll have a lesson to-day that she will profit by. I am quite sure she'll never miss another picnic through her own idleness."

Then, while Norma was getting into the automobile, Mrs. Wilson spoke in low tones to Mrs. Jackson, explaining why Gracie would not be able to go on the outing that day. Although all expressed regrets that Gracie was to be left behind, they knew it was for the best that she be taught a lesson through disappointment.

As the big auto rolled off down the road toward Blake Island, carrying the happy picnic party, Gracie, with tears in her eyes, stood looking from the window after them. And in her heart she knew that her disappointment was due to her own shortcomings. And she vowed to turn over a new leaf from that day.

VICARIOUS PUNISHMENT

This is the term applied to such punishment as that which Christ bore when he suffered on the cross, the just for the unjust. You do not quite know what it means, do you? I think I hear you say, "Oh, we do not want to know what such long words mean."

But stop a moment, I have a story to tell.

It was a warm summer afternoon; a lazy breeze stole through the windows of a little district schoolhouse, lifting the curtains, and rustling the leaves of the copy-books that lay open on all the desks.

Thirty or forty scholars of all ages were bending over their writing, quiet and busy; the voice of the master, as he passed about among the writers, was the only sound.

Perhaps you might not have thought it possible, but I assure you, that this hot little schoolroom has its heroes and heroines as certainly as many another place which might have seemed far more pretending.

The bell rang for the writing to be laid by; and now came the last exercise of the day, the spelling, in which nearly all the school joined. At the head of the class was a delicate little girl, whose bright eyes and attentive air showed that she prized her place, and meant to keep it.

Presently a word which had passed all the lower end of the class, came to Eunice. The word was privilege. "P-r-i-v, priv—i, privi—l-e-g-e, lege, privilege," spelt Eunice. But the teacher, vexed with the mistakes of the other end of the class, misunderstood and passed it. The little girl looked amazed, the bright color came into her cheeks, and she listened eagerly to the next person, who spelt it again as she had done.

"Right," said the teacher; "take your place."

"I spelt it so," whispered Eunice partly to herself; the tears springing to her eyes as she passed down. But too timid to speak to the master, she remained in her place, determining soon to get up again. But her trials were not yet over.

Many expedients had been tried in the school to keep out that arch-enemy of all teachers—whispering. At length the following plan was adopted:—

The first whisperer was stood upon the floor in front of the teacher's desk. Here he acted as a monitor; as soon as he detected another whispering, he took his seat, and the next offender kept a sharp lookout to find some one to take his place; for, at the close of school, the scholar who had the whisperer's place was punished very severely.

This plan appeared to operate very well; every one dreaded to be found last on the floor; but, though it secured an orderly school, many of the parents and scholars doubted its justice.

The boy who was on the floor when Eunice lost her place, was an unruly, surly fellow, who had often before smarted for his faults; and as school drew near its close, he began to tremble. The instant Eunice's whispered complaint reached his ear, his face brightened up; he was safe now. And when the class was dismissed, he said, "Eunice whispered, sir."

Eunice rose, and in a trembling voice related what she had said; but the teacher saw no excuse in it, and she was called to take the place of the ungenerous boy who had told of her.

The books were put away, and the waiting school looked on in sorrow as Eunice left her seat to take the dreaded punishment. She was one of the best scholars; bright, faithful, sweet-tempered, and a general favorite.

Every one felt that it was unjust; and many angry glances were cast at the boy who was mean enough to get a little girl whipped. Overcome with shame and fear, she stood by the side of the desk crying bitterly, while the teacher was preparing to inflict the punishment.

At this moment a tall boy stepped out of his seat, and going to the desk, said:—

"Are you going to whip Eunice, sir?"

"Yes; I never break my rules!" the teacher answered.

"We will not see her whipped!" said the boy in an excited voice; "there is not a boy here but that one, who would see her whipped! Whip me, sir, and keep your rule, if you must, but don't touch this little girl!"

The master paused; the school looked on tearfully.

"Do you mean to say you will take her punishment?" asked the teacher.

"I do sir," was the bold reply.

The sobbing little girl was sent to her seat, and without flinching, her friend stood and received the punishment that was to have fallen upon her. The school was dismissed, and the boys paid him in admiration and praise for all he had suffered.

This was vicarious punishment,—one suffering from his own free will the punishment that was to have been borne by another.

You see, do you not, that this is just what He did who bore our sins in His own body upon the tree—the Saviour of men? What He suffered we cannot know in this life; but God laid on Him the iniquity of us all; and this He willingly bore to save us from death. With His stripes we are healed. How great the gratitude each of us owes such a Friend.

 
"Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all."
 

PATTY'S SECRET

Mrs. Lomax softly opened the nursery door and peeped in. "I'm awake, mother," said a voice from the white cot; "come in."

The lady quickly poked the smoldering fire into a blaze and opened the blinds. It was a bitter cold day, and Jack Frost had decorated the windowpanes with silver pictures of forests and castles.

"What wakened you so early, Patty, dear?" asked her mother, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. To her surprise the young face was wreathed in bright smiles.

"I had such a strange, sweet dream," said Patty, her eyes shining. "I think it must have been my dream that waked me."

"What was it, love?" But Patty was silent. "You don't want to tell me your dream, little daughter?"

"I think I'd rather not, mother, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind."

"Well, then, I won't tell it."

Patty's mother had no dream of her own to tell, for she had hardly slept a single one of the many hours between dark and dawn. Many of them she had spent on her knees beside her bed, pouring out her heart in prayer for her darling who was, with the returning day, to undergo a painful and dangerous surgical operation.

For days Patty herself had been in a sad state of nervousness and depression; it had been necessary, for certain reasons, that she should know what was before her, and though she bore up bravely for her years, it could not but be to her like entering a dark cloud.

And yet there was the smile on her lips and the light in her eye, though the hour of trial had come!

The weeks slipped away, each one leaving little Patty stronger than it found her, and nearer to the end of her prison-life behind window panes. For the great trial was safely passed, and the surgeon said one reason that the little girl came so safely through it, without fever or inflammation of any sort, was that she was so quiet and brave, and didn't excite or fret herself.

When Patty heard these praises she only smiled and said, "That's my secret." Though she did not ask, Patty's mother sometimes wondered what she meant and why she would not tell her secret.

But one day Patty overheard a visitor speaking of another child who was to undergo an operation. This visitor was one of the managers of St. Luke's Hospital, and the child she spoke of was a charity patient, a poor, little deformed girl in the public ward. She was an orphan, and had no friends except the kind people at the orphanage where she had been put when only a few months old.

Patty was very quiet until the visitor left; but when her mother turned to her sofa, she found her little daughter eager to tell her something.

"Oh, mother!" she cried, "I must see that little girl; I have something to tell her."

"I'll see her for you, dear," said Mrs. Lomax, "and tell her anything you say."

But Patty, who had been so reasonable and obedient, did not seem able to listen to reason. She wept, and entreated to be carried to the hospital, until at last her mother consented to let her go in a closed carriage with her father to lift her in and out, and carry her every step up and down the halls and stairway. "Only father," she said: "I'd rather have only father."

After all, the drive did not seem to hurt Patty at all; when she had taken off her wraps in the waiting room, and was being carried up to the ward, she whispered a little nervously: "Can I see the little girl all by myself, father?"

Mr. Lomax felt troubled at this almost stubborn secrecy. "I think not, daughter," he said gravely; "the nurse would hardly leave her patient in the hands of such a little girl as you. Why is it that you can't trust me to hear what you have to say?"

Patty hesitated a minute, and then said, "I'm so afraid that you might laugh at it, or say it was just a fancy; and, oh, I couldn't stand anybody's laughing, because it helped me so."

"Dear little girl," he said to himself. Then he answered Patty in a very gentle voice: "You need have no fear of that, darling. Now that I know how you feel about it, whatever you have to say will be very precious to me."

Nothing more was said, but the little arms tightened about his neck, and he heard a little sigh of content.

Laugh at her! No listener could have smiled at Patty's secret, except as one might smile in glad surprise if an angel spoke.

In very simple speech, as one child uses to another, Patty told this little hospital patient of her long time of suffering and disease; how she had felt that she could not stand the surgeon's table, the knife, the stitches and all the horrors of an operation.

"But the night before it was to happen," said Patty, "after I had prayed with all my might to our Saviour to help me bear the pain I fell asleep, and dreamed that I saw Him.

"Oh, I wish you could know how He looked! Just as if He was all our mothers and fathers in one person. I did not hear Him speak, but I knew from His smile that He was going to be with me. And then I waked up and remembered what He said when He was going back to heaven, 'Lo, I am with you alway,' and I wasn't afraid any more after that."

"And did it hurt very much?" eagerly asked the child in the cot.

"I don't know," said Patty, looking rather puzzled, "maybe it did. The doctor couldn't give me as much of the go-to-sleep stuff as he will you; and part of the time I knew what he was doing, and felt the pain. But I did not mind it; I said to myself, 'Why, I can easily stand it; just as long as I must.' You see Jesus had answered my prayer, and He will answer yours, too. Don't forget, what He said about 'Lo, I am with you.'"

"Will you ask for me?" said the little stranger; "I don't know Him very well."

And Patty promised.