“Oh, yes, mamma,” said little Napoleon Charley, “but grandmamma is so good, I am used to it; but look at those little boys, mamma.”
“Well,” said his mother, “what of them? Do you wish you had some money to give them?”
“No; papa gave me some money this morning, and it is all given away.”
“Well, then, what ails my dear child? What do you want?”
“Oh,” said the little prince, hesitatingly, “I know you won’t let me; but if I could run about in that beautiful puddle, it would amuse me more than all good grandmamma’s presents!”
You whose fathers are not rich, and who envy other children their fine clothes, fine toys, and fine carriages, must remember this little story. There are plenty of rich men’s children who would be glad to part with all these things, could they only make “dirt-pies,” and splash their bare toes in the gutters, as you do. All is not gold that glitters; believe this, and it will cure you of many a heartache.
THE SPOILED BOY.
If there ever was a boy who needed a dose of the old-fashioned medicine called “oil of birch,” it was Tommy Sprout. He had scowled and fretted till his face looked like a winter-apple toward spring, all shriveled, and spotted, and wrinkled. The moment Tommy sat down to table, before the rest of the family had a chance to get settled in their chairs, Tommy would begin this fashion: “I say Ma” (Tommy pronounced it “Mha,” through his nose), “I say mha, give me some milk, quick!”
Then his “mha,” instead of sending him away from the table, as she should have done, would say,
“Presently, my son; wait a few minutes, till I have poured out the coffee!”