Uncle Dick's Story.
The three Wise men, Balthazar, Melchior and Gaspard, were kings, living in countries widely separated; yet each one saw a wonderful brilliant star, such as had never before appeared, and a heavenly messenger told them to follow this star, that it would lead them to a new-born king, who was to be greater than all the rulers of the earth. So the wise men or Magi set out bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, which they were to give to the wonderful child, whose star they had seen in the "East."
They had traveled such a long time and were tired sitting on their camels, so they came to a halt near a dense forest. It had been raining for several hours and now the sound of distant thunder and the fury of the wind warned them to seek shelter for the night. Their followers took refuge in a cave and refused to go a step further; so the kings were compelled to continue their journey alone. After walking for a long time almost famished with cold and wet to the skin, they came to a little village and determined to ask hospitality at the first house they saw. This house, or I should say hut, was situated at the entrance of the forest, and belonged to a poor woodcutter named Japhet.
The kings knocked very loudly, Japhet and his wife opened the door, wondering who could want them at such a late hour. Our distinguished travelers begged a shelter from the storm and some food. The woodcutter was startled when he saw such grand people, and hesitated about letting them into his cabin, big Melchior, however, settled the question by pushing back the door, then all entered.
"Now," said Gaspard, "do give us some supper and a place to rest, we will pay well." "Alas! honored, Sirs," answered Japhet. "I have but one bed, and as for supper, we have nothing to offer but black bread and water. But, we will do the best we can to make you comfortable for the night."
So the tired out kings sat down and were glad enough to eat of the black bread, and satisfy their thirst with water. Japhet then made a big fire and the kings having dried their clothes, laid themselves upon the clean straw bed, which the good wife had made for them.
When morning light shone through the chinks of the cabin wall, the kings arose and prepared to continue their journey. Balthazar, who was the most generous, said: "My good people I want to give you something in return for your hospitality." "Oh, never mind," said Japhet. "The little we had, we gave with a good heart, but we did not expect anything in return." At the same time the poor fellow held out his hand.
"I have no money," explained Balthazar, "but I will leave you a souvenir, which will be of infinitely more value." Saying this, he searched in his pocket, drew out a little flute, and presented it to Japhet, who received it with a look of disappointment on his face.
"You see," continued Balthazar, "if you make a wish while playing a tune, it will be immediately granted. Take the flute; do not abuse its gifts, and above all never refuse a shelter or food to the poor wayfarer."
As soon as the three kings had left the hut, Japhet said to his wife: "Well, it seems to me, such rich-looking people could have given us something better than a toy, nevertheless I will try its power; should not wonder though, if those fine gentlemen were not mocking us when they gave such a fool's present."
"Oh, try it just once," said his wife. Japhet then played a lively tune, at the same time wishing for a venison steak and some white bread. Great was the astonishment and delight of the poor people when they saw on their table all they had asked for.
When Japhet was certain of the power of the flute he did not stop at necessities, as you may well believe, he asked for all sorts of things; indeed he kept the flute going from morning until night.
He got new clothes for himself and his wife; had the best of food to eat, and, as all he had to do was to wish for a thing to have it, he became the richest man in the country. He fluted for a magnificent palace, which took the place of his poor cabin; again he fluted and the palace was filled with fine furniture, pictures, statuary and luxuries of all descriptions.
When everything was complete he gave a grand dinner, inviting all the rich people of the neighborhood. Every invitation was accepted, for no one remembered the poor woodcutter, who was now the mighty Lord Flutandget.
In the dining hall the table was set with the finest service of gold, and cut glass reflected the light from hundreds of perfumed lamps. A band of musicians sat behind a bower of exquisite flowers, playing soft, sweet tunes.
When all was ready, the guests sat down to a feast, the like of which had never been seen in the whole Kingdom. Lord Flutandget was in the height of his glory, and looked as proud as if he owned the whole world.
His wife sat beside him, feeling very ill at ease in her stiff silk, and scarcely able to move her hands for the rings, with which her fingers were laden.
So that the feast should not be disturbed, the lackeys had been ordered to keep all intruders off the place. Besides this, my Lord Flutandget had two fierce dogs chained on either side of the gate to keep off beggars.
The guests and their host gave themselves up to the full enjoyment of the feast. All were loud in their praises of My Lord and his Lady, complimenting them on their lavish entertainment, wishing them long continuance of health, prosperity, etc.
Well, this very evening the three Kings happened to be returning to their own country, after having paid homage to the Infant Christ. When they came near the village by the forest, they saw a splendid castle where formerly stood the woodcutter's hut.
"Ah, ha!" said Gaspard to Balthazar, "I should not be surprised if our old friend has not made bad use of your little flute. I wonder if he has kept his promise, and is kind to the poor, now that he is so rich."
"Well, let us try him," said Balthazar. So disguising themselves as beggars, they went to the gate of the castle, asking for a little food. The porter bade them "begone," but as they insisted on being allowed to enter, the servants made such a clamor, that Lord Flutandget put his head out of the window to see what was the trouble. Seeing the beggars, he ordered the dogs to be set on them, so the poor Kings were obliged to fly in a very unkingly manner.
"I told you so," said Gaspard, whom one of the dogs had caught by the shins. "I'll fix him," said the giant, Melchior. "I'll make him feel the vengeance of the three Kings."
In the meantime the guests continued to feast. Dessert had just been served; my Lord Flutandget held in his hand a broad silver knife, with which he was about to cut an enormous cake, each guest was to have had a slice to take home. Just then the noise of carriage wheels was heard; my Lord Flutandget looked towards the window, and seeing a grand carriage drawn by six white horses, he supposed it was some of the high and mighty guests he had invited, so he went himself to meet them.
The three Kings entered in regal attire, crowns on their heads and clothed in purple and precious stones. Flutandget recognized his guests of the hut, but put on a bold front and begged them to take a seat at his table.
"Thank you," said Balthazar, coldly. "We cannot eat with a man who oppresses the poor and sets the dogs on them." "I compliment you on the way you keep your promise," said Melchior, the Giant King, and his voice sounded deep and severe.
"Ah, you set your dogs on beggars," said Gaspard, who still felt an ache in his shins. "You often play on your flute, I see. Oh, wait a while; I'll give you a tune that you have not yet heard," and taking from his pocket a little flute, just like the one that had been given to Japhet, he blew a terrible blast which caused all the glasses on the table to split. Again he put the flute to his lips, all the lights went out and the guests rushed from the castle, trampling over each other in their haste to get away. At the third sound of the flute, the palace disappeared, and the woodcutter found himself alone sitting on the ruins of his hut, he and his wife clothed in rags.
"Oh, what shall we do?" said the poor woman.
"Never mind," said Japhet, "I still have the flute." But search as he would, the talisman could not be found; it had disappeared with the three Kings.
Ever since this happened, it is customary to have a large cake on "King's Day," January 6. It is filled with small silver coins and a slice is given to visitors, or to any poor person who comes to ask an alms.
"I like that story," said Amy, "although it is not in the Bible."
"Well, dear, you may imagine the Kings met with many adventures on their long journey, and the occurrences I relate might have happened as likely as those we read of in 'Ben Hur.' Stories of this kind can do no possible harm, and after reading them, children's curiosity is excited, they want to know more, so they become interested in Bible history."
This reminds me of a visit I paid to a lawyer in Chicago, and what happened to him for his lack of knowledge of Bible stories.
A friend of mine, who is a very successful lawyer, in the course of conversation one day, declared he believed the time had come when lawyers should know a few things besides law. The Bible, for instance.
"That is a very worthy thought," said I.
"I don't claim to be any better or worse than the next person," went on the lawyer, "but I believe a good knowledge of the Scriptures would benefit a man of my calling professionally."
"And spiritually," I suggested.
"I dare say it would. I had a case in one of those downtown justice shops. It went to a jury trial, and the bailiff hauled in half a dozen of those professional hoboes, that are always hanging around such places, on the chance of making a couple of dollars by sitting on a jury."
"I put up two witnesses to prove my case, and one repeated and corroborated the evidence of the other in every particular. The lawyers on the other side argued that this exact agreement of my witnesses at every point made their testimony unreliable. He said no two men could possibly give the same account of what they had seen, not even men of sound and undoubted rectitude. He said that even the Bible proved this, and then he told the story of Jonah and the whale."
"How did Jonah come into the case?" I asked.
"Just this way, my opponent said the Bible contained two versions of the story, one by St. Matthew, and the other by St. Mark. St. Matthew's account was that Jonah made the entire voyage inside the whale, while St. Mark declared that Jonah came out occasionally and sat on the whale's back to get a breath of fresh air."
"Dear me," said the presiding judge. "That version of the voyage of Jonah sounds strange to me. I suppose you can give chapter and verse for it. If you can, I wish you would."
"He can do no such thing, your Honor," said I. "There is no account in the Bible that tells of Jonah riding on the whale's back."
My opponent glanced from one to the other of us contemptuously, and then looked significantly at the jury.
"Gentlemen of the jury," he said solemnly. "I am not addressing my remarks to this Honorable Court, nor to the learned gentleman on the opposite side of this case, whose lamentable ignorance regarding one of the most familiar Scriptural narrations, I sincerely deplore."
"In drawing a parallel between the suspiciously coinciding character of the evidence here given by two witnesses, who apparently have compared notes with extreme care, and the discrepancies shown in the statements of two great inspired writers, I am directing my remarks to intelligent, upright men, who study their Bibles, and who have the great truths of Scripture at their finger ends."
"You should have seen how that bench of hoboes nodded complacently as that audacious lawyer insulted the Court and me. The upshot of the whole business was that I lost my case, and all through not knowing what St. Matthew and St. Mark wrote about Jonah."
I could scarcely keep from laughing while my friend was telling the story, but at this point, I broke out in a prolonged fit of merriment.
"What amuses you so much?" said my friend.
When I could control myself sufficiently to speak, I told him neither St. Matthew nor St. Mark ever wrote that story. It was written thousands of years before they were born. Jonah and the whale story belongs to the Old Testament.
"You don't say! Well, I'll be switched!" exclaimed my friend. "My only consolation," continued he, "is that the Judge didn't know any more than I did."
"That's a good story, Uncle Dick, but if your lawyer had a mother like mine when he was a boy, he never would have made such a ridiculous mistake about Jonah."
"Come, children," called Aunt Lucy, "it's past bed time."
"Good-night, Uncle. Good-night Grandpa Mischief."
[CHAPTER XI.]
Practising.
Ma—Bolax you are wasting your time, don't stop, you have not practised long enough.
Bolax—Look at the clock, Ma, dear. It was bright sunlight when I began, and now the shades of night are falling.
Ma—That's very poetical, but you must continue practising.
Bolax—Oh, you are the provokingest mother I ever saw; I'll not love you a bit after a while, if you keep on making me practise.
Ma—Go on with your lesson, especially that piece for the concert.
Bolax—Bang, bang, oh, how I wish the man who invented pianos was dead.
Ma—Well, he is dead.
Bolax—Then I wish all the professors were dead.
Ma—A great many of them are. Go on with your work.
Bolax—Oh, Ma, dear, can't you let up on a fellow, if you don't, indeed, indeed, I'll be dead too!
Ma—That has no effect upon me, Bo, I make you practise for your own good. I take the trouble to sit here and worry over you, when I might be upstairs resting.
Bolax—But Ma, dear, how do other boys manage? Their mothers don't bother to make them learn music.
Ma—Perhaps those boys don't need the urging you do.
By this time the patient mother began to show signs of nervousness, and Bo, who really loved his "Ma dear" began to play with a will, but having the spirit of mischief strong in him, put some funny words to the tune he was playing.
Bolax—Oh, twenty thousand rats and forty thousand cats, they all screamed and yelled in sharps and flats!
Suddenly turning round on the stool, he said, "Ma, dear, just let me tell you a dream I had, while I'm resting my fingers."
Ma—Well, only for two minutes.
Bolax—Last night you made me practise so much and old Professor was so dreadful at lesson, that I dreamed I went to the piano, and all the keys turned to Brownies, they looked more like Goblins, and began to dance up and down, they played jig music. It was fine. I gave them "On the Meadow" and "Sounds from the Forest," and they played the two pieces right off.
Ma—Now dear, give just one-half hour more to your lesson and I'll let you have all day tomorrow free, it's the beginning of the Christmas holidays, and the cold is so intense I shouldn't be surprised if the skating and sliding would be fine.
Thus spurred on, Bo surprised himself, and the half hour was more than passed when his mother called him to come upstairs, but he was in the middle of a piece and waited to finish it.
Bolax continued playing softly, then called out—"Ma, dear! I wonder if we will have an adventure this year like last Christmas." "Not very likely, my dear; fortunately there are not many placed in the position poor Mary Ryan was that night. I have invited her to come to the Sunday-school entertainment, and her little Joe is to represent the infant Jesus in the tableaux of the crib."
"Oh, that will be splendid. Hurrah!" shouted Bo.
December 23 was a glorious winter day. The sun shone brilliantly, no wind, and the thermometer low enough to keep the skating pond in good condition, the ice and snow on the hills crisp and slippery for coasting. All day long was heard the jingle of sleigh bells and the shouts of merry children enjoying themselves, rang through the air.
Elmer Mullen, who was a boy of sixteen, had formed a great friendship for Bo. He was quite a good musician and seemed attracted towards the little boy because of his musical talent.
Whenever there was any especial fun on hand, Elmer always called for Bo to join him. There were seven boys who always went together—Elmer Mullen, John Montgomery, Joe Davis, Tom Nolan, Walter Rhue and Bolax. Elmer and John had been prospecting for a hill to make a toboggan slide. They found one very high, but rather steep, it was about a mile from the village. This was just what suited them for they wanted to keep away from the rough crowd.
On the very top of this hill was a small shanty built the previous summer by the men who had been cutting down trees.
"Say boys," said Elmer, "let us play we are the monks of St. Bernard."
"But we haven't even one St. Bernard dog," said John.
"Yes, we have," replied Archie. "Joe Davis has a tremendous fellow, he rolls in the snow, and dug out a chicken that had been buried in a drift, and brought it into the kitchen without hurting it." "Let us have him by all means," said Elmer. "We will call the hut our monastery and pretend this hill is the top of Mount Blanc; we'll send our dogs to find people who are lost in the snow."
"I can bring our Don," said Bolax. "He's most as big as a St. Bernard, but where will we get people to rescue?"
"Let me see," reflected Elmer. "I am the oldest; I'll be the Abbott, you boys will be the brothers; you must all obey the Abbott."—"Obey!" exclaimed Bo. "Oh, that's no fun, we're always having to do that. I want to whoop and holler; let us be snowed-up Indians and make the shanty our Teepee."
"Well," said Elmer, "this afternoon we seven boys will meet. Bring the dogs and sleds, then we'll decide which it shall be—Monks or Indians."
After dinner the seven chums climbed Mount Blanc. Elmer told the boys Mount Blanc was one of the highest mountains in Europe, about 10,000 feet above the level of the sea. "Great goodness!" exclaimed Bolax. "No one could ever climb such a height! Oh, Elmer let us be Esquimos." Saying this Joe Davis and Bo began a series of gyrations accompanied by war-whoops, and getting on their sleds, pitched down the hillside into an unexpected drift. Nothing could be seen of them but the soles of their shoes.
Elmer and the other boys set to work immediately to rescue the Indians. With the help of Don and Bosco both were gotten out after very hard digging with boards, for they dared not wait to go to find shovels, lest the boys would suffocate. When our brave Indians were delivered from their perilous position, it took vigorous rubbing to bring them to their senses.
Elmer then proposed placing them on the sleds and taking them home. On the way they stopped at a farmhouse and the good woman gave them some hot lemonade, with a generous supply of sugar, the boys found it delicious and were loud in their expressions of gratitude, for the hot drink entirely revived our Esquimos.
Passing along the road to the village they saw some grown folks in Houston's meadow sledding, and shouting as if they were boys again. Joe Davis' papa was among them, so he ran to join in the fun, not a whit the worse for his snow bath.
Elmer suddenly remembered that Professor had appointed that night for the rehearsal. "Oh, yes!" said Bo. "By the way, it's to be at our house and I had forgotten all about it. Mamma has invited some of the neighbors to spend the evening and act as audience, so that the timid ones will get used to playing before strangers. Here we are. The gate is open and there's a sleigh at the barn, I shouldn't wonder if Professor had come already. Elmer, do hurry back; don't dress as if it were the real concert."
When Bolax went into the library, Papa and Professor were chatting pleasantly, seated before a roaring fire with its yule log, reminding one of the "Merry Christmas" cheer of olden times. "Hello, my boy!" said Professor, reminding Bo that he had promised to distinguish himself and hoping he had practised so well as to be sure of all his pieces. "Marie Love is my prima donna and I want you to be leading man."
After tea the young ladies and children who were to take part in the concert came into the house laughing and shaking the snow from their clothes, all enjoyed the cheerful fire, and when comfortably warm the music began, as Professor did not wish to keep late hours on a snowy night.
Elmer gave a selection from the "Carnival of Venice" on the violin. Every one complimented him, but Bo was loud in praise of his favorite chum.
"What do you expect to do with yourself, Elmer, after you leave school?" asked Mr. Allen.
"Well, I hope to be a priest, I expect to enter the seminary next September."
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Bolax. "Now I know why you wanted to play Monks instead of Indians." This caused the whole adventure of the afternoon to be recounted. Professor laughed heartily at the exploit of the Indians, but begged Bo to keep out of danger until after the concert. "I don't want your head or hands to be lacking that night. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you are ready we will begin. The first on the program is:
| 1. Lorita Grand Concert Waltz | Holst |
| Master Allen and Miss Love. | |
| 2. Mazurka Tzigane | Lichner |
| Miss Amy Allen. | |
| 3. Violin Solo, | |
| Bessie Donati. | |
| 4. Narcissus | I. Leybach |
| Miss Louis Harrison. | |
| 5. Oration on Music. | |
| Elmer Mullen. | |