Katie Robertson

by Margaret E. Winslow

CHAPTER XXI.

THE DO GOOD SOCIETY.

Meanwhile the girls at Miss Eunice's tea-party had been busily discussing the funeral and its sad cause.

"What an awful thing intemperance is!" said one of the elder girls. "Even women sometimes drink to excess; and how many others suffer from its effects in their husbands and fathers. I wish we girls could do something to put it down."

"You can," said Etta. "If every girl in the land were to set her foot down against having anything to do with young men who drink, there would soon be a change. I am resolved," she said, in her old impetuous way, "never to associate with any young man, no matter how good or elegant he may be, who even tastes wine occasionally."

"That is a rash resolve, Etta," said her sister, "and one that I fear you will find it hard to carry out. Yet, what you say is right, in the main. Girls do not enough realize the great responsibility of their influence over young men."

"No," said Agnes Burchard, with a sigh. And several remembered how much she had been seen with poor Harry and what jokes had been made about their intimacy. "I always knew that Harry Pemberton drank occasionally; but I thought it manly, and like—like Mr. James."

No one answered this rather unfortunate remark; but presently Katie
Robertson said:—

"Don't you think, Miss Etta, people ought to begin with the boys—before they have learned to drink, I mean."

"A good suggestion, Katie, since an ounce of prevention is said to be better than a pound of cure. How would you set about doing it?"

But Katie, having thus drawn all eyes upon herself, blushed, and did not feel like speaking. So Miss Eunice came to her rescue:—

"We might organize some kind of a society, of which the boys and younger girls could be members. It would be some trouble to keep it up, but it would be directly in the line of that service to which you pledged yourselves, girls, that bright first Sunday in September."

"Delightful!" said Etta, to whom every new thing always seemed so. "A boys' and girls' temperance society, with a pledge that they shall never in their lives taste anything that can intoxicate. Then they will grow up temperance boys and girls from the start."

"There are two objections to pledging children—that is, very young ones," said Eunice. "The first is, from the unwillingness often felt by their parents; and the other, that many of them do not fully understand what they are about, and as they grow older often break their pledge, on the ground that they are not bound by a promise made when they were too young to understand it."

"Well, some of them keep it, and that's so much gained."

"Yes; for them. But to break solemnly made vows is always an injury to one's character. Besides, if we make a total-abstinence pledge the condition of joining our society, we shall not get the Irish boys, who most need our work. Their parents will not let them come. Why not word our pledge in such a way as to secure everybody's influence on the side of temperance, without making it a personal thing? It will be sure to react upon the individual."

"I think there are some things that boys do besides drinking that are just as bad—smoking and swearing, for instance," said one of the girls.

"And I think it's just as bad for girls to be hateful and unkind," said Bertie, to the surprise of some who knew her, but did not know what a brave fight she was making to overcome her long-indulged faults.

"Let's make it a pledge to be kind and thoughtful," said one of the girls.

"Not to be vain," said another.

"And let's all belong," said a third. "So the boys won't think we're just preaching to them."

So the result of all the talk was that a meeting for all the children in the place was held the first bright Saturday afternoon, Etta presiding, assisted by such of her girls as had finished their day's work at the mill. It happened to be a bright afternoon, warm for the season, and no one felt any inconvenience in staying out of doors, where they sat in groups around the lawn, while their young hostess explained the purpose for which she had called them together.

"We know you all want to be good men and women," she said; "brave, noble, and helpful. Our idea is not primarily to amuse you or make you happy, but to help you to learn to be helpful and useful to others. We want to form among ourselves a society, whose object is to do all the good that its members possibly can—not trying to have a good time, but to make somebody else happier and better every day. Who wants to join us?"

Instantly every hand in the little group went up.

"Yes, I thought so," said the young lady. "But now I wonder who are willing to take a good deal of trouble about it, and really put themselves out of the way to make other people happy. Those who are willing and mean to persevere not getting tired and giving up the whole thing after a little while, may have the privilege of joining our society by signing their names to our pledge."

She then read the following pledge slowly, pausing to explain every word which might seem hard to be understood by the younger children:—

"We, the undersigned, pledge ourselves to be truthful, unselfish, cheerful, and helpful; to use our influence always for the right, and never to fear to show our colors. We will always use our influence against intemperance, the use of profane language or tobacco, disrespect to the old, ill treatment of the young or unfortunate, and cruelty to animals."[3]

Nearly all present were eager to sign it; those who could write their names doing so, and the others looking on with great satisfaction while theirs were written by some one else. Thus a society was formed which, for want of a better name, was called the "Do Good Society."

Etta was unanimously elected president; four girls of her class were the officers. Meetings were to be held the first Saturday in every month in the Sunday-school room, on which occasions those present were to report attempts at carrying out the principles of the society as well as all successes in doing so.

To this society and its welfare Etta Mountjoy devoted herself, throwing into its concerns the whole activity of her versatile nature; making its meetings so interesting, and imparting to it so much bright life and activity, that it soon became the most popular institution in Squantown.

The society's first meeting was held one week after its organization. It was raining softly, and the grass was damp and the air chilly; so the children, nearly a hundred of whom were present, were glad to come into the shelter of the pretty Sunday-school room, and while swelling with the importance of being "a society," wait to see what "Miss Etta" would do when she came. The girls were getting a little restless, and the boys had begun to drum rather impatiently upon the floor, when the young lady appeared, carrying in her hand a curious-looking box with a slit in the top and a basket mysteriously covered down, which she deposited on the desk, not as yet answering the questions which were spoken by the many pairs of bright eyes before her.

The first thing the president did was to tell the children that they might sing "Hold the Fort," which they did with such extraordinary force and enthusiasm that they exhausted the excitement which was seething within them, and sat quite still while the basket was unpacked and Etta took from it a bottle of whitish-looking fluid, a clear glass goblet, and a pure white egg. Then she gave them a little temperance talk, reminding them of the sad death of poor Harry, which was known to them all, and telling them that even when people did not drink enough liquor to make them either stupid or quarrelsome, any quantity of it taken into the stomach injures it very much.

To make them understand this she broke the egg-shell and dropped the white of the egg into the goblet, holding it up and showing them how soft and clear it was. Then, uncorking the bottle, she told them it contained alcohol, the substance that is found in all intoxicating drinks, even the weaker ones, such as wine and beer.

"Now, watch," she said; and as she poured two or three drops of the liquid into the glass the interested eyes saw the egg grow white and hard, and at last become tough and leathery. "This," she said, "is just what happens when people drink anything that contains alcohol. The brain is a substance like the white of an egg. The alcohol acts upon it in the same way it has acted upon the white of this egg—it cooks it! The brain of a drunkard becomes cooked—tough and leathery. The man cannot think as clearly as other men. His mind becomes degraded." The children all expressed their astonishment, and after they had talked a little while, their teacher said:—

"I am sure you don't want people to injure their brains in this way, and so you will be ready to keep that part of your pledge which says we will 'use our influence against intemperance,' of course."

"Yes, yes!" was shouted out by dozens of voices, and many hands went up. One boy said:—

"How about tobacco?"

"Oh, we'll talk about that next time. Now I want you to sing again, and then we will investigate the contents of this box," proceeding to unlock it as she spoke.

When the second hymn was over Miss Etta drew out several folded papers, and handing; them to the secretary, who had come in since the beginning, asked her to read them aloud.

"Remember, children, that neither you nor I know who wrote them. They have no signatures. Perhaps some of the children wrote them themselves, perhaps they got their parents to do so. All we want to know is that they are accounts of how some of our members have tried to be unselfish and helpful to other people during the week that has past. I hope every meeting we shall have a number of such papers to read. You can any of you write them, and slip them into this box, and our secretary will read them to us. But be sure that you don't put any names to them and that what you write is true."

PAPER I.

Last Friday I was going home from school when I saw two big boys hit against an old woman, who was carrying along a heavy basket. I don't know whether they did it on purpose, but they both began to laugh as the basket upset, and the apples which were in it rolled all over the road. I was just going to laugh too, the old woman looked so funny and helpless, but I thought of our society, and I stooped down and picked up all the apples and helped carry home the basket. The other boys laughed at me and called me a baby. I wanted to swear at them dreadfully, but I remembered what our pledge said about "profane swearing," and I just held my tongue.

PAPER II.

Mother wanted me to take care of the baby while she got supper the other afternoon, but I wanted to go in the woods with Allie and get nuts. I'd promised her ever so long, and this was the last chance, it's so near winter. I was just going to say "No" to mother, and tell her babies were a nuisance, when I noticed how tired she looked, and thought how she was always doing things for all of us. Then I remembered our pledge, and I took the baby and tried to be "cheerful and helpful" in amusing her, setting the table between whiles. And in the evening, mother said she did not know how she could have got along without me, she had such a headache all the afternoon, but now she felt quite rested.

PAPER III.

Five of us girls are going to form a bee. We haven't much time, but we can take one evening each week, and we're going to make skating-bags for our brothers and some of the other boys, so that they can keep their skates clean and bright. We mean to hurry, so as to get them ready by the first frosty weather.

There were several other papers, but these specimens are enough to show the kind of work the Do Good Society was engaged in, and the nature of the reports brought in from time to time. They were sometimes very funny, and Miss Etta felt a little inclined to laugh as they were read, but little by little they were educating the children to be unselfish and helpful, and that, next to being godly, is the best thing in the world.

——- [Footnote 3: Condensed from the pledge of the Lookout Legion.]