A TRUE STORY.
Philip and Jessie went to school every day through a pretty lane that led to a small school-house in the country. It was not far from their mother’s house, and it did not take them many minutes to get there, when they did not stop to play by the way. There were a great many flowers growing in the field, on each side of the path, and they often started a little earlier in the morning, to gather some of the freshest to carry to their kind teacher.
Philip was only eight years old, but he felt like a man, when he thought he was two whole years older than Jessie; and they had a little brother, Willy, who was just three. Jessie was very fond of taking care of “the baby” as Willy was still called. How fast the little fellow used to run when he saw Philip and Jessie coming up the hill from school; and Philo, Philip’s dog, would bark, and run quite out of sight in a minute, and then back again, and Jessie would put her basket in his mouth, and he would walk along by her side, while she led Willy to the house.
Willy often asked to go to school with his brother and sister; but Mrs. Morton, their mother, was not willing to let him go in, though his nurse often took him to the door, and then brought him back, for fear he should make a noise and disturb the children at their lessons.
One fine afternoon, it was Philip’s birth-day, his mother said they might take Willy with them to see “Aunt Ellen,” as they used to call their teacher. He promised to sit still by Jessie, and not speak one loud word; and he kept his promise, too, though he whispered and laughed so much, and looked so pretty, that the little girls did not do much work that afternoon. However, Aunt Ellen dismissed the school half an hour earlier than usual; and as they ran out, shouting and jumping, she stooped and kissed Willy, and told Jessie to say, to his mother, that he had been a very good boy in school, and that she hoped soon to have him for a scholar.
Mrs. Morton had charged Philip to come straight from school, and not stop by the way for anything, and he had promised her to do so;—but the sun was so high, and shone so pleasantly, that they did not walk very fast at first, for Willy would stop to pluck every flower he saw, to carry home, he said, to mamma.
So they went along, and did not attend to the time, but began to gather blackberries, and were delighted to see Willy eat them, and put them into their basket. They were all so busily engaged, that they entirely forgot what their mother had told them when they left home, and had wandered a good way from the path, when Philip looked up, for it was becoming quite dark. The sun had gone under a cloud, and it began to rain; so Philip tied on Jessie’s hat, and they both took Willy by the hand, and ran, as they thought, towards home, but it was quite another way. The rain came down, now, very fast, and it thundered at a distance, which frightened them a little. Poor Jessie pulled Willy along, who began to cry, for his shoe was coming off. She could not stop to tie it on; and then they both fell over the stump of a tree, and Jessie spilt all her blackberries over her dress and Willy’s apron, which were already wet with the rain. Then Jessie could not help crying too; but Philip helped him up, and told him they would soon get home now.
As they were near the woods, that were very thick, Philip said they had better stop a little while till the rain ceased, and then go on; but it grew so dark, and kept on raining so fast, they could not see which way to go. They sat down on a great stone under a thick grape-vine that kept off the wet, and Jessie took “the baby” in her arms, and tied her handkerchief around his neck.
“I want to go to mamma,” he cried. “Take me home,—I want to go to mamma!”
So did Jessie too, but she tried hard not to cry to keep Willy still.
“Do you think we are lost, Philip?” she said.
“I am afraid so,” replied Philip. “But, Jessie, I have often read about lost children, and that some good person came to take care of them.”
“But if Willy should die like one of those babes in the wood, that nurse Annie sings about, all stained with blackberries—Oh, Philip! we were so naughty to pick blackberries!” and the tears came so fast she could not speak.
The rain was now over, and the stars shone brightly, and Philip thought perhaps they could hear him at home if he called; so he went out of the wood a little way, and called out as loud as he could, “Father! Mother! we are here!” He repeated it till he was quite hoarse, but he could not make them hear. He saw an old shed not far off, and he told Jessie that he thought they had better go there, and stay till some one found them.
They took their brother in their arms between them, and reached the shed, where they found some hay, and Philip made a bed for Jessie and Willy as well as he could, and put his coat over it. Jessie took off Willy’s apron and hung it up inside the shed to dry, and took off his wet stockings and one shoe, for he had lost the other, and held his feet in her lap, to keep them warm. As she sat down beside him on the ground, she began singing him to sleep—
“Hush my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed,
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently fall upon thy head!”
She could not sing any more, for she thought of her mother, who sung this hymn to them every night, and of the quiet little room where she slept with Willy so warm and comfortable, and father and mother and Philip near; and now they were all in the dark, and lost in the wood!
Philip was as sad as Jessie, but he did not cry, and he said,—
“Jessie, may be, if we pray to God, he will send some one to find us, and take us home. Don’t you remember how often aunt Ellen has told us that God sees little children, and everybody, in the night as well as in the day, and that good angels are around us, though we cannot see them? I was a very naughty boy to stop when mother told me to bring Willy straight home from school, and I will pray to God to forgive me, and find you and me and the baby!”
So they both kneeled down, and took hold of each other’s hands, and said their prayers.
Willy was fast asleep now, and Jessie laid down beside him, and put her arm around his neck—but she could not sleep, and hearing a noise close by, she got up and went to Philip, and asked him what he thought it could be.
“I will go and see,” said Philip.
He went out, and soon coming back, told her it was only a horse quietly feeding on the short grass that grew in the wood, and that he was tied to the shed by a long rope, to keep him from running away.
“Philip,” said Jessie, “don’t you think some one may come in the morning to get the horse, and find us?”
“Yes! to be sure they will,” said Philip; “and I will tell them my name is Philip Morton, and may be they may know my father, and then they can show us the way home.”
And so these little children found comfort in thinking they would not be deserted, even though away from their parents, and lost in the thick wood; for their Father in heaven was watching over them, and allowing the good angels to put this thought into their head, to cheer them, so that they were not afraid.
All this while their parents and friends were out looking for them everywhere; for Mrs. Morton, seeing the dark cloud arise, and finding that the children did not come home, was very uneasy. At first, she was sure that they would be in directly, as Philip had always been so obedient to her, and so careful of his brother and sister. But night coming on, and seeing nothing of them, she became greatly alarmed. She went out herself with nurse Annie, and looked and called in vain. When Mr. Morton came home, he found her in the deepest distress, for all her children were gone, she knew not whither, and it was dark and raining, and there was a mill-race and pond not far off, where the children had often walked with her and their father,—and oh! if they had lost their way and fallen in there! Mr. Morton, and some gentlemen in the neighbourhood, who kindly lent their assistance, took lanterns, and all went out, some on foot and some on horseback, to search far and near for them.
It was about two o’clock in the morning when the children thought they heard some one calling them. They listened—no! they could not mistake their father’s voice calling, “Philip! Philip! Jessie!”
Oh! how their hearts beat! Philip ran farther into the wood and called again, “Father! Father! here we are!”
But no answer was returned. Just then they saw a light through the trees, at a distance, and Philip, running in the direction, saw his father, and their old man Tom, and Philo. Presently Philo barked, and Philip knew, by the sound, that they were all coming towards them.
“Don’t leave me, Philip!” cried out little Jessie. “I will take the baby up, if you will help me.”
So Philip ran back to the shed, and called again. His father heard him now, and came directly up to where they were. There he found Willy fast asleep, and Jessy trying to put on his apron and shoe.
Old Tommy had a bundle of shawls, and some cakes for them, that their mother had put up.—They were so glad to see their father, and to know that they were found, that they did not care for the cakes; but Jessie took a shawl for herself, and her father wrapped one around Willy, who opened his eyes, and seeing his father had him, fell asleep again.
They were soon on their way home,—Philo running on before them, as if to be the first to announce their coming; and Tommy, with Philip on one side,—and Jessy, holding her little school-basket in her hand, on the other; and Mr. Morton with the baby.
Mrs. Morton ran to meet them, and I cannot say who were the happier,—the children, to be once more safe at home, or the mother to hold again her darlings in her arms!
“Mother, I am afraid you will never trust Willy with me again,” was the first thing Philip said.—“But, indeed, I will never disobey you again. I did not know what a terrible thing it is to be naughty!”
His mother could not speak—she wept; but it was with joy and gratitude to God for restoring to her her children.
“Don’t cry so; indeed I think God will make me a good boy, after this, always,” said Philip, looking up earnestly in his mother’s face.
“May He indeed do so, my dear boy, and ever bless, and strengthen you!” said his mother. “May you never forget to obey your father and mother, now you are young, and I am sure you will be a good man.”
Philip never forgot the night in the woods. He is now grown up, and what his mother said was true. He is a good man, because he learned to be a good boy.
FORGIVENESS.
A very little child, one day,
Too young to know the harm it did,
Trampled, with his small naked foot,
The place in which a violet hid.
The violet sighed its life away,
Embalming, with its last faint breath,
The little foot, that thus, in play,
Had put its soft, blue flower to death.
Ah, was it not a tender flower,
To lavish all the wealth it had,
Its fragrance, in its dying hour,
Mild, meek, forgiving, mute, though sad.
My little girl, the lesson learn;
Be thou the violet—love thou so;
Retort no wrong; but nobly turn,
And with thy heart’s wealth bless thy foe.
THE TWO NOSEGAYS.
One fine summer evening, as the mother of Virginia and Maria was walking with them in the garden, she observed that, from time to time, they went away by themselves, and whispered mysteriously together; and whenever she went towards them, to inquire into the subject of their conversation, they stopped, and began to play about.
This conduct disturbed her very much; for she knew that when girls have anything which they wish to conceal from their mothers, there must be something wrong about it.
This case, however, was an exception to the general rule, Virginia and Maria had nothing improper in their minds; but the next day was their mother’s birth-day, and they wished to think of something which would be a suitable present for them to make her.
Virginia was two years older than Maria, and the two sisters were very different. Virginia was lively, quick, and graceful; Maria was quiet, modest, and loving.
“Let us make mamma some present which will prove which of us possesses the finest taste,” said Virginia. “In our garden and the meadow the flowers are all striving to see which will excel in beauty. Let us choose, from among them, the flowers we like best, and make a nosegay, each by ourselves; and then see which our mother will prefer.”
Maria agreed to her sister’s proposal, and, early on the next morning, they went, by different paths, through the meadow and garden, to make their choice. All the flowers smiled upon them, and seemed to invite attention: but they flew, like butterflies, from one to the other, uncertain where to choose. At length the early morning was gone, and it was time for them to return to breakfast.—They both knew that a want of punctuality would displease their mother, more than any nosegays could give her pleasure. So they broke off their flowers hastily, and carried them to the house, without even suffering each other to see what they had.
Soon after breakfast, Virginia approached her mother with a smile of satisfaction, and very gracefully presented her a bunch of fresh moss-roses, in a little basket curiously woven of the green leaves of the bush.
“Dear mother!” said she, “see how, from this little basket of leaves, this full-blown moss-rose lifts up its head in the centre, with a colour so lively and so soft. This beautiful rose is you, mother, and this little bud beneath its shadow is your Virginia.”
Maria approached with a timid step, and spoke in a low, hesitating voice:
“Mother, here is my nosegay. It is not so beautiful nor ingenious as Virginia’s rose-basket.—It is only a bunch of honeysuckle blossoms, from the vine which twined around the nut-tree, as I would rest on you.”
When Maria said this, she threw her arms around her mother’s neck, and wet her cheeks with tears of quiet love.
The beauty and ingenuity of the rose-basket had delighted the eye of the happy mother, but Maria’s present touched her heart; and tears filled her eyes, as she returned the embrace of her affectionate child.
“My dear children,” said she, “your gifts are like yourselves, and you shall both be precious to me.”
As she said this, she took the rose-bud from the basket, and twining it with the honeysuckles, put them both into her bosom.
