STORY LESSONS
ON
CHARACTER-BUILDING (MORALS)
AND
MANNERS.

[v]

Incidents often occur in the school or home life which afford fitting opportunity for the inculcation of some special moral truth, but maybe the teacher or mother has no suitable illustration just at hand, and the occasion is passed over with a reproof. It is hoped that where such want is felt this little book may supply the need.

The stories may be either told or read to the children, and are as suitable for the home as the school. "The Fairy Temple" should be read as an introduction to the Story Lessons, for the teaching of the latter is based on this introductory fairy tale. If used at home the blackboard sketch may be written on a slate or slip of paper. The children will not weary if the stories are repeated again and again (this at least was the writer's experience), and they will be eager to pronounce what is the teaching of the tale. In this way the lessons are reiterated and enforced. The method is one which the writer found exceedingly effective during long years of[vi] experience. Picture-teaching is an ideal way of conveying truths to children, and these little stories are intended to be pictures in which the children may see and contrast the good with the bad, and learn to love the good. The faults of young children are almost invariably due either to thoughtlessness or want of knowledge, and the little ones are delighted to learn and put into practice the lessons taught in these stories, which teaching should be applied in the class or home as occasion arises. E.g., a child is passing in front of another without any apology, the teacher says, immediately: "Remember Minnie, you do not wish to be rude, like she was" (Story Lesson 111). Or if a child omits to say "Thank you," he may be reminded by asking: "Have you forgotten 'Alec and the Fairies'?" (Story Lesson 95). The story lessons should be read to the children until they become perfectly familiar with them, so that each may be applied in the manner indicated.

[vii]

[xiii]

[1]

It was night—a glorious, moonlight night, and in the shade of the leafy woods the Queen of the fairies was calling her little people together by the sweet tones of a tinkling, silver bell. When they were all gathered round, she said: "My dear children, I am going to do a great work, and I want you all to help me". At this the fairies spread their wings and bowed, for they were always ready to do the bidding of their Queen. They were all dressed in lovely colours, of a gauzy substance, finer than any silk that ever was seen, and their names were called after the colours they wore. The Queen's robe was of purple and gold, and glittered grandly in the moonlight.

"I have determined," said the Queen, "to build a Temple of precious stones, and your work will be to bring me the material." "Rosy-wings," she continued, turning to a little fairy clad in delicate pink, and fair as a rose, "you shall bring rubies." "Grass-green," to a fairy dressed in green, "your work is to find emeralds; and Shiny-wings, you will go to the mermaids and ask them to give you pearls."[2]

Now there stood near the Queen six tiny, fairy sisters, whose robes were whiter and purer than any. The sisters were all called by the same name—"Crystal-clear," and they waited to hear what their work was to be.

"Sisters Crystal-clear," said the Queen, "you shall all of you bring diamonds; we shall need so many diamonds."

There was another fairy standing there, whose robe seemed to change into many colours as it shimmered in the moonlight, just as you have seen the sky change colour at sunset, and to her the Queen said, "Rainbow-robe, go and find the opal".

Then there were three other fairy sisters called "Gold-wings," who were always trying to help the other fairies, and to do good to everybody, and the Queen told them to bring fine gold to fasten the precious stones together.

These are not all the fairies who were there; some others wore blue, some yellow, and the Queen gave them all their work. Then she rang a tiny, silver bell, and they all spread their wings and bowed before they flew away to do her bidding.

After many days the fairies came together to bring their precious treasures to the Queen. How they carried them I scarcely know, but there was a little girl, many years ago, who often paused at the window of a jeweller's shop to gaze at a tiny, silver boy, with silver wings, wheeling a silver wheel-barrow full of rings, and the little girl thought that perhaps the fairies carried things in the same way. Anyhow, they all came to the Queen bringing their burdens, and she soon set to work on the Temple.

"The foundations must be laid with diamonds," said the Queen. "Where are the six sisters? Ah! here they come with the lovely, shining diamonds, which are like themselves, 'clear as crystal'. Now little Gold-wings, bring your treasure," and the three little sisters brought the[3] finest of gold. So the work went merrily on, and the fairies danced in glee as they saw the glittering Temple growing under the clever hands of the Queen. She made the doors of pearls and the windows of rubies, and the roof she said should be of opal, because it would show many colours when the light played upon it.

At last the lovely building was finished, and after the fairies had danced joyfully round it in a ring again and again, until they could dance no longer, they gathered in a group round the dear Queen, and thanked her for having made so beautiful a Temple.

"It is quite the loveliest thing in the world, I am sure," said Rosy-wings.

"Not quite," replied the Queen, "mortals have it in their power to make a lovelier Temple than ours."

"Who are 'mortals'?" asked Shiny-wings.

"Boys and girls are mortals," said the Queen, "and grown-up people also."

"I have never seen mortals build anything half so pretty as our Temple," said Grass-green; "their houses are made of stone and brick."

"Ah! Grass-green," answered the Queen, smiling, "you have never seen the Temple I am speaking of, but it is better than ours, for it lasts—lasts for ever. Wind and rain, frost and snow, will spoil our Temple in time; but the Temple of the mortals lives on, and is never destroyed."

"Do tell us about it, dear Queen," said all the fairies; "we will try to understand."

"It is called by rather a long word," said the Queen, "its name is 'character'; that is what the mortals build, and the stones they use are more precious than our stones. I will tell you the names of some of them. First there is Truth, clear and bright like the diamonds; that must be the foundation; no good character can be made without Truth."[4]

Then the sisters Crystal-clear smiled at each other and said, "We brought diamonds for truth".

"There are Honesty, Obedience, and many others," continued the Queen, "and Kindness, which is like the pure gold that was brought by Gold-wings, and makes a lovely setting for all the other stones."

The little fairies were glad to hear all this about the Temple which the mortals build, and Gold-wings said that she would like above everything to be able to help boys and girls to make their Temple beautiful, and the other fairies said the same; so the Queen said they all might try to help them, for each boy and girl must build a Temple, and the name of that Temple is Character.

There was once a little boy who said that whenever he was going to do anything wrong he heard two voices speaking to him. Do you know what he meant? Perhaps this story will help you.

The boy's name was Cecil. Cecil's father had a very beautiful and rare canary, which had been brought far over the sea as a present to him.

Cecil often helped to feed the canary and give it fresh water, and sometimes his father would allow him to open the door of the cage, and the bird would come out and perch on his hand, which delighted Cecil very much, but he was not allowed to open the door of the cage unless his father was with him.[5]

One day, however, Cecil came to the cage alone, and while he watched the canary, a little voice said, "Open the door and take him out; father will never know". That was a wrong voice, and Cecil tried not to listen. It would have been better if he had gone away from the cage, but he did not; and the voice came again, "Open the door and let him out". And another little voice said, "No, don't; your father said you must not". But Cecil listened to the wrong voice; he opened the door gently, and out flew the pretty bird. First it perched on his finger, then it flew about the room, and then—Cecil had not noticed that the window was open—then, before he knew, out of the window flew the canary, and poor Cecil burst into tears. "Oh! if I had listened to the good voice, the right voice, and not opened the door! Father will be so angry." Then the bad voice came again and said, "Don't tell your father; say you know nothing about it ". But Cecil did not listen this time; he was too brave a boy to tell his father a lie, and he determined to tell the truth and be punished, if necessary.

Of course his father was very sorry to lose his beautiful canary, and more sorry still that his little son had been disobedient, but he was glad that Cecil told him the truth.

Now do you know the two things that the wrong voice told Cecil to do? It told him (1) Not to obey; (2) Not to tell the truth. I think we have all heard those two voices, not with our ears, but within us. Let us always listen to the good voice—the right voice.

[6]

You know that the country in which you live is an island? That means there is water all round it, and that water is the sea.

England and Scotland are joined together in one large island; and if you want to go to any other country, you must sail in a ship. A great many ships come to England, bringing us tea, coffee, sugar, oranges and many other things, and the towns they come to are called ports. London is a port, so is Liverpool; and in the North of England is another port called Hull. To get to Hull from the sea we have to sail up a wide river called the Humber for more than twenty miles. This river has a great many sandbanks in it, and there are men called pilots who know just where these sandbanks lie, and they are the ones who can guide the ships safely into port.

One day there was a captain who brought his ship into the river, and said to himself, "I do not want the pilot on board, I can guide the ship myself". So he did not hoist the "union jack" on the foremast head, which means "Pilot come on board"; and the pilot did not come.

For a little time the good ship sailed along all right, but presently they found that she was not moving at all. What had happened? The ship was stuck fast on a sandbank, and the foolish captain wished now that he had taken the pilot on board. First he had to go out in the little boat and fetch a "tug-boat" to pull the ship off the sandbank, and then he was glad enough to have the pilot on board, and to let him guide the ship just as he liked. Why could not the captain guide the ship? Because he did not know the way.[7]

Have you ever known children who did not like to do as they were told? who thought that they knew best—better than father or mother? They are like the foolish captain, who tried to guide his ship when he did not know the way. Fathers and mothers are like the pilot, who knew which was the best way to take; and wise children are willing to be guided, for they do not know the way any more than the captain did.

A lady once had a dog of which she was very fond. The dog was fond of his mistress also, and loved to romp by her side when she was out walking, or to lie at her feet as she[8] sat at work. But the dog had one serious fault—he did not like to be washed, and he was so savage when he was put into the bath, that at last none of the servants dare do it.

The lady decided that she would not take any more notice of the dog until he was willing to have his bath quietly, so she did not take him out with her for walks, nor allow him to come near her in the house. There were no pattings, no caresses, no romps, and he began to look quite wretched and miserable. You see the dog did not like his mistress to be vexed with him, and he felt very unhappy—so unhappy that at last he could bear it no longer.

Then one morning he crept quietly up to the lady and gave her a look which she knew quite well meant, "I cannot bear this any longer; I will be good".

So he was put in the bath, and though he had to be scrubbed very hard—for by this time he was unusually dirty—he stood still quite patiently, and when it was all over, he bounded to his mistress with a joyous bark and a wag of the tail, as much as to say, "It is all right now".

After this he was allowed to go for walks as usual, and was once more a happy dog, and he never objected to his bath afterwards.

The dog could not bear to grieve his mistress; and how much more should children be sorry to grieve kind father and mother, who do so much for them.

[9]

A little boy named Robert was having a game at marbles with a number of other boys, and it had just come his turn to play. He meant to win, and was carefully aiming the marble, when he heard his mother's voice calling, "Robert, I want you". Quick as thought the marbles were dropped into his pocket, and off he ran to see what mother wanted.

I was in a house one day where a boy was getting ready to go to school. His bag was slung over his shoulder, and he was just reaching his cap from the peg, when his mother said, "Put on your overcoat, Jimmy; it is rather cold this morning". Oh, what a fuss there was! How he argued with his mother, "It was not cold; he hated overcoats. Could he not take it over his arm, or put it on in the afternoon?" Many more objections he made, and when at last he had put it on, he went out grumbling, and slammed the door after him.

[10]

Can you guess how his mother felt? "Unhappy," you will say. And do you think it is right, dear children, to make mother unhappy? I am sure you do not.

You see Jimmy thought that he knew better than his mother, but he did not. Children need to be guided like the boat in the Humber (Story Lesson 3), for they are not very wise; and when we obey, we are building up our Temple with beautiful stones.

Perhaps you have never heard the word Loyalty before, and maybe Rowland had not either, but he knew what it meant, and tried to practise it.[11]

Rowland was not a very strong little boy, and he could not eat so many different kinds of food as some children can, for some of them made him sick. Among other things he was forbidden to take pastry. His mother, who loved him very dearly, had one day said to him, "Rowland, my boy, I cannot always be with you, but I trust you to do what I wish," and Rowland said he would try always to remember.

One time he was invited to go and stay with his cousins, who lived in a fine old house in the country. They were strong, healthy, rosy children, quite a contrast to their delicate little cousin, and perhaps they were a little rough and rude as well.

There was a large apple tart for dinner one day, and when Rowland said, "I do not wish for any, Auntie, thank you," his cousins looked at him in surprise, and the eldest said scornfully, "I am glad that I am not delicate," and the next boy remarked, "What a fad!" while the third muttered "Baby". This was all very hard to bear, and when his Aunt said, "I am sure a little will not hurt you," Rowland felt very much inclined to give in, but he remembered that his mother trusted him, and he remained true to her wishes.

This is Loyalty, doing what is right even when there is no one there to see.

[12]

"Lucy," said her mother, "just run to the dairy and fetch a pint of milk for me, here is the money; and do remember, child, to look where you are going, so that you do not stumble and drop the jug." I am afraid Lucy was a little like another girl you will hear of (Story Lesson 103); she was too fond of staring about, and perhaps rather careless.

However, she went to the dairy and bought the milk, and had returned half-way home without any mishap, when she met a flock of sheep coming down the road, followed by a large sheep-dog. Lucy stood on the pavement to watch them pass; it was such fun to see the sheep-dog scamper from one side to the other, and the timid sheep spring forward as soon as the dog came near them. So far the milk was safe; but, after the sheep had passed, Lucy thought she would just turn round to have one more peep at them, and oh, dear, her foot tripped against a stone, and down she fell, milk, and jug, and all, and the jug was smashed to pieces.

Lucy was in great trouble, and as she stood there and looked at the broken jug, and the milk trickling down the gutter, she cried bitterly.

A big boy who was passing by at the time, and had seen the accident, came across the road and said to her: "Don't cry, little girl, just run home and tell your mother that the sheep-dog bounced up against you and knocked the jug out of your hand; then you will not be punished".[13]

Lucy dried her eyes quickly, and gazed at the boy in astonishment. "Tell my mother a lie!" said she; "no, I would rather be punished a dozen times than do so. I shall tell her the truth," and she walked away home. Lucy was careless, but she was not untruthful; surely the boy must have felt ashamed!

You remember the Fairy Queen said that Truth was the foundation of our beautiful Temple (Story Lesson 1), and the building will all tumble down in ruins if we do not have a strong foundation, so we must be brave to bear punishment (as Lucy was) if we deserve it, and be sure to

This is a story of a dear little curly-headed girl called Mabel, whom everybody loved. She was so bright, and happy, and good-tempered, one could not help loving her, and when you looked into her clear, blue eyes, you could see that she was a frank, truthful child, who had nothing to hide, for she tried to listen to the Good Voice, and do what was right.

One day Mabel was having a romp with her little dog, Fritz, in the kitchen. Up and down she chased him, and away he went, jumping over the chairs, hiding under the dresser, always followed by Mabel, until at last he leaped on the table, and in trying to make him come down, Mabel and the dog together overturned a tray full of clean, starched linen that was on the table. Mabel had been giving Fritz[14] some water to drink a little before this, and in doing so had spilt a good deal on the floor, so the clean cuffs and collars rolled over in the wet, and were quite spoiled.

Mabel's mother happened to come in just when the tray fell with a bang, and as the dog jumped down from the table at the same moment she thought he had done it, and Mabel did not tell that she was in fault, so poor Fritz was chained up in his kennel, and kept without dinner as a punishment.

Mabel felt sad about it all the rest of the day, and when she was put to bed at night, and mamma had left her, she did not go to sleep as usual, but tossed about on the pillow, until her little curly head was quite hot and tired. Then she began to cry. Mabel was listening to the Good Voice now, and it said, "Oh, Mabel, you helped Fritz to overturn the tray, and he got all the blame, how mean of you!" Mabel sobbed louder when she thought of herself as being mean, and her mother hearing the noise came to see what was the matter. Then Mabel confessed all, and her mother said, "Perhaps my little girl did not know that we could be untruthful by not speaking at all, but you see it is quite possible".

I do not think Mabel ever forgot the lesson which she learnt that

Two boys were playing at bat and ball in a field. There was a high hedge on one side of the field, and on the other[15] side of the hedge was a market garden, where things are grown to be afterwards sold in the market. The boys had been playing some time, when the "batter," giving the ball a very hard blow, sent it over the hedge, and both the boys heard a loud crash as of breaking glass. They picked up the wickets quickly, and carried them, with the bat, to a hut that stood in the field, and were hurrying away when the gardener came and stopped them, asking, "Have you sent a cricket-ball over the hedge into my cucumber frame?" The boy who had struck the ball answered, "I did not see a ball go into your frame," and the other boy said, "Neither did I".

They did not see the ball break the glass, but they both knew that it had crashed into the frame, and though the words they spoke might be true, the lie was there all the same.

Supposing the sisters "Crystal-clear" had brought to the Fairy Queen a diamond that was only good on one side, do you think she would have put it in the Temple? No, indeed, she would have said it was only half true; and so we must put away anything that looks like truth, but is not truth. How wrong it is to make believe we have not done a thing, when all the time we have.

Dear children, be true all through! Have you ever seen a glass jar of pure honey, no bits of wax floating in it, all clear and pure? Let your heart be like that, sincere, which means "without wax, clear and pure".

[16]

One day three little girls were talking about hats and feathers.

The first girl said: "I have such a long feather in my best hat; it goes all down one side".

Then the next girl said: "Oh! my feather is longer than that, for it goes all round the hat"; and the third girl said: "Ah! but my feather is longer than either of yours, for it goes round the hat and hangs down behind as well".

On the next Sunday each of these little girls went walking in the park with her parents, wearing her best hat with the wonderful feather; it never occurred to one of them that she might meet the other two, but that is just what happened, and the three "long" feathers proved to be nothing but three short, little feathers, one in each hat! Can you guess how ashamed each girl felt?

You have seen a piece of elastic stretched out. How long you can make it, and how short it goes when you leave off stretching! Each girl wanted to be better than the other, and to appear so, each "stretched" the story of her feather, just as the length of elastic was stretched, forgetting that

[17]

The little children who went to school long years ago did not have pretty things to play with as you have—no kindergarten balls with bright colours, nor nice bricks with which to build houses and churches! There was a little girl named Lulu who went to a dame's school in those far-off days, and most of the time she had to sit knitting a long, grey stocking, though she was only six years old.

Some of the older girls were sewing on canvas with pretty coloured wools, and making (what appeared to little Lulu) most beautiful pictures. How she longed for a length of the pink or blue wool to have for her very own!

The school was in a room upstairs, and at the head of the stair there was a window, with a deep window-sill in front of it. As Lulu came out of the schoolroom one day to take a message for the teacher, and turned to close the door after her, she saw (oh, lovely sight!) that the window-sill was piled up with bundles of the pretty coloured wool that she liked so much. Oh! how she wished for a little of it! And, see, there is some rose-pink wool on the top, cut into lengths ready for the girls to sew with! It is too much for poor little Lulu; she draws out one! two! three lengths of the wool, folds it up hastily, puts it in her pocket, and runs down the stair on the errand she has been sent.

But is she happy? Oh, no! for a little Voice says: "Lulu, you are stealing; the wool is not yours!" For a few minutes the wool rests in her pocket, and then she[18] runs back up the stair; the schoolroom door is still closed as Lulu draws the wool from her pocket, and gently puts it back on the window-sill. Then she takes the message and returns to her place in the schoolroom, and to the knitting of her long stocking, hot and ashamed at the thought of what she has done, but glad in her heart that she listened to the Good Voice, and did not keep the wool.

Had any one seen her? Did any one know about it? Yes, there were loving Eyes watching little Lulu, and the One who looked down was very glad when she listened to the Good Voice. Do you know who it was?

[19]

There are some people who think that taking little things is not stealing. But it is.

There was a little boy, named Carl, who began his wrong-doing by taking a piece of sugar. Then he took another piece, and another; but he always did it when his mother was not looking. We always want to hide the doing of wrong—we feel so ashamed.

One day Carl's mother sent him to the shop for something, and he kept a halfpenny out of the change. His mother did not notice it; she never thought her little boy would steal.

So it went on from bad to worse, until one day he stole a shilling from a boy in the school, and was expelled.

As Carl grew older he took larger sums, and you will not be surprised to hear that in the end he was sent to prison, and nearly broke his mother's heart.

Lilie's cousin had a bottle of scent given to her, and it had such a pleasant smell that one day, when Lilie was alone in the room, she thought she would like a little, so she unscrewed the stopper, and sprinkled a few drops on her handkerchief. I do not suppose her cousin would have been angry if she had known, but Lilie knew the scent was not hers, and she was miserable the moment she had taken it, and had no peace until she confessed[20] the fault, and asked her cousin's forgiveness. I wish Carl had felt like that about the piece of sugar; do not you? Then he would never have taken the larger things, and been sent to prison.

It was the Christmas examination at school, and the boys were all at their desks ready for the questions in arithmetic. Will Jones's desk was next Tom Hardy's, and everybody thought that one of these two boys would win the prize.

As soon as the questions had been given out, the boys set to work. Tom did all his sums on a scrap of paper first, then he copied them out carefully, and, after handing his paper to the master, left the room. Unfortunately he left the scrap of paper on which he had worked his sums lying on the desk. Will snatched it up, and looked to see if his answers were the same. No! two were different. Tom's would be sure to be right; so he copied the sums from Tom's scrap of paper. It was stealing, of course; just as much stealing as if he had taken Tom's pen or knife. Besides, it is so mean to let some one else do the work and then steal it from them—even the birds know that.

Some little birds were building themselves a nest, and to save the trouble of gathering materials, they went and[21] took some twigs and other things from another bird's nest that was being built. But when the old birds saw what the little ones had done, they set to work and pulled the nest all to pieces. That was to teach them to go and find their own twigs and sticks, and not to steal from others.

Of course Will was not happy. There was a little Voice within that would not let him rest, and when the boys kept talking about the arithmetic prize, and wondering who would get it, he felt as though he would like to go and hide somewhere, he was so ashamed. That is one of the results of wrong-doing, as we said before—it always makes us ashamed.

At last the day came when the master would tell who were the prize-winners. The boys were all sitting at their desks listening as the master read out these words:—

"Tom Hardy and Will Jones have all their sums right, but as Will's paper is the neater of the two, he will take the first prize".

The boys clapped their hands, but Will was not glad. The Voice within spoke louder and louder, so loudly that Will was almost afraid some of the other boys would hear it, and his face grew red and hot. At last he determined to obey the Good Voice and tell the truth, so he rose from his seat, walked up to the master, and said: "Please, sir, the prize does not belong to me, for I stole two of my answers from Tom Hardy. I am very sorry."

The master was greatly surprised, but he could see that Will was very sorry and unhappy. He held out his hand to him, and said: "I am glad, Will, that you have been brave enough to confess this. It will make you far happier than the prize would have done, seeing that you had not honestly won it." So the prize went to Tom, and Will[22] was never guilty of copying again; he remembered too well the unhappiness that followed it.

When Lulu reached her fifteenth birthday she had a watch given to her. One afternoon she was walking through a wood, up a steep and rocky path, and when she reached the top she stood for a few moments to rest. Looking back down the wood she saw a boy coming by the same path, and when about half-way up he stooped down as if to raise something from the ground, but the thought did not occur to Lulu that it might be anything belonging to her.

When she was rested she walked on until she came to a house just outside the wood, where she was to take tea with a friend.

After tea they sat and worked until the sun began to go down. Then Lulu said, "I think I must be going home; I will see what time it is," and she was going to take out her watch, when, alas! she found it was gone. "Oh, dear!" said she, "what shall I do? How careless of me to put it in my belt; it was a present from my brother!" Then she suddenly remembered standing at the top of the path and seeing the boy pick something up. "That would be my watch," said she. And so it was.

The boy had followed her up the wood, and had seen her go into the house, but he did not give up the watch. He waited until some bills were posted offering a reward of[23] £1, then he brought the watch and took the sovereign. If he had been an honest boy he would not have waited, but would have given up the watch at once. We ought not to wish any reward for doing what is right. It is quite enough to have the happiness that comes from obeying the Good Voice. We cannot build up a good character without honesty.

A lady was one day taking a walk along a country lane, and just as she was passing the gate of a field a horse and cart came out, and went down the road in the same direction as she was going, and oh! how the wheels did squeak! The lady longed to get away from the sound of them. First she walked very quickly, hoping to get well ahead; but no, the horse hurried up too, and kept pace with her. Perhaps he disliked the squeaking, and wanted his journey to be quickly finished. Then she lingered behind, and sauntered along slowly, but squeak, squeak—the hateful sound was still[24] there. At last the cart was driven down a lane to the right, and now the lady could listen to the songs of the birds, the humming of the bees, and the sweet rustle of the leaves as the wind played amongst them. "How much pleasanter," thought she, "are these sounds than the squeaking of the wheels."

I wonder if you have ever seen any little children who make you think of those disagreeable wheels? They are children who do not like to lend their toys, or to play the games that their companions suggest, but who like, instead, to please themselves.

Do you know what the wheels needed to make them go sweetly? They needed oil. And the disagreeable children who grate on us with their selfish, unkind ways, need another sort of oil—the oil of kindness. That will make things go sweetly; so we will write on the blackboard

Did you know that trees and birds, bees and flowers could be kind to each other? They can; I will tell you how.

See the pretty red cherries growing on that tree. All little children like cherries, and the birds like them too.

A little bird comes flying to the cherry tree and asks, "May I have one of these rosy little balls, please?"

"Yes, little bird," says the cherry tree; "take some, by all means."[25]

So the bird has a nice fruit banquet with the cherries, and then, what do you think he does for the tree?

"Oh!" you say, "a little bird cannot do anything that would help a big tree." But he can.

When he has eaten the cherry he drops the stone, and sometimes it sinks into the ground, and from it a young cherry tree springs up. The tree could not do that for itself, so we see that

When you have been smelling a tiger-lily, has any of the yellow dust ever rested on the tip of your nose? (Let the children see a tiger-lily, or a picture of one, if possible.) Look into the large cup of the lily, and there, deep down, you will see some sweet, delicious juice. What is it for? Ask the bee; she will tell you.

Here she comes, and down goes her long tongue into the flower. "Ah! Mrs. Bee, the honey is for you, I see. And pray, what have you done for the flower? Nothing, I'm afraid."

"Oh, yes, I have," hums the bee. "I brought her some flower-dust (pollen) on my back from another tiger-lily that I have been visiting to make her seeds grow. When I dip down into the flower some of the 'dust' clings to me, so I take it to the next tiger-lily that I visit, and she is very much obliged to me."[26]

You see, dear children, how the flowers help each other, and how the bee carries messages from one to another; so if

Do you remember the story of "Lulu and the Wool"? This is a true tale of the same little girl when she was grown older.

Lulu's home was at the top of a hill, and the road leading up to it was very steep. One summer evening, as Lulu walked home from town, she overtook a woman coming from market, and carrying a heavy basket as well as a bundle which was tied up in a blue checked handkerchief.

The poor woman stopped to rest just as Lulu came up to her. "Let me carry your bundle," said Lulu. And before the woman could answer she had picked it up and was trudging along.

"Perhaps your mother would not be pleased to see you carrying my bundle?" sighed the woman. "Some people think it is vulgar to be seen carrying parcels."

"It is never vulgar to be kind," answered Lulu. "That is what mother would say." So they walked on until they came to the cottage, and Lulu left the grateful woman at her own door, and forgot all about it.

Some years after, Lulu had been away from home, and, missing her train, she returned laden with parcels one dark,[27] wet night. There was no one to meet her, no one to help to carry her parcels, and the rain was pouring down. She hurried outside to look for a cab, but there was not one to be had, so she began to walk up the hill. After going a very little way she stopped to rest, the parcels were so heavy; and just then a man came up and said: "Give me your parcels, miss, they seem too heavy for you". And Lulu, astonished, handed them to him. He carried them to the door of her mother's house, and hardly waited to hear the grateful thanks Lulu would have poured out.

Have you ever heard these words: "Give, and it shall be given unto you". I think they came true in this little story. Do not you?

Let us all try to build a good deal of the "pure gold" of Kindness into our "Temple".

If you place your hand on your head you will feel something hard just beneath the hair. What is it? It is bone. Pass your hand all over your head and you will still feel the bone. It is called the skull, and it covers up a wonderful thing called the brain, with which we think, and learn, and remember.

A little baby girl was toddling about the room one afternoon while her mother sat sewing. The baby was a year and a half old. She had only just learned to walk, and could not talk much, but she had begun to think. Presently she noticed a little stool under the table, and[28] after a great deal of trouble she managed to get it out. Can you guess what she wanted it for? (Let children try to answer.) She wanted it for mother's feet to rest upon. Elsie could not say this, but she dragged the stool until it was close to her mother, and then she patted it, and said "Mamma," which meant, "Put your feet on it".

Was not that a sweet, kind thing for a one-year-old baby to do? You see she was learning to think—to think for others, and you will not be surprised to hear that she grew up to be a kind, helpful girl, and was so bright and happy that her mother called her "Sunshine".

If any one asked me what kind of child I liked best, I believe the answer would be this: "A child who is thoughtful of others"; for a child who thinks of others will not be rude, or rough, or unkind. Who was it slammed the door when mother had a headache? It was a child who did not think. Who left his bat lying across the garden path so that baby tumbled over it and got a great bump on his little forehead? It was thoughtless Jimmy. Do not be thoughtless, dear children, for you cannot help hurting people, if you are thoughtless; and we are in the world to make it happy, not to hurt. Thoughtfulness is a lovely jewel; let us all try to build it into our "Temple".

A great soldier, Sir Ralph Abercromby, had been wounded in battle, and was dying. As they carried him on board the ship in a litter a soldier's blanket was rolled up and placed beneath his head for a pillow to ease his pain. "Whose blanket is this?" asked he.[29]

One of the soldiers answered that it only belonged to one of the men. "But I want to know the name of the man," said Sir Ralph. He was then told that the man's name was Duncan Roy, and he said: "Then see that Duncan Roy gets his blanket this very night".

You see how thoughtful he was for the other man's comfort, so thoughtful that he did not wish to keep Duncan's blanket even though he himself was dying. Is it not true that "thoughtfulness" is one of the most beautiful of the precious stones that you build with.

A cat and a parrot lived in the same house, and were very kind and friendly towards each other. One evening there was no one in the kitchen except the bird and the cat. The cook had gone upstairs, leaving a bowl full of dough to rise by the fire. Before long the cat rushed upstairs, mewing and making signs for the cook to come down, then she jumped up and seized her apron, and tried to pull her along. What could be the matter, what had happened? Cook went downstairs to see, and there was poor Polly shrieking, calling out, flapping her wings, and struggling with all her[30] might "up to her knees" in dough, and stuck quite fast. Of course the cook lifted the parrot out, and cleaned the dough from her legs, but if pussy had not been her kind friend, and run for help, she would have sunk farther and farther into the dough, and perhaps in the end would have been smothered.

A ship that was crossing the sea had two monkeys on board; one of them was larger and older than the other, though she was not the mother of the younger one. Now it happened one day that the little monkey fell overboard, and the bigger one was immediately very much excited. She had a cord tied round her waist, with which she had been fastened up, and what do you think she did? She scrambled down the outside of the ship, until she came to a ledge, then she held on to the ship with one hand, and with the other she held out the cord to the poor little monkey that was struggling in the water. Was not she a clever, thoughtful, kind monkey? The cord was just a little too short, so one of the sailors threw out a longer rope, which the little monkey grasped, and by this means she was brought safely on board.

[31]

You will remember the story of the monkey, who tried to save her little friend, and remember, also, that

There is a beautiful story about birds helping each other in a book[6] which you must read for yourselves when you grow older.

One day a man was out with his gun, and shot a sea-bird, called a tern, which fell wounded into the sea, near the water's edge. The man stood and waited until the wind should blow the bird near enough for him to reach it, when, to his surprise, he saw two other terns fly down to the poor wounded bird and take hold of him, one at each wing, lift him out of the water, and carry him seawards. Two other terns followed, and when the first two had carried him a few yards and were tired, they laid him down gently and the next two picked him up, and so they went on carrying him in turns until they reached a rock a good way off, where they laid him down. The sportsman then made his way to the rock, but when they saw him coming, a whole swarm of terns came together, and just before he reached the place, two of them again lifted up the wounded bird and bore him out to sea. The man was near enough to have hindered this if he had wished, but he was so pleased to see the kindness of the birds that he would not take the poor creature from them.

[32]

So we have learnt another lesson from the birds, and will write it down.

Have you ever known a little girl who cried whenever her face was washed? or a little boy who screamed each time he had a tumble, although he might not be hurt in the least? You would not call those brave children, would you? We say that people are brave when they are not afraid to face danger, like the men who go out in the life-boat when the sea is rough to try and save a crew from shipwreck; or the brave firemen who rescue the inmates of a burning house. Perhaps you think it is only grown-up people who can be brave, but that is not so; little children can be brave also, as you will see from this story of a little boy, about whom we read in the papers not long ago, and who lived not far from London. Some children were playing near a pool, when, by some means, one of them, a little boy named Arthur, three years old, fell in. All the children, except one, ran away. (They were not brave, were they?) The one who remained was little Arthur's brother, Leonard. He was only five years old, but he[33] had a brave heart, and he went into the water at once, although he could not see Arthur, who had fallen on his back under the water, and was too frightened to get up. Leonard had seen where he fell, and though he did not know how deep the water was, he walked in, lifted his little brother up, and pulled him out. It was all done much more quickly than I have told you. If Leonard had run away to fetch some one, instead of doing what he could himself, his brother must have been drowned, because he was fast in the mud. I am sure you will say that Leonard was a brave little boy, and we should not think that he cries when he is washed, or when he has a little tumble. Leonard teaches us to

What a fuss some children make when they are hurt ever so little, and if a finger should bleed how dreadfully frightened they are!

A lady told me this story of two little twin boys whom she knew. Their names were Bennie and Joey, and they were just two years old.

One day as they were playing together Bennie cut his finger, and the blood came out in little drops. Now, the twins had never seen blood before, and you will think, maybe, that Bennie began to cry; but he did not. He looked at his finger and said: "Oh! Joey, look! what is[34] this?" "Don't know," said Joey, shaking his head. Then they both watched the bleeding finger for a little, and at last Bennie said: "I know, Joey; it is gravy". He had seen the gravy in the meat, and he thought this was something like it. Anyhow, it was better than crying and making a fuss, do you not think?

It was recreation time, and the boys were pretending to play football, when a boy of six, named Robin, had an awkward fall and broke his arm. The teacher bound it up as well as she could, and Robin did not cry, though the poor arm must have pained him. He walked quietly through the streets with the teacher, who took him to the doctor to have the broken bone set, and when the doctor pulled his arm straight out to get the bones in place before he bound it up, Robin gave one little cry; that was all. He is now a grown-up man, but the teacher still remembers how brave he was when his arm was broken, and feels proud of her pupil.

[35]

Did you ever hear of a monkey having toothache? There was a monkey once who lived in a cage in some gardens in London, and he had a very bad toothache, which made a large swelling on his face. The poor creature was in such great pain that a dentist was sent for. (A dentist, tell the children, is a man who attends to teeth.) When the monkey was taken out of the cage he struggled, but as soon as the dentist placed his hand on the spot he was quite still. He laid his head down so that the dentist might look at his bad tooth, and then he allowed him to take it out without making any fuss whatever. There was a little girl once who screamed and struggled dreadfully when she was taken to have her hair cut, and that, you know, does not hurt at all. Let us learn from the monkey, as we did from Robin, to

A sparrow was one day flying over a road when he saw lying there a long strip of rag.

"Ah!" said he, "that would be nice for the nest we are building; I will take it home." So he picked up one end[36] in his beak and flew away with it, but the wind blew the long streamer about his wings, and down he came, tumbling in the dust. Soon he was up again, and, after giving himself a little shake, he took the rag by the other end and mounted in the air. But again it entangled his wings, and he was soon on the ground. Next he seized it in the middle, but now there were two loose ends, and he was entangled more quickly than before.

Then he stopped to think for a minute, and looked at the rag as much as to say: "What shall I do with you next"? An idea struck him. He hopped up to the rag, and with his beak and claws rolled it into a nice little ball. Then he drove his beak into it, shook his head once or twice to make sure that the ends were fast, and flew away in triumph.

Remember the sparrow and the rag, and

If you had been a little child a hundred years ago, instead of now, and had wished to travel to the seaside or any other place, do you know how you would have got there? You would have had to travel in a coach, for there were no trains in those days. I am afraid the little children who lived then did not get to the seashore as often as you do, unless they lived near it, for it cost so much money to ride in the coaches. How is it that we have trains now?

There was a man called George Stephenson—a poor man[37] he was; he did not even know how to read until he went to a night school when he was eighteen years old, but he worked and worked at the steam-engine until he had made one that could draw a train along. So you see that because this man and others tried and tried again, all those years ago, we have the nice, quick trains to take us to the seaside cheaply, and to other places as well. Like the sparrow, George Stephenson teaches us to

A long, long time ago the people in this country did not even know there was such a place as America; it was another "try, try again" man that found it out. His name was Christopher Columbus, and he thought there must be a country on the other side of that great ocean, if he could only get across. But it would take a good ship, and sailors, and money, and he had none of these. He was in a country called Spain, and he asked the king and queen to help him, but for a great while they did not. However, he waited and never gave it up, and at last the queen said he should go, and off he started with two or three ships and a number of sailors.

It was more than two months before the new land appeared, and sometimes the sailors were afraid when it was very stormy, and wanted to turn back, but Columbus encouraged them to go on, and at last they saw the land. They all went on shore, and the first thing they did was[38] to kneel down and thank God for bringing them safe to land; then they kissed the ground for very gladness, and wept tears of joy.

When Columbus came home again, bringing gold, and cotton, and wonderful birds from the new country, he was received with great rejoicing by the king and queen and all the people. Do not forget this lesson:—

Walter was busy doing his home lessons; he wanted to get them finished quickly, so that he could join his playmates at a game of cricket before it was time to go to bed. He was nearly at the end, and the page was just as neat as it could be—for Walter worked very carefully—when, in turning the paper over, he gave the pen which was in his hand a sharp jerk, and a great splash of ink fell in the very middle of the neat, clean page.

"Oh, dear!" cried Walter, "all my work is wasted. I shall get no marks for this lesson unless I write it all over again; and I wanted so much to go out and have a game." However, he was a brave boy, and his mother was glad to notice that he set to work quietly, and soon had it written over again. When bedtime came, she said: "Walter, your[39] accident with the ink made me think of a story. Shall I tell it to you?"

"Oh, yes, mother! please do," said Walter, for he loved stories.

"There was once a gentleman (Audubon) in America," said his mother, "who was very fond of studying birds. He would go out in the woods to watch them, and he also made sketches of them, and worked so hard that he had nearly a thousand of these drawings, which, of course, he valued very much. One time he was going away from home for some months, and before he went he collected all his precious drawings together, put them carefully in a wooden box, and gave them to a relative to take care of until he came back.

"The time went by and he returned, and soon after asked for the box containing his treasures. The box was there, but what do you think? Two rats had found their way into it, and had made a home there for their young ones, and the beautiful drawings were all gnawed until nothing was left but tiny scraps of paper. You can guess how dreadfully disappointed the poor man would feel. But he tells us that in a few days he went out to the woods and began his drawings again as gaily as if nothing had happened; and he was pleased to think that he might now make better drawings than before. It was nearly three years before he had made up for what the rats had eaten. This man must have possessed the precious jewel of patience. Do you not think so?"

"What is patience, mother?" asked Walter.

"The little Scotch girl said it meant 'wait a wee, and no weary,'" said his mother; "and I think that is a very good[40] meaning. It is like saying that we must wait, and do the work over again, if necessary, without getting vexed or worried."

Patience is a good "stone" to have in the Temple of Character.

You have often played at keeping shop, have you not? Winnie and May were very fond of this game, and when it was holiday time they played it nearly every day. One morning they made the "shop" ready as usual; a stool was to be the "counter," and upon this they placed the scales, with all the things they meant to sell. When all was ready, Winnie stood behind the "counter," and said, "I will be the 'shopman'!"

"No!" exclaimed May, "I want to be 'shopman'; let me come behind the 'counter'." But Winnie would not move, then May tried to pull her away, and Winnie pushed May, and in the end both little girls were crying, and the game was spoilt. Were not they foolish?

How easy it would have been to take it in turns to be "shopman," and that would have been quite fair to both little girls. I am afraid we sometimes forget to be fair in our games. We will tell Winnie and May the story of the two goats.[41]

Perhaps you know that goats like to live on the rocks, and as they have cloven feet (that is, feet that are split up the middle) they can walk in places that would not be at all safe for your little feet.

One day two goats met each other on a narrow ledge of rock where there was not room to pass. Below them was a steep precipice; if they fell down there they would soon be dashed to pieces. How should they manage?

It was now that one of the goats did a polite, kind, graceful act.

She knelt down on the ledge so that the other goat might walk over her, and when this was done, she rose up and went on her way, so both the goats were safe and unhurt.

The goat teaches us a beautiful lesson on "giving in".

You will think "generous" is a long word, but the stories will help you to understand what it means.

Lilie was staying with her auntie, for her mother had gone on a voyage with father in his ship.

One day Lilie heard a timid little knock at the back door. She ran to open it, and saw standing outside a poor little[42] girl about her own size, with no shoes or stockings on. She asked for a piece of bread, and Lilie's auntie went into the pantry to cut it. While she was away Lilie noticed the little girl's bare feet, and, without thinking, she took off her own shoes and gave them to her.

When the girl had gone, auntie asked, "Where are your shoes, Lilie?" And she replied, "I gave them to the little girl, auntie. I do not think mother would mind." It would have been better if Lilie had asked auntie before she gave away her shoes; but auntie did not scold her; she only said to herself, "What a generous little soul the child has".

Bertie was a rosy-faced, healthy boy. His mother lived in a little cottage in the country, and she was too poor to buy dainties for her child, but the good, plain food he ate was quite enough to make him hearty and strong.

His usual breakfast was a basin of porridge mixed with milk, and one bright, sunny morning he was sitting on the doorstep, waiting until it should be cool enough for him to eat, when he saw a very poor, old man leaning on the garden gate. Bertie felt sure the old man must be wanting something to eat, he looked so pale and thin, and being a generous-hearted boy, he carried down his basin of porridge to the old man, and asked him to eat it, which he did with great enjoyment, for he was very hungry. I think you will understand now what being Generous means. We may do good by giving away things that are of no use to us, but that is not being generous.

[43]

One day two dogs had been quarrelling, and when they parted at night, they had not made it up, but went to rest, thinking hard things of each other, I fear. Next day, however, one of the dogs brought a biscuit to the other, and laid it down beside him, as much as to say, "Let us be friends". I think the other dog would be sure to forgive him after that, and we are sure they would both be much happier for being friends once more.

Gladys and Dora were in the same class at school, and when the teacher promised to give a prize for the cleanest, neatest and best-written copy-book, they determined to try and win the prize. Both the little girls wrote their copies very carefully for several days, but by-and-by Gladys grew a little careless, and her copies were not so well written as Dora's. Gladys knew this quite well, and yet she longed for the prize. What should she do? There was only one copy more to be written, and then it would have to be decided[44] who should get the prize. Sad to say, Gladys thought of a very mean way by which she might spoil Dora's chance of it.

She went to school one morning very early—no one was there; softly she walked to Dora's desk, and drew out her neat, tidy copy-book, which she opened at the last page, and, taking a pen, she dipped it in ink, and splashed the page all over; then she put it back in the desk, and said to herself, "There, now, the prize will be mine".

But why does Gladys feel so wretched all at once? A little Voice that you have often heard spoke in her heart, and said, "Oh! Gladys, how mean, how unkind!" and she could not help being miserable.

Presently the school assembled, and when the writing lesson came round the teacher said, "Now, girls, take out your copy-books and finish them". Dora drew hers out, and when she opened it and saw the blots her cheeks grew scarlet and her eyes filled with tears. Just then she turned and saw Gladys glancing at her in an ashamed sort of way (as the elephant looked at his driver when he had stolen the cakes—Story Lesson 85), and Dora knew in her heart that it was Gladys who had spoilt her copy-book. But she did not tell any one, not even when the teacher said, "Oh! Dora, what a mess you have made on your nice copy-book!" but she was thinking all the time, and when she went home she said to her mother, "Mamma, may I give my little tin box with the flowers painted on it to Gladys?" "Why, Dora," said her mother, "I thought you were very fond of that pretty box!" "So I am," replied Dora, "that is why I want Gladys to have it; please let me give it to her, mother!" So Dora's mother consented, and next morning Gladys found a small parcel on her desk, with a scrap of paper at the top, on which was written, "Gladys, with love from Dora". Dora was[45] generous, you see; she returned good for evil, and Gladys felt far more sorrow for her fault than she would have done had Dora caused her to be punished. Neither Gladys nor Dora won the prize, but Gladys learnt a lesson that was worth more than many prizes, and Dora had a gladness in her heart that was better than a prize—the gladness that comes from listening to the Good Voice. "Good for Evil" is a beautiful "stone" to have in your Temple.

Gentleness is a beautiful word, and I daresay you know what it means. When you are helping baby to walk, mother will say, "Be gentle with her," which means, "Do not be rough, do not hurt her". A gentleman is a man who is gentle, who will not hurt.

Did you ever hear of a horse who could behave like a gentleman? Here is the story.[10]

"A horse was drawing a cart along a narrow lane in Scotland when it spied a little child playing in the middle of the road. What do you think the kind, gentle horse did? It took hold of the little child's clothes with its teeth, lifted it up, and laid it gently on the bank at the side of the road, and then it turned its head to see that the cart had not hurt the child in passing. Did not the horse behave like a gentleman?"

[46]

I have seen boys and girls helping the little ones to dress in the cloakroom at school, or leading them carefully down the steps, or carrying the babies over rough places; this is gentleness, and the gentle boy will grow up to be a gentle man.

You have seen boys playing the game of "Paper Chase," or, as it is sometimes called, "Hare and Hounds". One or two boys start first, each carrying a bag full of small pieces of paper, which they scatter as they run. Then all the other boys start, and follow the track made by the scattered paper.

A number of boys were starting for a "Paper Chase" one Saturday afternoon, and, passing quickly round a corner of the street, some of them ran against a little fruit stall and overturned it. The apples, pears and plums were all rolling on the ground, and the old woman who belonged to the stall looked at them in dismay. The boys all ran on except one, and he stayed behind to help to put the stall right, and to gather up all the fruit. That boy was gentle and kind, and the poor old woman could not thank him enough.

[47]

A little girl called Rose had a kind auntie who sent her half a sovereign for a birthday present. Rose was delighted with the money, and was always talking of the many nice things it would buy, but she never thought of writing and thanking her auntie. That was not grateful, was it? When we receive anything, we should always think at once of the giver, and express our thanks without delay. That is why we say "grace" before eating: we wish to thank our kind Father above for giving us the nice food to eat.

The days went by, and still auntie received no word of thanks from her little niece. Then a letter came asking, "Has Rosy had my letter with the present?" Rose answered this, and said she had received the letter, and sent many thanks for the present. But how ashamed she must have felt that she had not written before! It is not nice to have to ask people for their thanks or gratitude; it ought to be given freely without asking.

Little Vernon's father had a tricycle, and one day he fixed up a seat in front for his little boy, and took him for a nice, long ride.

Vernon sat facing his father, and he was so delighted with the ride, and so grateful to his kind father for bringing him, that he could not help putting his arms round his father's neck sometimes, and giving him a kiss as they went along.[48] Vernon's father told me this himself, and I was glad to know that the little boy possessed this precious gift of gratitude, for it is a lovely "stone" to have in the Temple we are building.

Perhaps you have heard the fable of the crow who was thirsty. He found a pitcher with a little water in it, but he could not get at the water, for the neck of the jug was narrow.

Did he leave the water and say, "It is of no use to try"? No; he set to work, and found a way out of the difficulty. The crow dropped pebbles into the jug, one by one, and these made the water rise until he could reach it.

(Illustrate by a tumbler with a few tablespoonfuls of water in it. Drop in some pebbles, and show how the water rises as the pebbles take its place.) If you have a steep hill to climb, or a hard lesson to learn, do not sit down and cry, and think you cannot do it, but be determined that, like the crow, you will master the difficulty. When you were a little, tiny child, your father carried you over the rough places, but as you grow older, you walk over them yourself. You do not want to be carried now, for you are not helpless any longer. But I am afraid there are some children who like to be helpless, and to let mother do everything for[49] them. I once knew a girl of ten who could not tie her own bootlaces; she was helpless. And I knew a little fellow of six who, when his mother was sick, could put on the kettle, and make her a cup of tea; he was a helpful boy.

It is brave and nice of boys and girls to help themselves all they can, and not to be beaten by a little difficulty. Remember the Sparrow and the Rag (Story Lesson 30), as well as the Crow, and

Do you know what it is to be contented? It is just the opposite of being dissatisfied and unhappy.

Little Harold was looking forward to a day in the glen on the morrow, but when the morning came it was wet and cold, and the journey had to be put off. Harold had lots of toys to play with, but he would not touch any of them; he just stood with his face against the window-pane, discontented and unhappy.

After a time he saw an old man with a stick coming up the street, and a little dog was walking beside him. As they drew nearer, Harold saw that the old man held the dog by a string, and that it was leading him, for he was blind. The discontented little boy began to wonder what it must be like to be blind, and he shut his eyes very tight[50] to try it. How dark it was! he could see nothing. How dreadful to be always in darkness! Then he opened his eyes again, and looked at the old man's face; it was a peaceful, pleasant face. The old man did not look discontented and unhappy, and yet it was far worse to be blind than to be disappointed of a picnic. Harold had yet to learn that it is not outside things that give content, but something within. He could not help being disappointed at the wet day, but he could have made the best of it and played with his toys, as indeed he did after seeing the blind man.

Of all the untidy children you ever saw Leo must have been the worst. His hair was unbrushed, his boots were uncleaned, and the laces were always trailing on the floor. Why did he not learn to tie a bow? (For full instructions, with illustrations, on the "Tying of a bow," see Games Without Music.) It must be very uncomfortable to have one's boots all loose about the ankles, besides looking so untidy.

Can you guess how his stockings were? They were all in folds round his legs, instead of being drawn and held up tight, and he had always a button off somewhere. The worst of it was that Leo did not seem to mind being[51] untidy. I hope you are not like that. Do all the little girls love to have smooth, clean pinafores? and do the boys like to have a clean collar and smooth hair? and do all of you keep your hands and faces clean? Then you are like the children in these verses.

1. The Tidy Boy:—

2. The Tidy Girl:—

I wonder if you have heard of pussy getting mother's knitting and making it all in a tangle. These are the verses about it:—

I do not suppose that pussy would know she was doing anything naughty in tangling the wool, but a child would know, of course, that wool must be kept straight and tidy if it is to be of use.[53]

Nellie and Madge were two little girls getting ready to go for a visit to grandmamma. She lived many miles away, and the children were to go by train and stay with her for a whole month.

Their clothes were all laid on the bed ready for packing, and as mother wanted them to grow up helpful girls, she said they might put the things in the boxes themselves. So Nellie and Madge began to pack. Nellie took each article by itself, and laid it carefully in the box without creasing, putting all the heavier things at the bottom, and the dresses and lighter articles at the top. When she had laid them all in, the lid just closed nicely, and her work was finished.

Then she turned to see what Madge was doing. Madge had not packed more than half her pile, and the box was full. "What shall I do?" she cried, "I cannot get them all in." Just then mamma came up and said: "Have you finished, children? it is nearly train time". Her eyes fell on the box Madge was packing, and she exclaimed, "Oh! Madge, you have put the clothes in anyhow, everything must be taken out!" Madge had just thrown them in "higgledy-piggledy," instead of laying them straight, and they came out a crumpled heap. She was so hot and flurried, and so afraid of being late for the train, that she could hardly keep the tears back, but mamma and Nellie helped to straighten the things, and to pack them neatly, and just as the cab drove up to the door the last frock was laid in the box, and the lid went down without any trouble. Madge remembered to take more pains next time she packed her box.

I was in a house one day, and when the lady opened[54] a drawer to get something out, the articles in the drawer bounced up just like a "Jack in the box," because you see, they had been put in anyhow, and then crushed down to allow the drawer to be closed. Of course she could not find what she wanted. I hope none of your drawers are like a "Jack in the box". I wonder if untidy people are lazy? I am afraid they are.

A girl came home from school one day, and threw her wet cloak on a chair all in a heap, instead of hanging it up nicely on a peg. When she next wanted to wear the cloak, it was all over creases and not fit to put on. Perhaps she thought that mother would see it on the chair, and hang it up for her, but a nice, thoughtful child would not like to give mother the trouble, would she?

Two friends were walking along a country road, and as they went on one said: "I do believe there are violets somewhere on this bank, the air smells so sweet". The other lady replied that she did not see any; but, looking carefully, they at last found the leaves, and there, hiding away among them, was the little sweet violet, with its delicious scent.

Why does the little violet hide away? Because she is modest, which means that she does not like to boast, or[55] make a display of her pretty petals and sweet perfume. Modest people do not like to talk of kind, noble or clever things they may have done; they prefer to hide their good deeds, and in this they are like the violet.

There is another way in which children can be modest—they can be modest about dress. A child's dress is not so long as that of a grown-up person, because children want to romp and play about, but a modest child always likes its dress to cover it nicely, and will take care that no buttons are unfastened.

One evening some children were playing about on the hearthrug, when one of them, a little girl named Jessie, jumped up quite suddenly, and, with a blushing face, ran out of the room. The governess followed to see what was the matter, and Jessie told her in a whisper that she was so ashamed, because in romping about her dress had gone above her knees.

Some people might say that Jessie was too modest, but I do not think so; a nice little girl will always like to keep her knees covered.

In America the children have much longer dresses than in our country, and they would think little girls very rude who were not as careful as Jessie.

You will think for yourselves of many other ways in which children can be modest. It is a good rule never to do anything that we would be ashamed for teacher or mother to see.[56]

"Selfless" and "Thoughtful" were sisters of the little "Gold-wings" (Story Lesson 1). I cannot tell you which of the two was the sweetest and best; they were both so lovable, for like "Gold-wings" they were always thinking of others, and especially of how they could give pleasure to the sick and weak. One day, as they sat on a mossy bank in the Fairy wood, "Selfless" asked, "What shall we do next, sister?" and "Thoughtful" made answer, "I have been thinking of little Davie, who is so lame and weak; suppose I go to the Kindergarten and try to get some one to be kind to him". "A good idea," replied "Selfless," "and I will fly over the fields and see what can be done there; then in the moonlight we will meet, and tell each other what we have done." So they spread their pretty wings and flew away.

Now it is night in the Fairy wood, and in the silver moonlight the sisters rest again on the mossy bank and talk.

"I flew to the Kindergarten," said "Thoughtful," "you know Davie used to attend there before he was ill. Of course no one saw me, and as I hovered over the teacher's desk, little Bessie, a rosy-cheeked maid, came up and laid a lovely bunch of crimson roses upon it for the teacher.[57] The scent was so delicious I could not help nestling down into one of the roses to enjoy it better. The teacher picked up the flowers, not knowing I was there, and as she buried her face in the soft petals, to smell the sweet perfume, I whispered 'Send them to Davie'."

"A smile instantly came over her face, and she said: 'Bessie, a good fairy has whispered a kind thought to me; shall we send your pretty roses to Davie?'"

"'Oh! yes,' said Bessie, 'please let me take them to him with your love, for I gave them to you."

"So the roses were taken to Davie, and how happy they made him to be sure! and the teacher was happy because she had remembered poor Davie, and Bessie was happy to carry the flowers to him, so I came away glad, also; but what have you done, dear sister?"

Then "Selfless" answered:—

"I flew away over the fields, and there I saw a little boy, dressed all in his best clothes, speeding away across the field-path, and I knew that he was going to a birthday party, and that he was walking quickly so as to be in time; for there was to be a lovely birthday cake, all iced over with sugar; and little pieces of silver, called threepenny pieces, had been scattered through the cake, so of course Edwin wanted to be there when it was cut up.

"I saw a little girl in the fields, also, walking along the hedges looking for blackberries, and in trying to reach a branch of the ripe fruit that grew on the farther side of a ditch, the poor child overbalanced herself and fell in, uttering a loud scream.[58]

"Edwin heard the scream and said to himself, 'I wonder what that is? I should like to go and see, but oh, dear! it will perhaps make me late for the party'. Then the Bad Voice spoke to him, and said, 'Never mind the scream; hurry on to the party," and Edwin hurried on, but his cheeks grew hot, and he looked unhappy.

"Soon the child screamed again, and the Good Voice said, 'Help! Edwin, never mind self,' and with that he turned back, and ran to the place where the sounds had seemed to come from. He soon saw the little girl, who was trying to scramble up the steep side of the ditch, and could not; it needed the help of Edwin's strong hands to give her a good pull, and bring her safely out. Oh, how glad she was to be on the grass once more! Edwin wiped her tears away, and told her to run home; then he made haste to the party with a light, glad heart, and he arrived just as they were sitting down to tea, so he was in time for the cake after all. But even if he had missed it, he would have been glad that he stayed behind to help the little girl."

"What a nice boy," said "Thoughtful". "Did he tell the people at the party what he had done?"

"Oh, no," replied "Selfless"; "his mother told him that people should never boast of kind things they had done, for that would spoil it."

"True," said "Thoughtful"; "but what did you do, dear "Selfless"? It is not boasting to tell me."

"I only helped Edwin to listen to the Good Voice," replied "Selfless," as she looked down on the moss at her feet.

"A good work, too," said "Thoughtful"; "and now, what shall we do next?"[59]

"I have been thinking," said "Selfless," "that Christmas will soon be here, and how nice it would be if we could help the children at the Kindergarten to think of Davie, and make ready a Christmas present for him."

"A lovely idea," said "Thoughtful "; "we will go to-morrow, for it wants only a month to Christmas."

Next morning the two fairy sisters came to the Kindergarten, and floated about unseen, as fairies always do. First they rested on the teacher, who was very fond of these unseen fairies, and she began to think of Davie. "Children," said she, "Christmas will be here in a month; shall we make a present for little Davie?"

(Do you know, I believe that doing kind things is like going to parties; when you have been to one party, you like it so much that you are glad to go to another, and when you have done one kind thing, it makes you so happy you want to do another.)

Bessie was the first to answer, and she said, "Oh, yes, it would be lovely to make a Christmas present for Davie; do let us try". And all the children said, "Yes, do let us try".

"It must be something made by your own little hands," said the teacher. "Think now, what could you do?"

"We could make some little 'boats'[12] in paperfolding," said one child. Teacher said that would do nicely, and she wrote it down.

Another child said, "I could sew a 'cat' in the embroidery lesson," and Bessie exclaimed, "Please let me sew a 'kitten' to go with it," and the teacher wrote that down, and remarked[60] that some one else might make the "saucer" for pussy's milk, in pricking. Then others might make a "nest"[13] in clay with eggs in it, and a little "bird" sitting on the eggs, suggested the teacher; and as the "babies" begged to be allowed to help also, it was decided that they should thread pretty coloured beads on sticks, and make a nice large "basket".[13]

"Now," said teacher, "I have quite a long list, and we must begin at once." So they all set to work, and when breaking-up day came, Davie's present was ready. There was a whole fleet of "ships," white inside and crimson outside. The pictures of "pussy" and her "kitten" were neatly sewn, and the "saucer" was white and clean, and evenly pricked, while the "bird" on its "nest" looked as pretty as could be, and the "bead basket" was the best of all—at least the babies thought so.

I have no words to tell of the joy that the children's present brought to little Davie, his face flushed with pleasure as the "boats" and other gifts were spread out before him; it was so delightful to think that the children had remembered him and worked for him.

"Selfless" and "Thoughtful" sat once more on the mossy bank, and rejoiced that the plan had worked so well.

If these little fairies and their sister "Kindness" should ever suggest thoughts to you, dear boys and girls, do not send them away. They will speak to you through the Good Voice, and the happiest people in the world are the people who listen to the Good Voice.

[61]

(Show the children a sponge.) Here is a sponge! What do we see all over the sponge? We see little holes. There is another name for these—we call them pores. (Write "pores" on Blackboard.) What comes out on your forehead sometimes on a hot day? Drops of water come out. They come through tiny holes in the skin, so tiny that we cannot see them, and these also are called pores.

Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was to be a grand procession in a fine old city called Rome, and a little golden-haired child was gilded all over his body to represent "The Golden Age" in the procession. When it was over the little child was soon dead. Can you guess why? The pores in his skin had been all stopped up with the gilding, so that the damp, warm air could not get out, and that caused his death.

You see, then, that we breathe with these little pores, just as we breathe with our nose and mouth, and if the pores were all closed up we should die. Now you will understand why we have to be washed and bathed. What is it that the dirt does to your pores? It stops them up, so

[62]

57. Little Creatures who like to be Clean.

You know that pussy likes to be clean, and that she washes herself carefully, and her little kittens, also, until they are big enough to wash themselves; but there are other creatures, much smaller than the cat, who like to be clean.

Do you know what shrimps or prawns are? I daresay you have often eaten a shrimp! Have you ever counted its ten long legs? On the front pair there are two tiny brushes, and the prawn has been seen to stand up on his eight hind legs, and brush himself with the tiny tufts on his front legs, to get all the sand away. Is not that clever for such a little fellow?

There is another creature, very much smaller than the prawn, that is particularly clean, though we do not like to have it in our houses.

If the housemaid sees its little "parlour" in the corner of a room, she sweeps it away. You remember who it was that said: "Will you walk into my parlour?" It was the spider, and it is the spider who is so very fond of being clean, that it cannot bear to have a grain of dust anywhere about its body. Its hairs and legs are always kept perfectly clean.

Then there is the tiny ant, which is smaller than a fly, and it loves to keep itself nice and clean, so if

[63]

Sydney was a little boy who did not like to be washed. He disliked it as much as the little dog in Story Lesson No. 4. When the time came for his bath he screamed and kicked and made such a fuss that at last his mother said he should remain dirty for a while, and see what would happen. So Sydney had no bath when he went to bed at night, neither was he washed in the morning. Of course no one wanted to kiss him, or play with him, for he was not sweet and clean; he had to play all by himself in the garden.

Presently a carriage drove up and stopped at the garden gate; then a gentleman stepped out, walked up to the door, and rang the bell, which was answered by Sydney's mother.

"I have called to take your little boy for a drive," said the gentleman, "but I am in a great hurry; could you have him ready at once?"

Just then Sydney peeped in at the door. Oh! what a little blackamoor he was, not fit for any one to see! His mother had to explain to the kind gentleman how it was that he looked so dirty, and, as nothing but a bath and a whole suit of clean clothes would make him fit to go, he had to be left behind. Poor Sydney began to feel very sad and sorry now, and when the carriage had driven away he ran up to his mother, hid his little black face in her dress, and burst into tears. "Oh, mother," he cried, "do make me a clean boy again; I will never be naughty any more when I am washed." Sydney never forgot the lesson he had learnt that

[64]

What a good thing it is that we have nice, hard nails to keep the tips of our fingers from being hurt! How sore they would get if it were not for those bright, horny nails, and how well they protect the finger-tips, which have to touch so many things!

Most of the nail is fast to the finger, but at the outer edge there is a little space between the nail and the finger, and if we are not careful this little space gets filled with dirt, and then the nail has a black band across the top, which looks very ugly. When the nails are long, the band is wider, and, although the dirt is under the nail, it shows on the outside, because the nail is transparent, that is, it can be seen through.

Do you like to have your hands clean? Then there must be no black bands to disfigure the pretty, shining nails; our hands cannot be called clean if there is a little arch of dirt at the tip of each finger. Ask mother to cut the nails when they get too long, then you can keep them clean more easily.

Men who do work that soils their hands very much like the chimney-sweep (Story Lesson 62) cannot possibly keep their nails clean, but children can.

There was once a little boy who had the funniest finger-tips I ever saw. The nails were so short that there was not the tiniest space between the outer edge and the fleshy part, and so the tip of each finger had grown out like a little round cushion, not at all pretty to look at. If the little boy saw any one noticing his hands, he would hide them away, lest he should be asked what it was that caused the finger-tips to look so funny. I wonder if you can guess the reason? It was because the boy bit his nails. What a[65] horrid thing to do! Was it not? And how do you think his mother cured him? She dipped the tips of his fingers in tincture of bitter aloes, so that when he put them in his mouth he might get the bitter taste, and leave off biting them.

I once heard a gentleman say that he thought it was very rude to put a pencil or anything near the mouth, so what would he think of a child who put his fingers in his mouth, and bit his nails? Baby may suck her little thumb sometimes, perhaps, because she does not know better, but sensible children will remember that it is rude to put fingers in mouth.

Can you think of anything else that should be kept clean besides the nails? In your mouth are two rows of beautiful little, white teeth. At least they ought to be white, but if we do not keep them clean, they often get discoloured and begin to decay and give us pain.

We should each have a tooth-brush, and use it every day to cleanse the teeth, dipping it first in nice, clean water, and when the brushing is done, the mouth should be rinsed several times. The teeth should be brushed up and down from the gums (not from left to right), so that we may get all the particles of food from the tiny spaces between the teeth. If we do this regularly we shall not be likely to suffer much from toothache.[66]

There was an old woman at a well, who, when a little girl came to draw water, asked for a drink, and the kind little maiden lifted the jug to the old woman's lips, and told her to take as much as she wished. Then the old woman blessed her for her kindness, and said that whenever the child spoke, pearls and diamonds should fall from her lips. Then another girl came to the well, and again the old woman asked to drink, but the girl said, "No! draw water for yourself". That was rude and unkind, was it not?

The old woman, who was really the Queen of the Fairies, could not bless this girl for her kindness, because she had showed none, so she said that whenever the girl spoke, toads and vipers should fall from her lips. That is like the people who do not speak good, pure language; the bad words that fall from their lips are like toads and[67] vipers. I hope you have never heard such words, but if you ever should, do not stop to listen, for wicked words are like the pitch that Martin tried to play with (Story Lesson 63); the person who says them cannot be pure and true, for bad words are not clean.

A lady was travelling in a railway train one day, and several young men were in the carriage, who spoke and looked like gentlemen. But by-and-by they began to swear dreadfully, and the lady asked if they would be kind enough to say the bad words in Greek or Latin, so that she could not understand them. She did not want to hear the bad words, you see; they were like toads and vipers to her, because she loved what was pure and clean.

There was once a little boy called Lewis, who had one bad fault—he was very, very slow; so slow, that I am afraid he was really lazy. He could do his sums quite well, but he was always the last boy to get them finished; and in a morning his mother had no end of trouble to get him off to school in time, he did everything so slowly. (Read the following sentence very deliberately, and allow the children to fill in the adverbs): He got out of bed (slowly), dressed himself (slowly), washed himself (slowly), laced his boots[68] (slowly), ate his breakfast (slowly), and walked to school at the same pace (slowly).

Now one day a gentleman came to the school, and told the teacher that he was going to take all the children in a boat down the river to have a picnic by the seaside. Could anything be more delightful? The scholars clapped their hands for gladness, and talked and thought of nothing but the picnic. It was to be on the very next day, and they were to start from the school at nine o'clock in the morning.

"Lewis," said the teacher, "remember to be in time, for the boat will not wait!"

The morning came, and Lewis was called by his mother at seven o'clock. "There is plenty of time," said Lewis, "I will lie a little longer;" and he did so. Then his mother called again, and this time he rose, but he went through all his work as slowly as ever, and all the time his mother was telling him to "hurry up" or he would be too late.

At last he is ready to start; but just as he leaves the house a bell is rung. "What is that?" says Lewis; "it must be the bell of the steamer. I have no time to go round by the school; I must go straight to the pier," and off he ran. But, alas! by the time he reached the pier the boat was steaming off. He could see the children with their pails and spades waving their handkerchiefs in glee, and there was he left behind!

I was telling this story to a little boy once, and when it came to this part he said: "Oh, auntie! could not they get a little boat and take Lewis to the steamer? It is so hard for him to be left behind."

But you see, boys and girls, we must be left behind, if we are slow and lazy.

I am glad to tell you, however, that Lewis was cured of his fault by this disappointment. He really did try to get[69] on more quickly afterwards, and he succeeded. At school he had his sums finished so soon that the teacher began to let him help the other boys who did not get on so well, and Lewis was quite proud and happy. Then he came to school so early that he was made "monitor," and had to put out the slates and books, ready for the others. So, after all, Lewis grew up to be smart and quick, and not like the man you will hear of in another story (Story Lesson 84), who grew worse as he grew older.

"Mother," said little Frank, "I saw a man walking along the street to-day with a bundle of brushes in his hand, and such a black face. I was careful not to touch him as I passed, he looked so dirty—quite a 'blackamoor'"!

"Ah!" said his mother, "that was a chimney-sweep; he cannot help being dirty, and my little boy ought to feel very kindly to him, for we should be badly off without such men."

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[70] 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:—

You have seen the men at work mending the roads, and you know how sometimes they spread little stones all over the road, and then roll them flat with a steam-roller.[71] But in some places the roads are laid with stones as large as bricks, and when these have all been placed together, the men take a large can with a spout, full of hot pitch, and pour it into the spaces between the stones to fasten them together.

A little boy, named Martin, was watching the men do this one day, and he said to himself, "I should like a piece of that black stuff; it has cooled now, and looks like a black piece of dough; I could make all sorts of shapes with it, and I do not believe it would soil my hands". So he picked up a length that lay near him, rolled it into a ball, and put it in his pocket. Some of the tar stuck to his hands, and when he washed them it did not come off, but it was now school time, and away he went. When he came out of school, he put his hand in his pocket to get the tar, and oh, what a sticky mess it was! His pocket was all over tar, so was his hand, and when he reached home, his mother set to work to get it off, and it took her a long, long time.

Martin was mistaken in thinking he could play with the pitch and not get soiled.

When Martin grew older he had some playmates who were not very good, and his mother said, "Martin, I wish you would not play with those boys; I fear they will get you into trouble".

"Oh! no, mother," replied Martin, "if they wanted me to do anything wrong I would not; I need not learn their bad ways if I do play with them." But his mother shook her head, for she knew better.

Some time afterwards the boys had a half-holiday, and[72] Martin went with his friends into the country. Presently they came to a large garden, with a high wall round it, and the boys began to climb the wall.

"Where are you going?" asked Martin.

"Oh!" said one of the boys, laughing, "a friend of ours owns this garden, and we are going to help him gather strawberries."

There was a large bed of strawberries on the other side of the wall, and as soon as the boys were over, they began to pick and eat.

What the boy had told Martin was quite untrue—they were stealing the strawberries; but before very long the gardener spied them, and with one or two other men came upon them so quietly, that they had no time to get away, and every boy was made prisoner. The gardener locked them up in the tool-house until the owner came, and he took their names and addresses, and said they should be brought before the magistrates, as it was not the first time they had stolen his fruit. Of course Martin had not been with them the other times, but he was caught with them now, and can you imagine how dreadfully ashamed he felt, and how his cheeks burned when he thought of his dear mother, and the trouble it would be to her. When he reached home, he told his mother all that had happened, and begged her forgiveness. His mother was greatly distressed, and said: "You remember playing with the pitch, Martin, when you were a very little boy—you thought you could handle it, and still keep clean, but you could not; so neither can you have bad companions without being mixed up in wrong-doing".

[73]

It was Maggie's birthday, and her father brought her as a present something that she had been wishing for a very long time. It was a beautiful yellow canary, and its little house was the prettiest cage imaginable, for it was made of brass wire, which was so bright that you could almost think it was gold. Of course Maggie was delighted. "It is just what I have been wishing for," said she; "I shall feed the canary myself, and give it fresh water every day; it is the prettiest bird I ever saw."

For some weeks Maggie remembered her little pet each day, and attended to all its wants, but there came a day when there was to be a picnic for all the school children, and Maggie was so excited and glad about the picnic that she forgot all about feeding the bird.

Then next day there was hay-making, and she was in the field all day, and again forgot the poor bird.

This went on for a few days, and when at last she did remember, and went to the cage, the bird was dead.

Maggie was full of grief, and cried until her head ached, but she could not undo the results of her forgetting.

Some people think it is a little fault to forget, but that cannot be, for we know well that "forgetting" often causes pain and suffering to others.

[74]

Daniel was a lame little boy. He could not walk at all, nor play about with the other children, so he was very puny and pale. His mother used to put his little chair near the door of the cottage where they lived, so that he could watch the people pass, and one day, as he sat there, a lady came by with a well-dressed little boy, and when she saw the pale-faced child she stopped and spoke to him, and then Daniel's mother came to the door, and invited her to step inside the cottage.

The lady's little boy was called Emil, and he stood on the doorstep talking to Daniel, while the two mothers spoke together within the cottage. Emil, who was a kind-hearted little fellow, felt very sorry for the lame child, and when he found that Daniel was never able to go any farther than the street where he lived, Emil said: "I will ask my father to bring his carriage round and take you for a drive; I am sure he will, and then you can see the green fields and trees, and hear the birds sing".

Daniel's little face flushed with pleasure, and he said; "Oh that would be lovely!"

By-and-by the lady and her boy said "Good-bye," and went away, and then Daniel told his mother all that Emil had said. "Do you think he will come to-morrow, mother?" asked Daniel.

"Perhaps not to-morrow, dear," replied she, "but some day soon maybe."

So Daniel sat at the door each day, and waited for the carriage, but it never came, and when he grew too ill to sit up he would still lie and listen for the sound of the wheels, and say: "I think it will come to-day, mother," but it never did. And do you know why? Emil had[75] forgotten to ask his father, and so Daniel waited in vain for the drive.

You see how much pain and disappointment can be caused by forgetting, and when you promise to do a thing and forget to keep the promise it is just like telling an untruth. You do not intend to speak what is not the truth, but you do it all the same. Remember, then, that it is not a little fault to forget, and that those who do it are not building on the firm foundation of truth.

Little Elsie had a big brother called Jack, of whom she was very fond, and he was fond of Elsie also. Jack was about fifteen years old, and he was learning to be a sailor. When his ship came into port he used to come home for a few days, and then he would tell Elsie all about the places he had seen. One time the voyage had been very long, and Jack told Elsie that when the bread was all finished they had had to eat sea-biscuits instead.

"How funny," said Elsie; "what are sea-biscuits like, Jack?"

"They are very hard and round and thick," replied Jack.[76]

Elsie said she would like to see one, and Jack promised that when he went back to his ship he would send her one.

It was not a great thing to promise, was it? But Elsie felt very important when the postman brought her a little parcel a day or two after Jack had left, and she was very glad when she opened it and found the promised biscuit.

"There is one good thing about Jack," exclaimed Elsie, "he always does what he says." I think Jack would have been pleased to hear Elsie say that; it is one of the nicest things that could have been said about him. I hope it is true of all of us.

As Lulu came home from school one afternoon, she noticed three or four boys throwing stones at something—I hardly like to tell you what. It was a poor little brown sparrow that had somehow hurt its leg, and could not fly. However, this happened a great many years ago, and perhaps boys are less cruel now.

Lulu could not bear to see the poor bird treated so badly, and she asked the boys to give it to her. At first they laughed, and went on throwing the stones; but she continued to beg for it so earnestly, that at last one of the boys[77] said, "Let her have it". And Lulu was only too glad to pick up the wounded bird and carry it home. She nursed and fed it carefully, and put it in a warm place by the fire; but, in spite of all her care, the sparrow died in a few hours.

Sometimes pain is necessary, as in Story Lesson 29; we should never think of saying the dentist was cruel; rather we should say he was kind, because he saved the monkey from further pain. But when we cause pain that is needless, as these boys did, it is cruel. They were cowardly also. If the bird had been an eagle, with strong claws that could have hurt them in return, would they have stoned it? No; they chose a poor little sparrow that could not defend itself, and this was cowardly.

Then it was unfair. You do not like to be punished or found fault with if you have done nothing wrong; you feel it is not fair; neither is it fair to hurt a dumb animal that has done nothing wrong.

Just think how many things animals do for us. Where did the wool come from that makes your nice, warm clothes? (Let children answer.) How do we get the coals to our houses—the coals that make the bright, hot fires? (Ans.) What could we do without the brave, strong horses? I heard the other day of a man who did not give his horse enough to eat. What kind of man was he? (Ans.) I would rather be like the Arab, who loves his horse so much that he brings it into his tent, and shares his food and bed with it. Where do we get our milk, butter and cheese? (Ans.) Then think of all the stories of animals in this book,[78] who have done kind, clever things (and all these stories are true). If boys and girls would think, I am quite sure they would never be unkind to animals.

One day a boy was chasing a butterfly, cap in hand, and just as he had caught it, a bee stung him. He was so angry that he threw the butterfly down and trampled on it. Was not that cruel? The butterfly had done him no harm, and the greatest skill in the world could not paint anything so delicate and beautiful as a butterfly's wing; and yet he destroyed that beauty. Sometimes children will hunt spiders out of the crevices in the wall and torture them, and others will torment the little fly, or steal the bird's pretty eggs that the mother sits on with such care. All this is cruel and unkind. Remember it is not noble to hurt. The truest gentleman is he who is full of kindness and gentleness and will not hurt anything.

Have you ever seen children riding donkeys at the seaside? and have you noticed how the boys beat the poor things sometimes to make them go faster? I do not think a kind boy or girl would like to have a donkey beaten. I hope you would not.

There was once a little dog who could not bear to see any creature beaten. If any one were ill-treating a dog he would rush up and bark quite angrily, and when he was[79] driving in the dog-cart with his master, he always used to hold the sleeve of his master's coat every time he touched the horse with the whip, as if he would have said, "Do not beat him, please". Now, if a dog knows that it is not kind to hurt dumb creatures, we are sure boys and girls know.

Paul was a little boy who was very fond of having his own way, and when he could not get it he used to throw himself into the most dreadful tempers. He would take his pocket-handkerchief and tear it all to pieces in his rage, not to mention lying on the floor and kicking with his heels. One day his governess said to him, "Paul, I will tell you a true story". Paul sat down ready to listen, for he loved stories, so the governess began:—

"There was once a little boy, bright, honest and truthful, always ready to run messages for his mother, or to help a schoolmate with his lessons, he was so good-natured. But Henry (for that was his name) had one great fault—he would get into violent passions when any one vexed him, and as he grew older his passion became stronger, and had[80] the mastery of him more and more. He was a sailor, and as time went on he had a ship of his own, and was captain of it. Henry could manage the ship well; he knew just how to turn the wheel to make her go East or West, and he knew also how to trim the sails to make the ship move swiftly along. If he could have controlled his temper as he did his ship, all might have been well. But he used to be very angry with the sailors when they did not please him, and one day when the cabin-boy had done something that vexed him, the captain in a fit of passion beat the poor boy so cruelly that he died. When the ship came home the captain was taken to prison, and in the end he lost his life for having taken the boy's life."

The governess paused, and Paul gazed up into her face with wide-open, anxious eyes. "Is that what happens to boys who get into a passion?" he asked.

"It happened to the captain," said she.

"Then I will never give way to passion again if it has such a dreadful ending," said Paul, and the governess told me that he kept his word.

Edgar was riding in the train with his mother one day. He sat next the window, as children like to do, so that he could see all that was going on. How the train speeds along! now passing through a tunnel, then out again into the sunshine; next it goes over a long row of arches built[81] across a valley, and called a viaduct. "How high up we seem to be," said Edgar; "see, mother, the river is down there ever so far below!" Now they are passing through fields again, and there, looking over the hedge, is a beautiful young horse. But as the train whirls by, the horse runs off and scampers round and round the field. Edgar watched him as long as he could see, and then he said: "What a lovely horse, mother! how I should like to ride him!"

"The horse is of no use for riding yet, Edgar," said his mother.

"Why?" asked Edgar.

"Because he has not yet learnt to obey a rider," replied she; "the horse has to wear bit and bridle before he can be of use, and to learn by them to be controlled. A horse that could not be managed would run away with you, just as poor Henry's temper ran away with him (Story Lesson 72)."

Bad tempers and bad habits are like wild horses: they take us where they will, and get us into sad trouble if we do not bridle them, so we must take care not to let the temper be master, but bridle it just as the horse-trainer bridles the horse.

"I should think the horse does not like the bit and bridle at first," said Edgar.

"Very likely not," replied his mother; "but he would not be the useful, patient animal that he is if he did not submit."

[82]

It was summer, and we were riding on the top of the coach through one of the loveliest parts of Scotland. The coach had five seats with four persons on each, so you may easily find out how many people there were. On the next seat to ours sat a lady with a little spoilt boy, about four years of age, who was very hard to please, and very discontented and unhappy. You will not be much surprised to hear that presently he began to cry, for spoilt children often do that, but I do not think you could ever guess the reason. His mother was speaking to a lady on the seat behind, and when the child was asked, "What is the matter?" he said, "Mamma is not attending to me when I speak to her," and that was why he cried. He wanted his mother to attend to him, to speak to him all the time, and that was selfish. He was only a very little child, but he thought too much of that ugly word—self, and that was why he was so discontented and unhappy.

I knew another little child who was always wanting some one to play with her; she never tried to amuse herself, but was continually teasing her mother to join in her games. It is better to be like little Elsie (Story Lesson 21) who when only a year old thought of the comfort of others.

One day a lady called at a cottage where there lived a little girl, named Edna, who was playing on the hearth-rug[83] with another little girl, Lizzie. The lady had come to see Edna's grandmamma, but she had not forgotten that Edna lived there, and she brought out of her basket a little paper bag full of ripe cherries, and gave them to the child. Edna did not forget to say "thank you," then she took the little bag, put it on a chair, and peeped inside; she was only two years old, and could not have reached the table. As soon as she saw the pretty, red cherries, she toddled to her little friend, and holding out the bag, said, "Lizzie some". When Lizzie had taken a handful, she went to her grandmother, and said, "Grandmamma some," and then with a shy, little glance at the lady, she placed the bag in her lap, and said, "Lady some".

Last of all she helped her dear little self, and so we say that Edna was unselfish, that means not selfish. Baby Edna did not know about the Temple we all have to make, but she was building it just the same. Perhaps "Selfless" and "Thoughtful" were helping her to find the stones!

We all like to win when we play games, and that is quite right, but Johnny liked so much to win that he was cross and unhappy if any one else was winning, and did not enjoy the game at all; I am afraid that he even cheated sometimes to win. Now all that was downright selfish; it reminds one of a story—a sort of fairy-tale—about Minerva and Arachne.[84]

Arachne said to Minerva, "Let us see who can spin the best". So they began to spin, and when Minerva saw that Arachne was beating her at the spinning, she struck her on the head with a spindle, and turned poor Arachne into a spider. It is a pity when people are so anxious to win that it makes them selfish.

Selfishness is an ugly stone to have in your Temple, dear children. Just as Thoughtfulness is one of the most beautiful stones, so Selfishness is one of the ugliest. Try not to let it come into your lives at all. No one likes a selfish child, but everybody loves the child who forgets self and thinks of others.

It was Christmas time, and on Christmas Eve the children hung up their stockings as usual. Next morning they were awake early, and eagerly turned out the stockings to see what they contained. Among other things Horace and Stanley found that they each had a beautiful large picture-box full of lovely chocolate creams.

After dinner on Christmas Day Stanley brought out his box, and handed it round to everybody, and by the next day his chocolates were all finished.

But Horace hid his box away in a drawer, and kept going to it, and taking out a few at a time, so his chocolates lasted much longer than Stanley's, and he ate[85] them all himself, but we are obliged to say that he was rather selfish. "Shared joy is double joy," and of the two boys we are sure that Stanley would be the happier.

Shall I tell you a little secret? Selfishness will spoil the other stones if you let it come into your Temple, and as to the gold—the lovely gold of "Kindness" that the little "Gold-wings" brought—Selfishness will eat it all away in time. I am sure we all hate selfishness; let us write down

Eva was not a very big girl, and her boots were generally cleaned by the older ones, but one day her mother said, "Eva, I wish you would brush your own boots this morning, we are all so busy".

"Oh mother!" said Eva, "you know it gives me a headache to brush boots, and I shall make my hands so dirty, and perhaps bespatter the floor with blacking as well." I am afraid Eva was rather a spoilt little girl, and this had made her somewhat selfish.

Half an hour later her mother came into the room again, just as Eva was lacing up her boots, and she inquired who had made them so bright and shiny. It was Eva's elder sister, Mary, and Eva knew that her mother was not pleased, but nothing more was said.

[86]

In the afternoon Mary and her mother went out shopping, and Eva hurried home from school, although she would have liked very much to stay for a while and play with the other girls. But she wanted to give mother a surprise. First she put the kettle on the fire, and then she laid the table all neatly and nicely, ready for tea. When everything was in its place, she went to the door several times to look for her mother and sister; at last she saw they were just turning the corner of the street, and Eva ran along to meet them, and said, "Come away, mother, tea is quite ready; I have been looking for you and Mary ever so long". And dear mother knew what it all meant.

It meant that Eva had been listening to the Good Voice, and that she was sorry she had been so selfish in the morning. The Good Voice says

Elinor was a great anxiety to her mother, for she was always either tearing her clothes, or forgetting, or losing something—all because she was so careless. One day at tea Elinor was taking the cup which her mother had just filled, but as she was not looking at it, nor taking any care, it tilted over and fell against a tall flower-vase that stood[87] in the centre of the table. The vase was broken, and the tablecloth deluged with tea and water—all for want of a little care.

Another day Elinor's mother gave her a shilling, and sent her to the shop for some fruit, but she lost the money, and returned empty-handed.

Coming home from school one day, she was poking her umbrella about in a little stream of water that the rain had made along the side of the road, when the tip of the stick caught in a grate and broke off, so the umbrella was spoilt. I could tell you many more things about poor careless Elinor, but these are enough to show how bad it is not to take care. Sometimes people have taken poison instead of medicine by being careless, and not noticing the label on the bottle; and sometimes a train has been wrecked, and lives lost, because the engine-driver was careless about noticing the signal.

Daisy's aunt had invited her to go and spend the day with her cousin Violet, and to Daisy, who lived in the town, it was a very great treat; for Violet's father and mother lived at a farm, and when Daisy went there, the two little girls spent the whole day out in the open air, climbing on[88] the hay, playing "hide and seek" in the barn, or helping to milk the cows. The last time Daisy went to the farm, however, she had taken cold, and her mother found that she had been playing without coat and hat, so on this occasion she said, "Daisy, I want you to promise me that you will keep your outdoor things on when you are playing with Violet, for the day is cold".

Daisy did not answer, and when her mother again asked her, she would not promise. The omnibus which was to take Daisy to the farm would pass at nine o'clock, and the time was drawing near, but still Daisy was self-willed and would not give in. (Oh, Daisy! that is not the Good Voice you are listening to, you will be sorry afterwards.) The omnibus came rumbling down the street, and Daisy sprang up ready to go.

"Do you promise, Daisy?" asked her mother; "I cannot let you go unless you do;" but Daisy was still obstinate, and the omnibus went quickly past. A minute after she burst into tears, and cried, "I will promise, mother," but by this time the omnibus was too far on its way, and there was not another until two o'clock. At this time Daisy was allowed to go, but what a pity that she should lose half a day's pleasure, and disappoint her cousin, as well as grieving her dear mother, all for the sake of wanting her own way. You remember what we said about mother knowing best in "Obedience" (Story Lesson 6). When we are obstinate, we want to please ourselves instead of some one else, so you can see that

[89]

It was breaking-up day at school, and the children were having buns and tea. Each child had brought a clean pocket-handkerchief, and spread it on the desk for a tablecloth. Then the teacher gave out the buns; nice large buns they were, with sugar on the top, and there were just a few left over, after one had been given to each child. Next a cup of tea was placed on each desk, and the tea-party went on merrily.

But why does Stephen take such large bites, and fill his mouth so full? And why is he eating so quickly? See, his bun is finished now, and he is asking for another! "Oh! Stephie, naughty boy, you have gobbled up your bun as fast as you could, because you were afraid the buns left over would be used up before you asked for more. That was greedy."

Do not be greedy, boys and girls. Never mind how hungry you are; eat slowly and nicely, and pass things to others. It is so selfish to think only of your own wants, and not to care how other people are getting on. "Greediness" is an ugly word, and no one likes to see greedy children.

[90]

Have you ever seen a stag with its graceful, branching horns?

There is a fable told of a stag who went to a pool to drink, and seeing himself reflected in the water, he said: "Dear me, how beautiful are my horns; what a nice, graceful appearance they give to me! My legs are quite slender, and not at all beautiful, but my horns are handsome." When the hunters came, however, the stag found that his slender legs were very useful, for by means of them he could run away from his enemies, and if it had not been that his horns caught in the branches of a tree and held him fast, he might have escaped.

You see how foolish it was of the stag to boast about his fine horns; and we are just as foolish when we boast of anything that we have, or of anything we can do.

Boasting often leads to untruth, as in (Story Lesson 11) "The Three Feathers". It is always vulgar to pretend that we are better than our neighbours, and people who boast generally try to make one believe that they are cleverer or richer or better than somebody else. Let us be like the modest violet, who hides her beauty, rather than be boastful and foolish, as the stag was.

[91]

A little girl wandered away from home one morning and got lost in a wood. She tried in vain to find the way home again, but she could not, and then she sat down and cried, for she was so tired, and oh! so hungry. She thought of the many crusts of bread and pieces of meat that she had often left on her plate at home, and how glad she would have been to eat them now. It was evening when her friends found her, and took her safely home; we will hope that she remembered that hungry day in the woods, and did not waste any more pieces of bread afterwards.

If you think of the many poor people who have scarcely enough to eat, you will see how wrong it is to waste anything. When we have more than we need, let us give it to those who have not enough, and never forget that

You will hear of a great king (in Story Lesson 90) who had a throne of ivory overlaid with gold. When you are old enough to read the words he wrote (Proverbs) you will find that he always kept his eyes wide open and noticed things.

As the king was taking a walk one day, he passed by a[92] vineyard, which is another name for a grape-garden, and he noticed that the wall was broken down. He looked farther, and saw that the vines were all trailing on the ground, instead of being tied up, and worse still, they were all grown over with nettles and thorns—the beautiful grape vines that give such rich, delicious fruit. "How is this?" thought the king, and he began to consider. "Ah!" said he, "this vineyard belongs to the man who likes 'a little sleep,' 'a little slumber,' and who would rather fold his hands and go to sleep again than use them to work in his garden. And what will be the end of it all? He will soon be poor, and have nothing to eat, while his lovely grapes which would have sold for money if he had looked after them, lie there buried and spoilt by the nettles and thorns."

It is quite right to sleep through the dark night, but this man slept in the daytime as well, instead of weeding his garden, and tying up the grapes, so we say he was a sluggard. What an ugly word it is! Would you like to be a sluggard? No, indeed you would not. Then remember this:—

Far away in a country called India there are many elephants, which are used for hunting, and also for carrying burdens.

[93]

One evening a driver brought his elephant home, and chained him to a tree; then he went a short distance away, and made an oven to bake his cakes for supper. You will wonder how this was done.

First he dug a hole in the ground, in which to place his fuel, and when he had set the fuel alight, he covered it with a flat stone or plate of iron, and on this he put his rice cakes to bake. He then covered them up with grass and stones and went away.

The elephant had been watching all this, and when the man was gone, he unfastened the chain which was round his leg with his trunk, went to the oven, uncovered the cakes, and took them off with his trunk and ate them. (Perhaps he waited a little while until they cooled, for the elephant does not like his food hot.) Then he put back the grass as before, and returned to the tree. He could not manage to fasten the chain round his leg again, so he just twisted it round as well as he could, and stood with his back to the oven as if nothing had happened.

By-and-by the driver returned, and went to see if his cakes were ready. They were all gone, and the elephant was peeping over his shoulder to see what would happen next. The driver knew by his guilty look that he was the thief; the elephant knew he had done wrong and was ashamed.

Let us not do anything that we need be ashamed of. We know what is right better than the elephant, because we can think better.

[94]

"Listen, boys," said the teacher, "I am going to tell you about a land across the sea, not much more than twenty miles from England—the sunny land of France." So he went on to tell them of the vines loaded with grapes, from which wine is made; of the apples growing by the roadside, and of the French people, how gay and merry they are, and how neatly the poor people dress.

Many more interesting things he told them, and then he said: "Now, take your papers, and write down all that you can remember about France". The boys set to work, and soon all were very busy, except one—a boy named Albert, who could not think of anything to write, and who, when the papers were collected had not managed to pen a single line. How was this, do you think? It was simply because he had not attended to the teacher when he was speaking, and so he could not remember anything that had been told him.

One day, when Albert was about ten years old, his mother sent him to a farm for some eggs. He had not been to the farm before, but his mother told him exactly which way to go, and if he had listened he could have found it easily.

In about an hour Albert came back, swinging the empty basket. He had not been able to find the farm. Why? Because he did not attend when his mother was telling him the way.

You will readily see that a child who does not attend[95] cannot learn much, and will never be bright and clever, nor of much use in helping others.

Olive and Gertie were walking along a country road, and high up in the sky a lark poured forth his sweet song.

"How beautifully that skylark sings," said Olive; "it is worth while to come out into the country just to hear it."

"I did not hear it," said Gertie, swinging her parasol.

"It is there, right overhead," exclaimed Olive; "do look, Gertie; it will drop like a stone when it gets nearer the ground."

"Oh! I cannot trouble to look up," replied Gertie, "it makes my neck ache."

By-and-by they passed a field of oats, nearly ripe, and as the wind swayed them to and fro, they made a pleasant rustling sound.

"How nice it is to hear the corn as it rustles in the wind," said Olive, "and listen, Gertie, is not this a pretty tinkling sound?"

Olive had plucked one of the ears of oats, and was shaking its little bells close to her friend's ear.

"It is nothing," said Gertie.

"To me it is lovely," replied Olive, "and the tinkle of the harebells is just as sweet."[96]

Then a bee went buzzing by, and Olive liked to hear its drowsy hum, but Gertie did not notice it.

Presently they were on the edge of the cliffs, and could hear the splash of the waves as they rolled in and broke on the beach.

"Surely you like to hear 'the song of the sea,'" said Olive, but Gertie made no reply—she was thinking of something else.

Do not be like Gertie, who seemed as if she had "No Ears," but, like Olive, keep your ears open to all the sweet and pleasant sounds.

The fire makes a pleasant sound as it burns and crackles in the grate, and who does not like to hear the "singing" of the kettle on the hob? How musical is the flow of the stream, and do you not love to hear the splash of the oars as they dip in the river? or the sound made by the bow of the boat as it cuts through the water? Some people like to hear the "thud" of a great steamer as it ploughs its way through the sea, and everybody loves the sound of the wind as it whispers in the trees.

The sounds that we hear in the fields and woods are called "voices of nature," let us listen to them, for they speak to us of God's love.

[97]

Have you ever heard of the "Black Country"? It is a part of England where there are many furnaces and iron-works, and a great deal of smoke; that is why it is called by this name.

Two boys, named Francis and Algie, lived in this district, for their father was an iron-worker, and one evening they went out for a long walk. They were away two or three hours, and when they returned their mother said: "Well, boys, what did you see in your walk?"

"Nothing, mother," replied Algie, "there is nothing pretty to be seen; it is all black and ugly."

"Ah!" said Francis, "but there was the sky, and that was beautiful, for we were walking towards the sunset, and the colours were changing all the time. First the sky seemed to be all over gold, and then as the sun went down it changed to red; next when I looked there were shades of a lovely green or blue, which soon changed to dark red; it was the loveliest sunset I have ever seen."

How strange it was that, although both boys had eyes, only one of them saw anything worth seeing! Francis was the boy with "eyes," while Algie was as though he had "no eyes". Keep your eyes open, children, and try to see all that is beautiful. It is such a pity when people grow up and walk about without seeing anything. There is always something to see in the sky. Sometimes it is all a lovely blue, with white, fleecy clouds floating across it, or piled up in curly masses; and at night it is of a[98] deeper blue, and the stars come peeping out, reminding us in their beauty of goodness and God:—

Little Ruby was not two years old, but she always noticed things, and tried to find out their names.

One day when she was walking out with her auntie they passed a stone wall. Ruby looked at it, and then glancing up said, "Wall".

"Yes," said auntie. "What is the wall made of?"

"Coal," answered Ruby quite seriously. (I suppose the blocks of stone reminded her of the same shape in the coals.)

"No, it is not coal," said auntie.

Ruby was puzzled, and thought for a little, then she said, "Wash it".

You see she had never heard the word "stone," and as her little hands, when dirty, became lighter coloured with washing, she thought that stone must be "washed" coal. It was wrong, of course, but it shows you that tiny Ruby used her eyes, and thought about things.

[99]

You have often gathered buttercups and daisies, but have you ever gazed into the daisy's yellow eye, and thought how wonderful it was? You will find that it is made up of many tiny flowerets, all packed closely together. And the fringe of white petals, tipped with pink, how beautiful they are! and so dainty that we might almost think they had been painted by the pencil of a fairy! And have you noticed the strong, green cup which closes round the petals at night, and keeps them all safe?

You have held the pretty buttercup under your chin to make it look yellow, but have you ever looked carefully at the shining petals of gold? How smooth, and clear, and glossy they are!

There was once a great, wise king, who was so rich that he had plates and cups of gold instead of china. He made a beautiful throne of ivory, with six lions on the one side and six on the other, and the throne was all overlaid with gold; how bright and glittering it would be! And then picture the king himself in his robes of state, seated on his gilded throne, how dazzling and beautiful it would all look! And yet the greatest Teacher who ever lived—He who took the little children in his arms—said that the great King Solomon, with his throne of ivory and gold, "in all his glory" was not so beautiful as the lily growing in the field. So you see the best of all beauty[100] is close beside us, at our feet indeed, if we only have eyes to see it.

You have heard of other beautiful sights and sounds in the Story Lessons that have gone before (87, 88), and in the Story Lesson which follows you will learn why it is good to love all these beautiful things.

Why do we hang pictures on the walls, and put plants in the windows? Because we want to make the room look pretty.

Why do we love the flowers and the trees, the bright green fields and the waving yellow corn? Why are we so glad to be near the sea, with its glorious, rolling waves, and to bask in the warm, bright rays of the sun? Because they are all beautiful, and when we love what is beautiful it helps us to love what is good; and when we love goodness we love God, who gave us all this beauty.

Now you will see why it is so wicked to destroy beautiful things. When a boy carves his name on a tree, or breaks[101] off its graceful branches, he destroys that which is good, instead of loving it; and how can he grow up gentle and true if he does not love beauty and goodness? Sometimes people put iron railings round their gardens, and you will have noticed that they are often finished off with a pointed pattern at the top, to make them look pretty. When a boy comes along and knocks off the points, he makes the railings look ugly instead of pretty. He would never think of destroying the pictures that hang on the walls of his home, or of throwing the plants away that stand in the window, yet he destroys things that are not his, and that other people have put there to make their houses look nice. I am sure you will say this is not right; it is downright wrong, just as wrong as it would be for me to go and break that boy's slate, or to snap his wickets in two when he is wanting a game of cricket, and it is all for want of thinking.

It is quite dreadful to know that so many cruel, unkind things are done, just because boys and girls do not trouble to think! But I hope that you, dear children, will think, and keep your little hands from spoiling anything.

A boy named Eric was coming home from school. There were two ways that he could take—one was a path through[102] the fields, and the other was a winding road. It was winter time, and there was snow on the ground. Eric chose the field path, for it was the shorter of the two, but he had not gone far when it began to snow very fast. The snow-flakes were so large, and fell so quickly, that there was very soon quite a thick carpet on the ground, and before long Eric found that he could not see the path, and he scarcely knew where he was. If he had only turned round just then, he could have seen his own footprints in the snow, and following them, would have got back to the road safely, but he did not want to do this, so he went on and on until he was lost entirely, and had not the least idea as to which was the way home.

Then he determined to turn back, and try to reach the road, but where are his footprints? All covered up with snow. Eric felt ready to cry, but he struggled on as long as he could, and then a great drowsiness came over him, and he fell down in the snow.

It is just like that with wrong-doing, if we do not turn back at once, it becomes more and more difficult to find the path, and sometimes the wrong-doer loses it altogether.

When Eric did not come home from school his parents became very anxious, and his father accompanied by the dog went out to seek him. First he took the way by the road, then he came over the field-path, and the dog ran sniffing about in the snow, until he came to what looked like a white mound, and there was Eric half-buried in the snow. You can imagine how pleased the father was when he had his boy safe in his arms, and how gladly he carried him home, for if Eric had not been found quickly, he must have died. Remember Eric in the snow, and

[103]

From all these Story Lessons you will see that there are a great many "stones" for the building of "character".

But there is another thought, which is this: a bad "stone," one bad "stone" may spoil all the rest. You remember we said (Story Lesson 77) that Selfishness could spoil a character. And there is another fault—I think we ought to call it a sin—that spoils the character of many an up-grown person. I mean the sin of Intemperance. You know what that is, do you not? When we say that people are intemperate, we generally mean that they take too much beer or wine, and I have known most beautiful characters spoilt by that bad "stone".

When a man has lovely "stones" like Kindness, Unselfishness and Truth in his Temple, is it not a pity that these should be all eaten away by the dreadful sin of Intemperance? Even truth, the foundation, decays, and often the lovely temple of character tumbles all to ruins.

What should you think is the best thing for children to do? Is it not this? Never take any of these things that cause Intemperance, and then you will never be fond of them, and they will never get the mastery of you and spoil your character.

[104]

You have heard the ticking of your father's watch, and have seen the hands on its face, but did you ever get a peep inside at the wonderful tiny wheels and springs? These are called the works, and if they are not right and true the hands and the face are of no use at all, because it is only when the wheels and springs work properly that the hands can tell the time correctly.

It is just the same with us. If the character is true and good, it will not be difficult to be polite and nice in manner, for manners are the outside part of us (just as the hands and face are the outside parts of the watch). The kind, good thoughts within—in our hearts—will teach us how to behave.

There is nothing that makes people so rude as thinking of self and forgetting the comfort of others; some call it "Thoughtlessness," but we fear the true name is "Selfishness". If we are unselfish and thoughtful for others, we shall not be likely to do anything that hurts people, and so we shall not be likely to be rude.

In the Story Lessons on "Manners" which follow, just see if you can find out what it is that causes each rude[105] action. You will probably say that it is "want of thought" for others.

Alec was a merry little fellow, full of life and fun, and a great favourite with his aunties and uncles, who often gave him nice presents.

The strange thing about Alec was that he always forgot to say "Thank you". No matter how beautiful the present, he would just take it and play with it, and return no thanks to the kind giver, until his mother reminded him how rude it was not to say "Thank you". Alec was not like little Vernon (Story Lesson 44), who was brimming over with thanks.

[106]

One night as Alec's mother was putting him to bed, she said: "Alec, I have been reading some verses about a little girl who would not say 'Please'. She would cry 'Pass me the butter,' 'Give me some cheese'. So the fairies, 'this very rude maiden to tease,' carried her down into the woods, among the butterflies and birds and bees, until she should have learnt better manners."

Alec listened with wide-open eyes fixed on his mother's face, but when she said, "I wonder what the fairies would do with a little boy who always forgets to say 'Thank you,'" his eyes dropped, and he was very quiet while his mother was tucking him in his little cot.

When she had gone Alec thought to himself, "Suppose the fairies should come and take all my toys away," then he fell asleep, and this is what happened.

The fairies did come, and Alec saw them. Such funny little fellows they were, dressed in red, with funny little wings stuck out behind, and the funniest of little peaked caps on their heads.

Alec began to wonder about his toys, and sure enough they had come to fetch them. First they picked up a beautiful, long railway train, which was a present from Aunt Sophie. It took them all to lift it, there were so many carriages. (Why do they not draw it along? thought Alec.) Up on their shoulders it went. Would the peaked caps fall off? No, they were all tilted sideways, and the train was borne safely out.

Soon the funny little fairies came dancing in again, laughing and rubbing their hands as they looked all about. Surely they were not going to take the Noah's ark! That was Uncle Jack's present, and the animals were such beauties! But that did not matter to the fairies. Slowly the ark was lifted on their shoulders; six fairies were on one side and six on the other; again the peaked[107] caps were tilted sideways, and solemnly they all marched out.

Next time they pulled out a wooden horse, papa's gift, and Alec saw that the fairies all jumped on its back, and then a funny thing happened—the horse walked out of its own accord.

Again and again they came in and bore away one precious toy after another, until there was nothing left but grandpapa's gift—the tricycle. Surely they will leave that! Alec never knew until now how much he loved his toys; but here they are again, and, yes! they are actually bringing out the tricycle. One sits on the saddle, one on each pedal, and all the rest on the handle-bar. Now the pedals go round, and, strange to say, the funny little men do not fall off. The tricycle seems to go of itself, as the horse did.

And now, oh dear! everything is gone, and Alec thinks he is worse off than the little girl who was carried away by the fairies.

Morning comes! Alec wakes and rubs his eyes; what has happened? Oh! the toys! Quick as thought he is out of bed, and off to the playroom in his night-dress. Where are the toys? All there, just as he left them last night. "It was only a dream, then," said Alec; "how glad I am that it is not true, but all the same I will remember to say 'Thank you' in future," and he did.

[108]

If you should see the sailors on board ship when they are receiving orders from the captain, you will notice how polite and respectful they are. They never forget to say "Yes, sir," or "No, sir," when he speaks to them. Perhaps the captain was once a little cabin-boy himself, and he, in his turn, had to learn to be respectful to his captain.

But it is not only on board ship that it is necessary to be respectful; children should always remember to say "Sir" or "Ma'am" when speaking to a gentleman or lady, wherever they may be.

In France the word "madam" is used when addressing a lady, but in our country the "d" is mostly left out, and we say only "ma'am". (Show the two words, "madam" and "ma'am" on blackboard.)

No one thinks a boy or girl well-behaved who answers "Yes," or "No"; it is blunt and rude. You can always say "Sir" and "Ma'am," even if you do not know the name of the person to whom you are speaking, and in answering your father or mother you should always say "Yes, father," or "No, mother," as the case may be.

[109]

You have often heard grown-up people say to little children, "Behave nicely," or "Mind your manners"; I wonder if you know just what they mean. There is a little word that describes people who have not nice manners—we say they are rude. Try to find out who was rude in this story.

One bright day in April little Alice was dressed all ready for a birthday party. She had on a pretty, new pink frock, of which she was very proud, and over this she wore a cloak, but the cloak was not quite long enough to cover all the pretty dress, for which Alice was not sorry. She was all the more pleased about the party because she had to go by train. It was only three miles, but Alice thought that was quite a long journey for a little girl of ten to take all by herself.

Her mother brought her to the station, and when the train came up, Alice jumped in and sat near the window, opposite to a tall, nicely-dressed boy. Now before Alice came into the carriage, what do you think the boy had been doing? He had been sitting with his feet up on the cushions opposite, and his boots were very muddy. Can you guess the rest? Poor Alice sat down on the muddy patches left by the boy's dirty, wet boots, and her pretty pink frock was spoilt.

Can you tell who was rude in this story? "The boy was rude." What did he do that was rude? "He put his feet up." Then we will say, "It is rude to put our feet up". The proper place for feet is the floor. What effect did the boy's rudeness have on Alice? (or to younger children):[110] How did the boy's rudeness make Alice feel? It made her unhappy. Then I think we might say that manners are rude when they make other people uncomfortable or unhappy.

Write on Blackboard and let the children repeat the following:—

How is it that boys and girls so often forget to close the door quietly? When Maurice went out to school in the afternoon he knew that his mother had a headache, but by the time he came home he had forgotten all about it, and so he stamped in with his muddy shoes unwiped, leaving the front door wide open.

His mother said, "Close the door, Maurice," and he gave it a great bang, which made her shudder.

Next he walked into the room, flung his bag on a chair, his cap on the floor, and his overcoat on the sofa. Then he said in a loud voice, "Well, mother, how's your head?" His poor mother felt almost too sad to answer him; she had so often told her little boy about hanging up his coat[111] and other things, and had tried so hard to teach him to be gentle and polite, instead of rough and rude; but you see Maurice was thoughtless, and did not remember the nice things he had been taught.

Take care, Maurice! or you will have the ugly stone of "Selfishness" in your Temple. A boy who is not kind to his mother is the worst kind of boy, and will find it difficult to grow up into a good and noble man.

When Lulu was a little girl, she lived with her auntie and uncle. The front door of their house was made half of glass, and there was a shutter which covered the glass part of the door at night.

Lulu's auntie told her that when it was windy weather she must go round to the back door, lest the front door should get a bang, and some of the panes of glass be broken.

I am afraid Lulu did not always remember to obey her auntie, for one very windy morning she came home from school, and went as usual to the front door. She managed to open it and to get inside safely, then the door closed with a loud bang, for the wind was very strong, and it happened just as auntie had feared—a large pane of glass fell out of the door, and was shivered into a thousand pieces.

Auntie was very angry, and Lulu was so unhappy, and cried so much that she could not eat her dinner. When her uncle came home and heard the story, and knew how sorry Lulu was, he said: "Oh, well, dry your tears, we will call and ask old James to come and mend the door, and my little girl must do what auntie tells her next time".[112]

So Lulu trotted back to afternoon school, holding to the hand of her kind uncle, and they called to tell James to put a new pane of glass into the door. But Lulu has not forgotten her disobedience, and the banging of auntie's door, although it is now more than forty years ago.

The Queen was in London, and as the time drew near when she was expected to drive through the park, many people stood on the sidewalk to see her carriage pass.

A little lady who was walking through the park thought she would stand with the others to see Her Majesty, and as she was too short to look over the heads of the people, she found a place at the edge of the crowd near the roadway.

By-and-by they heard a cheer in the distance, and knew that the Queen's carriage had come out of the palace gates. At that very moment some one came pushing through the people, and before the little lady had time to speak, a great big boy brushed rudely past, and stood in front of her. The lady touched him on the arm, and he turned round, and saw that it was a friend of his mother's whom he had been treating so rudely. He raised his cap at once, and, blushing with shame, begged the lady's pardon, and took a place behind her.[113]

But if the lady had been a perfect stranger, it would have been equally wrong for the boy to act like that. It is always rude to push, whether we are entering a tramcar, a railway train, or going to some place of amusement; let us remember this:—

When you have been walking down the street, has it ever happened that you could scarcely move for the people who are blocking up the causeway? That is because they do not keep to the right.

In London, where the streets are so busy, it would be impossible to get along if people did not keep to the right. What accidents we should have in the streets if the drivers did not remember to keep to their proper side of the road, which is the left! And how often the ships at sea would go bumping against each other if they did not remember always to keep to the right in passing those that are coming in an opposite direction! If you are ever puzzled as to how you should pass people in the street

[114]

I wonder if you know any boys and girls who are clumsy. I am always a little sorry for clumsy people; they seem to be so often in trouble. If the clumsy boy is allowed to collect the slates, he is sure to send some of them sliding on to the floor with a noise like thunder; or if he gathers the books in a pile it is sure to topple over, and the books are scattered in every direction. The clumsy people tread on our toes, step on a lady's dress and tear it maybe, or bump against baby's cot in passing and wake the little sleeper.

Do you think we could find out the secret of being clumsy? Is not it for want of taking care? You remember Elinor, in Story Lesson 79, how she upset her tea, broke the vase, and spoilt the tablecloth, all for want of care? It is the same with clumsy people—they forget to take care?

The books and slates are not piled carefully, that is why they tumble; they bulge out here and go in there, instead of being smooth and straight on every side. If you do not want to be clumsy

[115]

Have you ever seen a girl walking along the street with her head turned backwards, trying to look behind her as she goes? Of course she does not walk straight, for she is not looking where she is going. It would be better if she did either look where she is going or turn quite round, and go where she is looking.

A girl was coming along the street one day with a paper bag full of eggs, looking behind her all the time.

A lady, who was walking in the opposite direction, tried to get out of her way, but as we said before, the girl could not walk straight when her eyes were turned backward, and as the lady stepped to one side to avoid her, the girl in her zigzag walk came to the same side and bumped up against the lady.

Crash! went the eggs, and a yellow stream ran down the pretty blue dress worn by the lady. What would the girl's mother say when her eggs were all wasted? This is a true story, and you will agree that the girl was very silly to walk along with her head turned round. You see we have no eyes behind our head, nor even at the side; they are at the front, so

[116]

There was once a girl named Ruth, who was in many respects very well-behaved indeed. For instance, you would never hear her reply to her mother without saying "Yes, mother," or "No, mother," and she never banged the door or came into a room noisily, but she had one fault that was really very bad.

As Ruth went on her way to school each day, she passed a house that had its dining-room window facing the street. The window was rather low, and every time that Ruth went by she would walk slowly, and stare into the room all the time. If the people were at dinner it made no difference—she still gazed in. You will think this exceedingly rude, as indeed it was, but it is quite true nevertheless.

One day a lady came to the school that Ruth attended; she was driven there in her carriage, and remained talking to the teacher after the children had been dismissed. Presently she said, "Good afternoon," and left, and the teacher, happening to glance out of the window, was vexed to see that a number of the scholars had gathered round the carriage, and were staring in, and staring at the lady as she took her seat. Next day the children were told how rude this was, and we hope that Ruth learnt at the same time how rude it is to stare into people's houses.

Another day some Japanese ladies came to the school to see the children drill; they were dressed so differently from English people, and looked so funny with their little slanting eyes, and their shiny, black hair dressed high, with no bonnet to cover it, that the children were tempted to[117] stare again, but the teacher had told them that it would be rude to stare at the ladies. "You may glance at them," said she, "but do not keep your eyes fixed on them." It is natural to wish to look at curious things, but we can be careful to take our eyes away when we have glanced, so that we do not stare, and make the person uncomfortable, for you remember we said that anything was rude which caused people to be uncomfortable (p. 110).

There was a little boy in church who had just the same rude habit as Ruth. He would sit or stand at the end of the pew, and turn his head round to see what was passing behind. He did not take just a little glance, and then turn his eyes back again—even that would have been rude—but he kept his gaze fixed behind for ever so long.

Do you know why we do not look about in church? It is because we go there to worship the Great God, to hear of Him, and think about Him, and we cannot do this if we are looking about, and thinking of other things. Why do we close our eyes when we pray? It is so that we may think of what we are saying; if we kept them open, we should be thinking of what we were seeing instead, should we not?

A long time ago there was a war, and the English soldiers went out to fight. Many of the poor fellows were wounded,[118] and a kind lady, who is now quite old, went from England to nurse the brave soldiers. Her name was Florence Nightingale, and it is a name that everybody loves.

The soldiers had never been nursed by a lady before, and she was so kind and gentle, they loved her more than I can tell you—so much, indeed, that they would kiss her shadow on the pillow as she walked softly through the rooms where they lay.

If you have ever been in a hospital you will know how quietly the nurses move about. Why is it? Because a noise would disturb the poor sufferers. But it is not nice for people who are well either to hear children stamping about as if they would send their feet through the floor. Have you noticed how softly pussy moves? It is because she walks on her toes. We have to wear shoes on our feet, and cannot help making a little noise, but we must remember to step on our toes, and move as quietly as possible.

One day a lady was passing through a country village, and not being quite sure as to which was the right road to take, she went up to some boys who were playing on the green to inquire.

[119]

"Can you tell me, please, which is the way to East Thorpe?" asked the lady.

"Yes, ma'am," said one of the boys, raising his cap, "you walk straight past the church, and then take the first road to the right." The lady thanked the boy, and bade him "Good-day," and as he replied "Good-day, ma'am," and again raised his cap, she thought to herself, "What a civil, polite boy! He is very poorly dressed, but he has the manners of a gentleman, and how nicely he answered when I spoke to him; I must tell Dorothy about it."

Dorothy was the lady's little niece, and had been staying with her some time. One afternoon auntie had taken Dorothy with her to call at the house of a friend, and when the lady spoke kindly to the little girl, and asked her name and where she lived, Dorothy only smiled and looked foolish, and did not speak or answer. Her auntie was very much surprised, and perhaps felt a wee bit ashamed of her little niece that afternoon.

Children should never be bold and forward, but they should look up and answer a question fearlessly and clearly when they are asked one; it is so foolish to simper and not speak.

The train had just steamed into the railway station, when a porter opened the carriage door to let a lady step in—at[120] least she looked like a lady, and was dressed most elegantly. Her gown was of silk, over which she wore a rich fur-lined cloak, and her bonnet was quite smart with feathers and flowers. As she drew off her gloves, you could not help noticing that her fingers were covered with glittering rings. "Surely she must be going to some grand concert, or to a party," thought we.

But listen to what happened next! Just before the train started she suddenly opened the carriage window, and leaning out as far as ever she could, shouted in a loud, rough voice, so loudly that all the people round could hear, "Heigh! you porter there, is my luggage all right?" Then she closed the window and sat down, and we felt that in spite of her finery she was a rude, rough woman, for a lady is gentle, and would never speak in a loud, coarse voice that grates on those who hear it.

Never speak too loudly either out of doors or elsewhere; keep always a soft, sweet voice.

It was holiday time, and Margery had gone to play with her little friend Helena Poynter, who lived in the next street but one. They were in a little summer-house at the[121] end of the garden, having a happy time with their dolls, and Helena was telling Margery that her father had promised to take them all for a picnic to the hills next day. They were to drive there in a coach, papa, mamma, Helena, and her brothers, who were all at home for the holidays.

Just then Helena's mamma came walking down the garden. "Good-morning, Margery," said she, and Margery stood up at once and returned her greeting. "I have been thinking," said Mrs. Poynter, "that you would like to join our picnic to-morrow, and I am sure we could find room for one more on the coach."

"Oh! thank you, ma'am," said Margery, "I should like it so much; I will run round and ask mother at once," and off she ran as fast as her little legs could carry her.

Margery came into the house bubbling over with the good news, and anxious to tell it all to her mother immediately, but she found that a lady had called and was talking to her mother, so she just waited quietly until the conversation was ended before she spoke a word, for Margery knew that

You will see now why we sit quietly in church, or at an entertainment, or in a room when any one is singing or playing—it is because we do not wish to be rude, and it is rude to speak when any one else is speaking, or praying, or reading aloud, or singing, or playing music for us.

You will like to know that Margery was allowed to go to the picnic, and she enjoyed it very much.[122]

In a previous Story Lesson, No. 106, we spoke of a village boy who, you remember, answered the lady politely, when she inquired her way. His name was Fred, and when a gentleman came to the school that Fred attended one day, and said he wanted an office-boy, the schoolmaster called Fred up to the desk. The boy looked so bright and honest, and said, "Yes, sir" so politely, that the gentleman thought he would do, and the next week Fred began his work. Sometimes he had to sit at a desk and do writing; one morning as he sat thus, the master came in to speak to him. What do you think Fred did? He rose from his stool at once, turned towards his master, and stood while he was speaking. The master was giving Fred instructions about his work, and as soon as he had finished, Fred looked up and replied, "Yes, sir, I will attend to it".

We have learnt two lessons from Fred, what are they?

One evening a number of friends met together at a little party. First they all had tea, and after tea was over[123] they sat round the fire to talk, for some of them had not seen each other for a long time. But there was one lady there who had so much to say that scarcely any one else could get a chance to speak. She talked and talked nearly all the evening. Sometimes we expect one person to speak all the time, as when we go to hear a lecture, or to listen to a sermon in church, but when people meet together for conversation, it is much pleasanter to hear more than one speak.

Another time three children were having dinner with some grown-up people, and a lady who was there told me that one of the children, a little girl about eight years of age, talked continually, so that even the grown-up people had scarcely an opportunity of speaking.

So you see it is quite possible for people to be made uncomfortable by a child speaking too much, as well as by a child that refuses to speak at all (Dorothy in Story Lesson 106).

Perhaps you have been in a railway carriage where a little boy has never ceased asking questions and talking during the whole journey. Years ago children used to be told that "they must be seen and not heard". We do not often say that now, but we must remember that it is rude to take up all the conversation, or even more than our share. I believe it is more than rude—it is selfish. We must learn to listen to other people as well as to talk ourselves.

[124]

One evening Minnie sat at the table preparing her lessons. Her father and mother, with an aunt who had called to see them, were seated at the hearth.

In a little while Minnie found that she required a book from the bookcase, which stood in a recess to the left of the fireplace, so she rose from the table, and, without speaking a word, walked in front of her aunt and in front of her father to reach the book. Her aunt looked up in astonishment, and her father exclaimed: "Minnie, how rude you are!"

Why was Minnie rude? Because she did not say "Excuse me, please," both to her aunt and her father. We ought not to go in front of any one, if we can by any means avoid it; but, if it is impossible to get behind, we must never forget to say those little words which Minnie so rudely forgot.

A gentleman was travelling in a railway train, and, as there was no one else in the carriage, he placed his portmanteau and other luggage on the rack opposite to where he sat instead of overhead.

At the next station several people entered the carriage, and, when the gentleman wanted to get out, he was obliged to reach up in front of the people sitting opposite to get[125] his luggage. But he did not forget to say, "Excuse me, please".

I was talking to a lady one day, and not happening to hear something that I said, she exclaimed in a loud voice, "What?" I was as much astonished as Minnie's aunt was in Story Lesson 111, and quite forgot what I had intended to say next. What should the lady have said? She should have said, "I beg your pardon". Perhaps she had forgotten herself just that one time.

Suppose you are sitting at table next to mother, who is pouring the tea; perhaps there is no bread and butter near enough for her to reach, and you do not notice that her plate is empty. She is obliged to ask you to pass her something, and as you do so you feel sorry that you have not done it without being asked, and you say, "I beg your pardon, mother". Some people leave out the "I," and say "Beg your pardon," or "Beg pardon," but the proper words are, "I beg your pardon".[126]

A young lady was hurrying down a street, and, as she turned the corner quickly, she nearly ran against a little ragged boy, but by putting out her arms she just managed to save him from being hurt. Then she rested her hands on his shoulders, and said in a sweet voice: "I beg your pardon, my boy". The boy was greatly surprised that any one should beg his pardon; he had not been accustomed to have people speak politely to him, but the lady knew that it is just as important to be polite to a beggar as to a fine gentleman.

We should, of course, try not to run against people, and be careful not to step on a lady's dress or on any one's toes, but if by accident we do make any of these blunders, we must remember to say, "I beg your pardon".

Why is it, do you think, that a boy raises his cap? It is to show respect to the lady or gentleman whom he is passing[127] or speaking to. That was why the boy raised his cap to the lady in Story Lesson 106, and said "Yes, ma'am;" he wished to show her respect. Soldiers do not raise their caps to the general or captain; they salute (that is, they raise the forefinger of right hand to forehead), but it answers the same purpose—it shows their respect. Why do men and boys take off their caps and hats when they enter a church or chapel? It is to show reverence to the God of all who is worshipped there.

Boys should always remember to raise their caps when a lady or gentleman bows or speaks to them, and also when they enter a house or other place, such as a church or chapel.

A number of soldiers were one day riding in a car, indeed the car was quite full of soldiers; and at the end there was a general, that is the man who is at the head of the soldiers.

Presently the car stopped, and a poor old woman entered, but there was no room for her to sit, and not one of the soldiers had the good manners to offer her his seat. So the woman walked to the end of the car where the general sat, that she might stand where she would not be in any one's way, but the kind general rose instantly, and gave her his place; that was courteous and kind of him, was it not? Then several of the other soldiers stood, and asked the general to be seated, but he said: "No, there was no seat for[128] the poor woman, so there is none for me". The soldiers were very much ashamed, and soon left the car.

Why did the general offer his seat to the old woman? For the same reason that the boy raises his cap—to show respect to her.

You know how father takes care of mother and lifts heavy weights for her, and how brothers take care of sisters, and so if there is not room for everybody to sit, a man or boy will rise, and let a woman have his place; and they do all this partly because they are strong and like to do kind acts, and partly because it is nice and right to be courteous to women.

But a kind woman does not like always to take the seat that is offered to her. The man may be old or weak, then the woman would say, "Thank you, I will stand," for she sees that the man needs the seat more than she does. And if a man had been working hard all day (never sitting down at all maybe), and he should be coming home tired at night, in the train or tramcar, one would not like to let him stand, and give up his place.

It is nice and polite for a man to offer his seat, and the lady should always say, "Thank you," whether she takes it or not.

A very old man entered a crowded railway carriage, and a young girl who was sitting near the door stood up at once and offered the old man her place, for she knew that he was too weak to stand. So you see that sometimes it is right for a girl or woman to give up her seat; we must not let the men do all the kind, polite actions.[129]

One afternoon I called with a friend to see a lady at whose house I had not been before; she was very pleased to see us, and brought her little boy, Reggie, into the room where we sat.

"Shake hands with the ladies, Reggie," said his mother; but Reggie refused, and hid his face in her dress. She explained that he was shy, and went on coaxing him to come and speak to us. After a great deal of talking and persuading, he consented to come and shake hands, if his mother would come with him. So she brought him across the room, and held out his hand, just as you hold out the arm of your doll, when you play at shaking hands with her.

Would you make all that fuss and trouble about shaking hands with any one? I hope not. It is so silly, as well as ill-mannered.

After this Reggie sat down in a little chair, and tried to put his feet up on a small table that was near—but you will not care to hear about such a badly-behaved little boy. And it was not very long before his mother had to take him from the room screaming, he was so tiresome and naughty.

If Reggie had tried to please his mother and her visitors, instead of his little self, everybody would have been much happier, and I am sure he would, for selfish people cannot be happy.

[130]

A lady was sitting in a cottage one morning talking to the person who lived there, when suddenly, and without any warning knock, or even a little tap, some one lifted the latch noisily, and pushing the door wide open, burst into the room, asking, "What time is it?"

The lady looked up to see who the rude intruder could be, and beheld a little, rosy-faced boy. She called him to her, and placing her hand on his shoulder said kindly: "My little fellow, do you not know that you should knock at a door before entering, and should say, 'Please, will you tell me the time?'" The boy hung his head and looked ashamed, but we hope he remembered what the lady said to him, and I hope also that none of you ever forget to

You did not admire the boy (Story Lesson No. 98) who threw his bag here, his cap there, and his coat somewhere else, did you? neither will you be likely to admire the little boy in this story.[131]

But come with me—I will take you into the bedroom of a boy named Percy, who has gone to a party. I am afraid you can scarcely get inside though, for everything he has taken off is lying on the floor. His coat is flung behind the door, his collar lies inside the fender, and his trousers are beside the bed. He has been playing on the bed, you see, for it is all tossed, and one of the pillows has tumbled on the floor.

Let as take a peep into the nursery, where Percy's play-things are. There is a railway train on the floor, just as he has been playing with it; and beyond the train, where he had made a huge castle with all the bricks he could find, the floor is all strewn over with bricks from the castle, which has tumbled down.

Who will pick up all these things, and tidy the two rooms that Percy has left in such a dreadful state? His mother, maybe, who has so many other things to do. Would you leave all your clothes scattered on the floor for some one else to pick up, instead of folding them neatly yourself? or would you like another to have the trouble of putting away all your toys? No, I am sure you would not. None of us want to be selfish, but if Percy does not mind, he will grow up selfish, because he is not taking thought for others.

[132]

Some one had brought baby a parcel of sweets. They were rather sticky, but baby did not mind that when the colours were so pretty! There were pink, blue, red and yellow sweets, and she was greatly pleased with them. Baby was very kind and unselfish, so she wanted us all to share her sweets, and picking one out with her little chubby fingers, (which were not any too clean), she offered it to mamma. You see baby was very tiny, and had not yet learnt that sweets should always be offered in the paper or box, and not be touched by the fingers at all. But mamma explained this to her, and then baby lifted up the paper, and trotted round to everybody, holding it out, and saying, "Please, take one".

Fruit and nuts should be offered in a plate or dish. It is not nice to touch with our fingers anything that we are offering to others.

I daresay you have sometime been in a room where a person was sleepy, and kept yawning continually. You[133] know that by-and-by you begin to do the same yourself, and it is very disagreeable. A good plan is to run out of the room and bathe your face in cold water: that will soon make you feel bright again. It is not nice to yawn, because it makes other people feel sleepy, and we should never forget to cover the mouth with the hand: it is very rude to open the mouth wide, and not to put the hand in front of it.

In coughing and sneezing, people should make as little noise as they possibly can. Sometimes we hear coughing in church, and the minister can scarcely speak for the noise. A pocket-handkerchief will soften the sound a good deal, both in coughing and sneezing.

These are only little things, but they can make others feel uncomfortable, and you remember we said that it was rude to do anything that caused people to be uncomfortable (p. 110), so do not forget to

You will have noticed that there is always moisture in your mouth. Where do you think it comes from? Perhaps[134] you did not know that there were six tiny fountains in your mouth, two on each side the tongue, and one in each cheek. When you are well these little fountains pour out the fluid which keeps your mouth so nice and moist. Sometimes when people are ill the little fountains do not flow, and the mouth is all dry and parched, and they are longing to drink all the time.

The fluid that comes from the tiny wells is called saliva, and, when we eat, it mixes with the food in the mouth, and goes down with it into the stomach. But this is what I want you to learn, the saliva is never to be sent out of the mouth in the way that is called "spitting" (an ugly word, is it not?), and you must remember never to do this, not even when you are cleaning your slate. You may breathe on your slate, and rub it dry with your slate rag, though that is not a very nice way. The best plan of all is to have a damp sponge, as well as a slate rag, and a well-mannered child would have both.

If there is anything in your mouth that needs to come away, take it out with your pocket-handkerchief, and remember that the proper way is to

[135]

There is moisture in the nose as well as in the mouth, and we keep a handkerchief in our pocket to take the moisture away, when it makes us uncomfortable. A nice, clean child will never be without a pocket-handkerchief, and he will use it without having to be told.

In using a pocket-handkerchief, as in coughing and sneezing, we should make as little noise as possible, and we should try not to have to use it at table. If it is necessary to do so, we must turn our head away, as we should do if we were obliged to cough or sneeze.

[136]

Phil was a little boy, and sat on a high chair at the table. He was very fond of tilting his chair backwards and forwards, which was not well-mannered, you will say. One dinner time, just as all the dishes had been placed on the table, and Phil was tilting back as far as ever he could, it happened that the chair lost its balance, and fell over backwards, taking Phil with it; and as he grasped the tablecloth in falling, he drew it with all the dishes on the top of him. Many of the dishes were broken, and the dinner was all scattered and spoilt. Surely Phil would never tilt his chair again.

Have you ever sat at table with a child who was never still? Such a child was Katie! Instead of waiting quietly until every one was served, she would fidget about on her chair, put her little fat arms on the table (which you know is a very rude thing to do), and move from side to side all the time. When at last she was served, her dinner would be quickly eaten, and then she was impatient to be gone, and kept asking mother if she might not leave the table, and go to her book or her play.

Now if Katie had thought a little of others, she would not have made everybody uncomfortable by being so restless. When she was waiting to be served, and when she had[137] finished, she should have sat quietly with her hands in her lap. These two stories teach us that

A very different child from restless Katie (Story Lesson 125) was Hilda, whose mother had died, and left her little ones to the care of auntie. When the dinner-bell rang, Hilda would run into the room, and see that all the chairs were in their places round the table, especially baby's, for he was much too little to bring his own chair. It was Hilda who lifted baby into his place, and tied on his "feeder"; and when his plate was passed, she prepared his food, and took care that it was not too hot for him.

Hilda's bright eyes were always ready to see anything that was needed: "Shall I pass you the salt, grandpapa?" "May I give you a little water, auntie?" No wonder auntie said that Hilda was just like sunshine in the house, and the reason was that she thought so little of herself, and so much of those around her. Let us try to be like Hilda; she was much happier, I am sure, than restless Katie, for there is nothing nicer than to bring sunshine into the lives of others, and this we do by being helpful.

[138]

We heard of people who were clumsy in another Story Lesson (No. 102), and I am afraid Leslie was a little like them.

It was Christmas Day, and there was a large family party at grandmamma's, to which Leslie and his mother were invited. The dinner-table looked beautiful with its snow-white cloth and shining silver, and its decorations of Christmas roses and red-berried holly.

The dinner-bell rang, and the guests took their places at the table. Leslie bounced into the room, and was sitting down on the last chair, all in a hurry, when he somehow caught the tablecloth, and by dragging it upset the gravy, and sent it streaming all over the nice, clean cloth. Leslie was very sorry, and his mother was so uncomfortable at the thought of his clumsiness, that I am afraid the dinner was spoilt for her. From Leslie we learn to

If you were eating plum tart or cherry pudding, how should you manage with the stones? (Let children try to answer.) When a little bird eats a cherry, he drops the stone on the ground; the bird has no spoon and fork to eat with, so that is the best thing he can do.[139]

One day a boy, named Kenneth, was invited out to dinner, and one of the dishes was cherry tart. There was a custard pudding as well, but Kenneth thought he would like cherry tart better, and he did not remember that the stones might be a difficulty until he began to eat it. He felt sure that it was not right to drop them out of his mouth on to the plate, and he could not think what else to do. He looked round the table, but no one else was taking cherry tart, or he might have noticed what another person did. At last he determined that he would keep all the cherry stones in his cheek until dinner was over, and put them out afterwards, when no one was looking. But presently some one told a funny little story, and, as Kenneth could not help laughing with the rest, out came the cherry stones, to his great dismay.

The best way is to separate the stone from the cherry on your plate with the spoon and fork, but if you cannot manage this, take the stone from your mouth with the spoon, and put it gently on the edge of the plate. Everybody has to learn these things, and as no one had happened to tell Kenneth, of course he did not know.[140]

[141]

[142]

A great many years ago, a little girl played in a garden in London. Her father was dead, but she had a dear, good mother, who taught her to build for herself a good and beautiful character, for the mother knew that this would be a better thing for the little girl to have than gold or diamonds, because as the Fairy Queen told us, it lasts for ever.

As time went on the little girl grew up, and became a great queen. She has been a queen now for more than sixty years, and I do not think there ever was so good a queen, and we are sure there never was one so dearly loved. The queen has a beautiful gold crown, and beautiful castles and palaces to live in, but these are not the things she values most. Best of all, she has all those lovely jewels in her character that we have been speaking about, with "Truth" for the foundation, and it is all woven round with the pure gold of "Kindness"; these are the jewels that are more precious to the great queen than crowns and costly stones.

Do you know the name of this queen? It is our own Queen Victoria.

Why do we love her so much? Not because she is a queen, simply, for queens have sometimes been wicked, but because she is good, and true, and kind, and these jewels make up the something that we call "character," which when built like this is more beautiful than the Fairies' Temple.[143]

And just think of it: every little boy and girl may build up a good, true character, which is the most precious thing you can have.

The Story Lessons in this book have been written to help each one of you who hear them to build up this beautiful Temple of Character.

The queen believes that a good "character" is the best thing in the world, and I want you all to think so too.

A man who was put in prison for preaching wrote a beautiful book,[23] which you will read when you are older, and in it there is this story.

The story tells of a man who spent all his time raking up rubbish on the floor to find gold and other things, and never once looked up. But all the time there was an angel standing behind him with a beautiful crown in her hand, which she wanted the man to have, but he never saw it.

That is like the people who think of nothing but self, instead of "looking up" and thinking of the beautiful "stones" that build up the "Temple," which is such a good thing to have, just as the crown was, which the man did not see. Let us look up and see all that is beautiful and good, so that we may become like God who made all these things.