"It wasn't so very many years ago, not more than fifty-five," began Grandma, and then Rollo nudged Harold, and chuckled; and Marion looked with grave astonished eyes at a woman who thought fifty-five years was not a long, long time! But Grandma took no notice of them.
"Yes," she said, "it is just about fifty-five years ago. There was a pretty little boy whom I knew; he had yellow hair, and the bluest eyes, and he was a dear bright little fellow. One day he went visiting out to a nice old lady's who lived near his father's old place. While he was there, who should come along but two trim little girls who were out getting signers to the Total Abstinence Pledge. We called it the tetotal pledge in those days. There was quite an excitement about it in town. A man lectured every evening, and had meetings for the children afternoons, and gave them each pledge books, and the one who got the greatest number of signers was to have a medal with his name on. It wasn't a gold medal, but it shone, and had a nice blue ribbon to put around your neck; and the children all liked it.
"Well, these two came to aunt Patty's door and asked for signers. Aunt Patty invited them in and got out her quill pen which wasn't used very often, and she and her oldest girl, Prudence, put down their names. The little fellow stood looking on; he wasn't four years old yet, but he lived where he saw a great deal of writing going on, and behold he wanted to sign his name. Aunt Patty laughed, and tried to explain to him that he was too young; but he said No, he "writed" his name once when "favver" held his hand, and he wanted to do it again. That was true enough. One day his father bought him a picture book, and guided the pencil in his hand and let him put his name in it. After a good deal of coaxing, aunt Patty sat down and took him in her lap, and held that old quill, guiding it as well as she could, and he did get what looked something like his name in the book. It was very queer writing," said Grandma, stopping to laugh at the thought of it, with that same tender look in her eyes, "but the little fellow was just as proud of it as could be. He told of it the first thing when he went home, but his mother—oh! you don't know how badly she felt."
"Why?" interrupted Marion and Rollo. "Wasn't she a good mother?" asked Marion. "Didn't she believe in temperance?" asked Rollo.
"O, yes, she believed in temperance; but she had some very strong notions about promises. She wanted her little boy to understand all about it whenever he made one, and then to keep it as he would the eighth commandment; and she said he was too young to take a pledge, that he could not understand what it meant, and he would think that signing his name to a paper was a light thing, just for play. Why, children, she felt so badly about it that she just sat down and cried."
"Ho!" said Rollo, "I think she was foolish. I dare say he understood."
"Go on, Grandma," said Marion.
"Well, while the mother was crying, the father came home, and wanted to know all about it; and he thought as Rollo does, that the boy understood, or could be made to. He took him on his knee and they had a long talk all about drinking; what a dreadful thing it was, and about pledges, and then what should he tell him but this old story of the Rechabites; how they kept the promise made to their father, never forgetting it once; and how God was pleased, and rewarded them. Then he made the little fellow hold up his hand and say after him: 'Unto this day they drink none, but obey their father's commandment.' Then he explained that the paper the child had signed was a promise that he would obey his father's command and never touch liquor. 'I won't, favver,' the boy said; 'I'll 'member.' And he looked very earnest. But in two or three minutes he was playing with the cat; and his mother couldn't feel that he really understood much about it.
THE LITTLE FELLOW LOOKED ON.