LITTLE CHARLIE WHITE.
CHARLIE WHITE.
From a Photograph by Stauffer, Asbury Park, New Jersey.
Well, yes, ma'am, this is the lake, and the story is pleasant and true,
Though Charlie White did nothing at all but what he'd been taught to do.
Yet I count it honor enough, when a boy sees trouble and muss,
Just to know what to do, and do it, without any talk or fuss.
You know what the August weather is, and children, for any sake,
Will not keep out of the water: there were two that day in the lake.
The one was near about eight, and the other was twelve years old—
Both just of that age, as you'll allow, when children are over-bold.
One moment I heard their merry laugh ring through the summer air,
And the next their father's shout of "Help!"—their mother's shriek of despair.
But being old and lame, as you see, I stood, dazed like, on the bank,
Till Charlie White had put off a boat, and was rowing to where they sank.
'Twas done in a moment, quick as thought; and that, as I take it, ma'am,
Makes all the odds between true courage and that which is half a sham;
For while we were lost in fear and fright, little Charlie had got the boat,
And when the children rose to the top, was there to keep them afloat.
For Charlie is but a little fellow, and hadn't the strength, you see,
To lift the children into the boat, but he spoke cheerily,
And held them up until help came; and so, with a happy heart,
He left them safe, and went his way, just glad to have done his part.
And best of all, as I said before, though Charlie is noways rash,
The deed was done, as such brave deeds are, rapid and prompt as a flash;
And this, I think, is the children's way; they never mind praise or gain:
I guess you've read of that brave Kate Shelley that saved the Western train.
Well, Kate and Charlie are of one kind, and surely now I can see
Why Jesus said to the wise and the great, "Like little children be."
For though we may honor the men of war, who have their thousands slain,
In a better world God's angels, perhaps, may count it a grander gain
To succor a drowning boy and girl, or to save a loaded train.
Seattle, Washington Territory.
I am a large girl eight years old. We take Harper's Young People—that is, Willie and Jessie and I—and we are very glad when papa brings to us a new number. I had a little fawn which came from British Columbia. It was three weeks old when papa bought it for us, and such a time as we had in teaching the spotted little baby deer to drink milk! It grew to know us, and became a darling pet and playmate. We have sent it on a great ship to a little boy in San Francisco. I cried to see Una go away; and she cried, so the man said, for us. We live upon a hill, and can look out upon Puget Sound, and see ships coming and going all the time. On a clear day we can always see the snowy mountains.