"Oh, delightful!" cried Willie, and—accustomed to give his mother instant obedience—he caught up his ball and ran off, to obey her, with a sweet, pleasant expression in his face.
Dear little children, it makes such a wonderful difference how you obey your parents. If a boy is requested by his mother to leave his play and go upon an errand for her, and he goes slowly, making dreadful faces, and muttering to himself, "Dear me, why couldn't she send some one else; I hate to go!" do you think he gives his mother as much pleasure as when he says, "Yes, mamma, of course I will!" and runs off to do her bidding with two pleasant dimples in his cheeks? Which is the best way? I think Willie knew. Do you?
Willie was an only child. He had large blue eyes, fair curling hair, and dimpled cheeks; but I am sorry to say his cheeks were pale, for his constitution was very delicate, and, though a frolicksome little fellow, he very soon tired of play, and his greatest pleasure was to sit by his mother and listen to some interesting story.
Solomon has written in the Good Book that "even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right." Children should never forget this. Willie tried to remember it; for he was so obedient, so thoughtful, and so loving, that I am sure, if he is permitted to live, he will grow up a good man.
While Willie was playing, his kind mother, true to her promise, went into the next room, where was a large book-case, to try and find some story that would interest and amuse her little son. Presently she opened a book, in which she chanced upon a story which she thought she could so simplify to his childish understanding as to interest him exceedingly. At this moment, Willie came bounding in—a delicate bloom on his cheeks, and his blue eyes sparkling.
"Well, dear mamma," he cried eagerly, and catching his breath, "I have played ball till my breath is as short as my nose. Is that enough?"
"Quite enough," said his mother, laughing. "Come and sit down, and in a few minutes, I hope, your breath will grow as long as your arm. I think I have a very nice story for you. It is about a fox and some other animals. It was written by a great author. As it is written, it will be almost too old for a little fellow like you, but I will make it younger if I can."
"Oh, that will be excellent!" said Willie, sitting down by his mother and rubbing his hands in a great state of delight. "A fox—only think! Will he talk? I hope he will; and I hope there will be giants and fairies, and—and very good children, and very bad boys, and—oh, every thing!"
His mother laughed again, and said, "There are only animals in this story, but it is very long."
"That's perfect," cried Willie, "I could listen to stories all day and all night; I hope this will last twice as long as possible—I mean," continued he, as his mother laughed at "possible," "very long, indeed, you know."