“I know I shall,” Betty answered happily. “I'll call for Robbie the next day, Mrs. Porter.” And away the little girl tripped, light-hearted as could be. That is the way it makes one feel to follow the Golden Rule.
JACK'S MASTER.
Jack's most delightful present last Christmas was a red wooden gun, with arrows that would shoot very hard indeed. At least Jack thought it was delightful, but his mamma did not; those little pointed wooden arrows that flew so far and hit so hard made her very uneasy, for fear her little boy would presently hurt somebody.
But mammas hate to spoil their little boys' fun, and Jack's mamma made an arrangement by which it was agreed that he was to have his gun, provided that he never pointed it at anybody, even in play.
Jack was quick enough to promise; he meant to keep his promise, too; and I think would have kept it if it hadn't been for his master. You didn't know Jack had a master? No more did he know it till the day he had to give up his gun.
You see, Jack had a little brother, two years younger than himself, who was a very spirit of mischief, and loved above all things to tease big Jack. One day, when the two boys were playing together, pretending to be wild Indians out in the woods. Will began to tease Jack by saying: “There was a little man, and he had a little gun,” and all the rest of that little song. I don't know why this teased Jack, but he got madder and madder, until, alas! in spite of his promise, he pointed his gun—not at the “duck—duck—duck,” but at Will, and struck him on the cheek.
Now it was not the wooden arrow with which his gun was loaded this time, but one leg of a sharp steel hairpin, and it went into the cheek and stuck there like a little dagger.
Half an hour later the red gun was in ashes on mamma's hearth, while mamma herself and both boys sat sorrowfully by its grave.
“Mamma,” said Jack, “I didn't mean to shoot Will, but somehow I couldn't help it.”