Newspaper Page Text
August 1, 1912] TR1 I
Khe lifted a face that dimpled and sparkled
like a whole handful of sunbeams.
"I know!" she shouted, spinning on one
foot. "I just thought. Blackberries! That
. ace back of the pasture?they must be lovelv
. ? * ?w
tind ripe?oh, Auntie, would you?t"
"Yes, I would," replied Auntie. "I'll pay
twelve cents a quart if they're very clean and
nice, end I think perhaps Grandma Bennett
and Mrs. Austin-?"
"So do I," laughed Cordelia. "Won't Jessie
be surprised 1 It's a thousand times nicer
to earn things. Where's my sunbonnett
?? - ??11 * ... -- ?
?. ncic a ? |j?ii i vii, i want a Dig one." Then
she was out of the door like a summer breeze.
It was a long way to the blackberry patch.
The sun was very hot. There were stone walls
lo climb, and in her haste, Cordelia fell down
half a dozen times, but she always got up
laughing.
"I sha'n't mind briers and things a bit.
Why didn't I think of it before? If somebody
has picked 'em?Oh, they haven't. Goody!
Goody I"
The blackberry patch was not a very large
one, but the thorny bushes were bending invitingly
with luscious, purple-black fruit.
?< ??. ?
ivug as aiy nngers," rejoiced Cordelia.
"My, they're sweet." She set to work
ih earnest, glad of the breeze that cooled her
hot cheeks.
Suddenly, there came to her a faint little
murmer of voices. And?yes, it was the soft
thump, thump of berries dropping into a pail.
Cordelia parted the bushes with a savage little
frown.
"Well, whoever?the idea?coming here to
steal berries I This is Uncle's land. I shall
just tell thera?Oh, it's that new little Jenkins
hoy and girl. They live in the old Tilford
house, and their mother does washing. Oh,
dear! Prob'bly they're very fond of blackberries.
What are they talking about f"
"Do you 'spose we ever can, Jimmie?" Cordelia
heard the tiny girl ask the question. She
was picking away bravely, and did not seem to
mind the cruel digs the tall bushes gave her.
"Course, we e?n " .TimmJo 1 ?a
v<UUUiv naa mr^er ana
full of manly assurance. ""We've got a whole
week before her birthday. An' you know that
chair only costs four* dollars. Why, yes, it's
quite a lot of money, hut it's only forty quarts
at ten cents a quart. Aint these berries dandy.
Say, when we go home, well go round by
the furniture store, so we can see the chair
aerain. An' I might tell him to save it for us.
We don't want him sellin' it to somebody else."
" 'Spose he should! Oh, we'd better tell
him. Won't she he 'sprised, though? When
she comes home from washin' at Mrs. Gardner's,
we'll have it all ready. An' when she
says, 'Oh, I'm so tired,' then 111 say, 'Here's
somethin' to rest you, ma', an' then you 11
bring out the chair an'?an'?" The little
?irl stopped, and swallowed hard and laughed.
Timmie rubbed his eye very swiftly. "It'll
rest her a lot," declared he, gruffly, "an' we'11
huv it all right?if somebody don't drive
ns out of here. I don't ]>1ieve, though, that
nnv one cares if we pick 'em."
Then both ?J -1 1
v.. av?i vcu mm HiiranK nacK
ns the hushes flew apart to disclose an excited
little eirl?a girl with sparkling eyes and glow,
in* fnce.
"T heard." she annonnced breathlessly. "I
wouldn't help-^-well, T guess I listened. I was
Pickine berries to earn something, too, bnt
T've?T*ve changed my mind abont it." The
borries flew from her pail into the little Jenkins
curl's,
"Trfn n*ft*hi't Ke afraid anybody Tl turn you
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SO
out. This land belongs to Uncle. And you
t. fl.lt A vnnr Korri aa f a Ann4iA- \lfw*?
?v ^ vw4 waa4vo vvr jiauutiv> xuio. X llliups
and she will pay you twelves cents, if they're
nice and clean."
"But they're only ten cents," protested the
astonished Jimmie.
"Well, you'll take more if you can get it,
won't VOU?" flashftrl f!nrHpli? "and ?nn ern
to Grandma Bennett and Mrs. Austin, too. I'll
introduce you. Now, let's pick berries."
"But I thought?you said you changed your
mind about picking?"
"Jimmie Jenkins," said Cordelia severely,
"you are certainly stupid?but then you're a
boy. I've changed my mind about what I
pick berries for. That's all. Don't you know
three folks can earn a chair easier than two?
Now, I'm going to work."
It was a very tired, sunburned, Cordelia who
finished telling Auntie all about it that night.
"We sold fifteen Oliarts " said nho vonr
proudly. "That's one dollar and eighty cents;
and you and Grandma and IVTra. Austin all
want more. Why, we'll have that chair before
we know it, and I'm going to be there
when they give it to her."
"Will you work for the locket, after that?"
asked Auntie, softly.
Cordelia shook her head. "There won't be
enough. But I'll have a locket," whispered
she, with a queer little smile. "It won't show
like Jessie's, but I'm going to use Mrs. Jenkins'
chair for one. I can wear it?inside my
heart."?Florence Oliver, in Northern Christian
Advocate.
MARY'S REMINDER.
"To make sunshine in a shady place, that is
what I want each of you to do. When you go
home today look around you?see if there isn't
someone you can make a little happier;" and
the teacher looked earnestly into the faces of
her little charges. Keen interest was depicted
in each little countenance. "How many of
you are willing for the next week to try being
a little sunbeam?" Every hand went up.
"Good; meet at my house on Friday evening
and tell me how each of you has been a sunbeam!"
As Mary went home that afternoon, she
thought, "I've promised Miss Carrie to be a
sunbeam but I don't know how. Let's see, a
sunbeam lights up dark places. I don't know
any poor people, and mother would never let
me go down in the factory district, or I might
find someone to help there; but I have no
money anyway. Oh, T don't know what I can
do. hnt when I talk to the others?"
"Mary!" called her mother, "run and
change yonr dress and come and play with the
baby awhile."
"O mother, I don't want to; I'm going to
walk with Elsie!"
"Bnt, Mary, you know nurse is away and T
have been tending baby all day and am very
tired. "Won't you do this for met"
"Well." sulkily, "I guess I'll have to; but
all the girls in our class were going out on the
green to talk over something we promised Miss
Carrie in Sunday-school."
"T am the only one who has to drudge away
at home. I don't see what mother lets nurse
go away on Sunday for. It's a shame, that's
wnat it is," grumbled Mary, as she went np
the stairs.
.Trait then a bright beam of sunlight fell
through an open window and lighted, for a
moment a darlc corner in front of Mary.
"There! There is a sunbeam. Why I wonder"?and
the little girl paused a moment. "T
wonder if that is what Miss Carrie meant!
TTM rfWfc mtfrfu TMHf Vdtfptn'f? tTiV bVby and act
\
U T H ' (917) 7 1
ing like I wanted to wonld be being a suni
t -i-- j:j
uenui i j. guess sue uiu?
"Mother! Oh mother!" and she was down
the stairs in a bound and her arms were around
her mother's neck. "I'll change my dress in
a jiffy and then baby and I will have a dandy
time. Why mother, what are the tears in your
eyes for? I'm glad, glad mother, that I can
help you."
And the sunbeam fell on her mother's face
and rested there.
Anna S. McKeown.
Sumter, S .C.
A BOY ON A BRIDGE.
One evening, several years ago, a brilliant
company was gathered in an elegant mansion
in London. While it was yet early in the evening,
one of the guests, a distinguished nobleman
begged his hosts to excuse him, as he
must hasten away. "I left my son Henry on
London Bridge at noon, bidding him wait until
my return. I have been very busy ever
fains*** on/i Kotth a** V?i*-***^'1 "*"*
.....y UUVt uutk* j.vif^v/ticu Him i'" *i now. roor
fellow, I must go and bring him home.*'
His friends urged him not to go. "The
pleasure of the evening is just beginning,"
they said, "and no doubt the boy has gone
home long ago. He would take it for granted
that his father had forgotten him, or was too
busy to come for him." "Ah," said the father,
"you don't know my Henry! I told him to
stay until I came and he will."
So he left the charming company. And on
the bridge, just where he left him, he found
Henry?hungry, a bit cold and wondering,
but faithful. I am sure his father was proud
of him. And he may well have been proud
of his father's confidence. If vnnr ???
trust yon like that he is a happy man.
Henry grew to be a man, as boys have a
"way of doing. And the man was like the
boy: he could be trusted. He became one of
the great Christian soldiers of England. The
Queen sent him once to rescue a company of
people who were cooped up in a city?men.
women and little children, surrounded hy a
great army of cruel enemies. He had but a
few soldiers, but they would follow where he
led. Tf you want a splendid story, ask your
father to tell you how Sir Henry Haveloek
came to Lucknow just in time to save the city
from massacre or starvation.?Selected.
PUTTING OFF.
""What made you stop right in the middle of
your sentence, and then start talking about
something entirely different?" The questioner
laughed, and her friend joined in as she replied
to the puzzled query.
"If I think in time, I make it a rule never to
say today the mean thing that can be put off
until tomorrow." she explained. "By tomorrow
it is out of date, and does nof vet "
Which (roes to prove that putting off?of a
certain sort?is not always the bad habit we
have been nsed to believe it. How abont the
falsehood that tempts T Pnt off nntiT a qniet
moment, it is easilv banished forever, and one
can be honestly fiflad that he did not "do it now."
What of the donbtfnl nmnsementT Pnt aside
nntil one has time to investigate or thinlc it over,
it lows its lnre. Whoever repented of the dishonest
deed pnt off nntil later reflection or Sfreat
coorafre came to eon oner it?
Oh, yea. pottinsr off?of a certain sort?ia a
pretty pood fhinsr. Some thin era there are that
ranat be settled on the spot. Othprs there are
which can he moat easily pot off?and hilled
later on, with moatered strencrth and con rape,
which perhaps were lankimr art? the ewrHw moment.?TfcV
(fomrade.