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Sept. C2, 1909. THE PRESBYTERIAN
DISAPPOINTED MATTIE.
By Hilda Richmond.
Mattie was cross because she had to take little
' John out in his carriage when she wanted to play
with Lottie.
"He's the crossest baby that ever was," she grumbled.
as she settled him in his nest of robes. I
wouldn't mind taking him if he behaved himself, but
he cries for just nothing."
"Yes, he is rather cross this morning," said Mrs.
Rodney, who usually looked sad when Mattie complained
about her little brother. "He behaved badly
all night."
" VI ? -1 J ? ? ? - - - -
iic diMays uoes, saia Mattie, glad to have some
sympathy. "He is just as naughty as he can be."
As the little carriage went down the walk, John
did not want to be tucked in, so he cried. *
"Dear me!" said a lady who was passing; "what a
bad child. Just hear him cry! I think a good spanking
would help him."
"He isn't cross at all," said Mattie, indignantly. "He
doesn't feel well. His teeth hurt him "
"Well! well!" said the lady, who had not meant
Mattie to hear. "He certainly cried as though his
temper had something to do with his troubles. I feel
sorry for you, little girl, that you have to bother with
him."
A few minutes later Lottie came out and stopped
to talk with Mattie"I'm
glad I have no little cross-patch to look after,"
she said. "If I had a little brother who behaved as
John does, I'd want to give him away."
"That's only because vou're selfish " coiri
?;ui\? Plaint,
with dignity. "My grandmamma says it makes
children selfish to be alone."
"Well, I'd rather be alone, I'm sure, than to be
bothered with a cross little brother."
By this time John had settled down to have a good
time, and Mattie walked on. An old gentleman
stopped to wave his cane at him. and John puckered
up his face to cry.
"Sissy, you've got a cross baby to take care of,"
said the old gentleman. "I guess you don't get much
play time."
Mattie could stand it no longer. She turned back
toward home, and when she got there she sobbed
out her woes in her mother's lap.
"Everybody is so mean, mamma," she said. "They
all say poor little John is cross and ugly, when he is
only sick. I think they are all wicked."
"But, my dear, you said so yourself," her mother
said. "You must not be disappointed when other
people think as you do."
well, 1 am disappointed," said Mattie. "I'd a great
deal rather they would say I'm cross and ugly than to
say it about our poor little sick baby. He's just as
good as gold, isn't he?"
And if you'll believe it, when Mattie went out smiling
and happy everybody turned to smile at the baby
and his little nurse, and not once did nnv ???
? V1IV. Od)
anything unkind about little John. Even Lottie offered
to trade her very best blue tea set for him, when
he laughed and clapped his hands for Mattie, but
Mattie refused to think of such a thing"He's
the best baby in the world," she said, "and
OF THE SOUTH. u
the very nicest little playmate any girl could have."
And she meant every word of it.?Herald and Presbyter.
AN ORIGINAL FABLE.
/Ys lite wears on, one often fails to see the benefits
which are the outcome of present drudgery. This
fable shows that labor, though sometimes weary and
monotonous, has its ultimate reward.
"Put the young horse in plough," said the farmer;
and very much pleased he was to be in a team with
Dobbin and the gray mare. It was a long field,
and gaily he walked across it, his nose upon Dobbin's
haunches, having hard work to keep at so slow a
pace.
"Where are we going now?' he said, when he got
to the top. "This is verv nionco.-.* "
? J J"'?'"'""Back
again," said Dobbin.
"W hat for?" said the young horse, rather surprised;
but Dobbin had gone to sleep, for he could plough
as well asleep as awake.
"What are we ominrr *
. iorr ne asked, turning
around to the old gray mare.
"Keep on." said the gray mare, "or we shall never
get to the bottom, and you'll have the whip at your
heels."
"Very odd indeed," said the young horse, who
thought he had had enough of it, and was not sorry
he was coming to the bottom of the field. Great
was his astonishment when Dobbin, just opening his
eyes, turned, and proceeded at the same pace up the
field again.
"How long is this going on?" asked the young
horse.
Dobbin just glanced across the field as his eyes
closed, and fell asleep again, as he began to calculate
how long it would take to plough it.
"How long will this go on?" he asked, turning to
the gray mare.
"Keep up, I tell you," she said, "or you'll have me
on your heels."
When the top came, and another turn, and the
bottom, and another turn, the poor young horse was
in despair; he grew quite dizzy, and was glad, like
Dobbin, to shut his eyes, that he miedit
tne sight of the same ground so continually.
"Well," he said, when the gears were taken off, "if
this is your ploughing, I hope I shall have no more
of it." But his hopes were vain; for many days he
ploughed, till he got?not reconciled to it?but tired of *
complaining of the weary, monotonous work.
In the hard winter, when comfortably housed in the
warm stable, he cried out to Dobbin, as he was eating
some delicious oats, "I say, Dobbin, this is better
than ploughing; do you remember that field? I hope
I shall never have anything to do with that business
again. What in the world cou!^^? the use of
walkinor nr. o ?-* F
a ? uciu jusi ior tne sake ^^^.'"'.ng down
again? Its enough to make one laugh to thipk of it."
"How do you like your oats?" said Dobbin.
"Delicious!" said the young horse.
"Then please to remember, if there were no ploughing,
there would be no oats."
*