Bessie at the Sea-Side

by Joanna H. Mathews

"But I want to know about 'nasty,'" said Bessie. "Is it saying bad grammar, like Mrs. Jones, to say it?"

"Not exactly," said Mr. Bradford, "and you may say it when a thing is really nasty; but I think you often use it when there is no need. Perhaps this little fellow does look nasty as well as ugly; but the other day I heard Maggie say that Mamie Stone was a nasty, cross child. Now, Mamie may be cross,—I dare say she often is,—but she certainly is not nasty, for she is always neat and clean. And this morning I heard you say that you did not want 'that nasty bread and milk.' The bread and milk was quite good and sweet, and not at all nasty; but you called it so because you did not fancy it."

"Then did I tell a wicked story?" asked Bessie, looking sober at the thought of having said what was not true.

"No," said papa, "you did not tell a wicked story, for you did not mean to say that which was not so. But it is wrong to fall into the habit of using words which seem to say so much more than we mean. But do not look so grave about it, my darling; you did not intend to do anything that was not right, I am sure."—

"But, papa," said Bessie, "why did God make ugly things?"

"Because he thought it best, Bessie. He made everything in the way which best fitted it for the purpose for which he intended it. This little crab lives under the sea, where he has a great many enemies, and where he has to find his food. With these round, staring eyes which stand out so far from his head, he can look in every direction and see if any danger is near, or if there is anything which may do for him to eat. With these long, awkward legs, he can scamper out of the way, and with those sharp claws, he fights, for he is a quarrelsome little fellow. He can give a good pinch with them, and you had better not put your fingers too near them. Under that hard, black shell, he has a tender body, which would be hurt by the rocks and stones among which he lives, if he had not something to protect it."

Uncle John took up a stick. "Here, Johnny Crab," he said, "let us see how you can fight;" and he put the stick in the water and stirred up the crab. The moment he was touched, the crab began to move all his legs, and to scuttle round the pool as if he wanted to get out. But Uncle John did not mean to let him come out until he had shown Bessie what a nip he could give with those pincers of his. He pushed him back, and put the stick close to one of his larger claws. The crab took hold of it, as if he were very angry, and such a pinch as he gave it!

"See there, Bessie," said Uncle John, "are you not glad it is not one of your little fingers he has hold of?"

"Yes," said Bessie, climbing on her father's knee as the crab tried to get out. "I didn't know he could pinch like that."

"Or you would not have sat so quietly watching him, eh, Bessie?" said Uncle John. "Well, romp,"—to Maggie, as she rushed up to them, rosy and out of breath, and jumping upon the rock behind him, threw both arms around his neck,—"well, romp, here is a gentleman who wishes to make your acquaintance."