Not many days afterwards there was a storm. How the wind blew and roared! All through the night it rattled the windows and whistled in the chimney. Frank's mother went downstairs early in the morning to make a fire, but as soon as she lighted it, puff! the smoke came down the chimney, and filled the room, and she was obliged to let the fire go out.
Down came the children for breakfast, and Frank cried: "Is the fire not lighted, mother? I am so cold; and oh! the house is smoky."
"I have tried to light a fire," said his mother, "but the smoke blows down the chimney. I think it needs sweeping; I shall have to give you milk for breakfast; there is no nice, hot coffee for you, because the fire will not burn."
After breakfast Frank's brother went to fetch the chimney-sweep, who soon came, and with his long brushes brought down all the soot, which he carried away in a bag. Then the fire burned merrily, making the room look quite bright and cheerful, and Frank said: "Thank you, Mr. Chimney-sweep, for your good work. I will never call you 'blackamoor' again; and when I meet you in the street, I will not think you are too dirty to speak to."
Frank had learnt two lessons:—
(Blackboard)
1. Some Work makes Men Black.
2. We must be kind to these Men, for we Need their Work.