A Little Colored Boy, and Other Stories

Ned.
AND
Other Stories
THE METHODIST BOOK CONCERN
NEW YORK CINCINNATI
“YOU can’t help thinking when you listen to that boy,” said Mrs. Warner, “that the Lord must want him in heaven. He has such a heavenly voice.”
“I think it more likely that God put an angel’s voice in Neddy’s throat to give us a taste of heavenly music,” said grandma, looking up from the apples she was paring.
“Bosh! you women folks are so everlastingly simple and silly that you encourage the boy in his mischief;” and Farmer Warner set down the milk pail with such a thud that the milk slopped over into the sauce his wife was dishing for supper.
“Now, Henry, you have ruined that dish of apple sauce,” expostulated Mrs. Warner; “and they’re the first apples of the season, too.”
“Never mind,” said grandma, “we’ll find something else. Just call the boy to supper, Henry.”
“Indeed I won’t call him,” he sputtered. “For the past hour I’ve been calling him to help with the chores, and I’ll call no more.”
Just then, in sweet, rich tones, came in the melody—