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Read Ebook: Dew Drops Vol. 37 No. 07 February 15 1914 by Various Cook George E Editor
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Ebook has 173 lines and 8766 words, and 4 pages
"Take it to Miss Beatrice for the poor little girl she told about."
"No, sir. Going to get some candy. Five cents don't get much, though. Not the best kind. That costs money."
Harlis put his hand in his pocket and quickly pulled it out. But the action did not escape Willis' sharp eyes.
"You got any?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Let's see. Oh, a nickel! Thought maybe it was just a penny. What a lot ten cents would get. What kind do you like best?"
"I like chocolate best."
"I don't believe mamma would like it. She said we mustn't buy things on Sunday."
"She'll never know. That's nothing bad, either."
When the collection basket was passed around, Harlis looked almost ready to cry. "Did you forget your money?" said Miss Beatrice, pleasantly. Harlis so seldom came without it that it was noticeable.
"Yes'm," answered the little boy, almost without thinking what he was saying. He was so uncomfortable, and Willie was making eyes at him.
"Never mind, bring it next Sunday," said Miss Beatrice, noticing the flushed face and telltale eyes, and not understanding quite what it meant.
If mamma had not been sick, the trouble would surely have come out earlier, because mamma would have seen in a minute that something was wrong. After the late dinner, there was nothing to do but cuddle up in the corner of the sofa with his books. Just as it was growing dark, papa came down from the sick room. He found Harlis with his head buried in the sofa cushion.
"What's the matter?" said papa briskly, picking up his little boy. "Lonesome? Too bad! Thought you went to Aunt Lucy's with Esther."
"I didn't want to," said Harlis, breaking out in big, shaking sobs.
Papa knew something was wrong, then, and by degrees the story came out.
Papa said very little, for he seemed to understand the real suffering Harlis had already gone through because of his wrongdoings.
"But the nickel was mine," said Harlis, as he and mamma were talking it over.
"Was it?" said mamma. "What did I give it to you for?"
"For the poor little girl."
"You can put it back, but you must earn it," she said.
"Oh, I will! I will!" Harlis was only too glad to do this. "And I'll never do so again, mamma."
And his mamma felt sure he never would.
THE LIGHT OF A SMILE.
Mother's Valentines
"Davie boy, I wish you would get up early to-morrow morning," said Mrs. Forbes; "I want your help in sending out some valentines."
"There hasn't been a fourteenth of February since I can remember," answered his mother smiling, "that I haven't sent out at least one valentine. Do you know what Valentine Day means, Davie?"
"It means sending funny pictures to the other fellows," grinned Davie.
"First of all, it means a Love Day," said Mrs. Forbes, "and valentines are supposed to be sweethearts' love letters. But I don't see why sweethearts should have a corner on love, do you, Davie?"
"What sort of valentines do you send, mother?" asked the little boy. His curiosity had waked him up and made him forget that the hands of the clock had left his bedtime far behind.
"My valentines used to be made of little pictures cut out and pasted on a card or a piece of note paper, when I was no older than you," said Davie's mother; "and my mother used to write on them in her fine, copy-book hand, little verses like this:
"'The rose is red, The violet's blue, Sugar's sweet, And so are you!'"
Davie laughed aloud at the idea of his mother ever having been such a little girl.
"And then, when I was in my teens," she went on, "I saved my dimes and bought fine valentines made of silver paper cut into hearts and cupids, with what I thought beautiful 'poetry' printed on them."
"And what are your valentines like now?" asked Davie.
"You'll find them rather heavy, I'm afraid," said his mother merrily; "you see, Davie, I have found out that Love has something else to do besides playing with silver hearts and cupids, though that's all right too. There are some poor and tired and lonely people in the world who don't want you to give them money, or to offer them help on most days of the year; it hurts their feelings. But on love-days, like Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and Valentine's Day, you can give them a love gift, and they are pleased. I have some like that for you to carry around to-morrow."
When Davie came downstairs early the next morning, he brought with him one of his cherished "Peter Rabbit" books. "Mother," he said, "I want to begin to keep Valentine Day like you do."
So "Peter Rabbit" found himself tucked in Mrs. Tobin's bundle for Jack Tobin, who had never had that sort of valentine, or indeed any sort, in his life. And it was queer how all day long the thought of that new sort of valentine he had sent out made Davie smile to himself!
VALENTINES.
The wind was blowing down our street, And it was snowing some; But I watched from the chilly porch To see the postman come.
Across the street to Elsie's door; And then I meant to run Before she got the valentine-- I knew that she'd get one.
I knew it would be beautiful, With lace and hearts and things, And pretty verses on the leaves, And tied with ribbon strings.
I knew the verses all by heart; I knew the bows were pink; The hearts were gold; the lace was white-- Oh, what would Elsie think!
I saw the postman come at last, And Elsie at the door; She got a valentine, sure 'nough-- I knew she would before.
And then I hid inside our hall; And, when his whistle blew, The postman called: "Hello! hello!-- A valentine for you!"
Sure 'nough, I got a valentine, With lace and hearts and things, And pretty verses on the leaves, And tied with ribbon strings.
And I have wondered, ever since, And guessed if Elsie knew For sure I'd get a valentine, Before the postman blew,
A TREE TALK.
What a wonderful thing a tree is! A live thing, a useful thing, a beautiful thing, and so common that we scarcely think of it as a wonder at all.
Think of the great families of trees, the maple, the beech, the birch, the hemlock, the spruce, the oak, and so on and on and on. So many alike, and yet each one different. What a world of wonders!
In the human family there are oddities, you know, and so in the tree family.
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