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January 1, 1913 ] T H E P
THE STORY OF A COW.
"Mamma, did you ever get awfully scared?"
asked little Nell.
"Yes, mamma," joined in Mary, drawing
near in expectation of something exciting. Jvittle
Edward gravely raised his eyes in amazement
niir'inin! tn lmnw wlint nnuwnr .eniilrl enmn
to stick a question as that.
Mamma at her sewing smiled. A bluebird
flitting over the garden a moment before had
somehow brought to mind her early childhood
days, and she responded to the children :
"Yes, I remember a time. 1 am sure you
haven't forgotten what T have told you about
my home near Lake Ontario, and the road going
down to the lake."
"Oh. no." came in glad chorus.
"Well, one morning your Aunt Susan and T
went farther down the road than we had ever
been before alone."
"ITow old were you then, mamma." asked
Noll.
"Oh. perhaps T was five and your Aunt Susan
eight. T remember how beautiful everything
seemed.?there were so many flowers, the pretty
yellow buttercups and the purple wild geraniums
and quantities of lovely dandelion*, and
in some places their long stems reaehed above
the tall grass and were covered with what we
called the white feather flowers. The birds were
singing merrily all around, the air seemed full
of them, flitting aloncr from corner to corner of
Iho crooked rail fence. "We liked the pretty
bluebirds best of all. and followed after as 1hey
' ow ahead of us."
"Were they really truly blue'" asked Nell.
'Of " anoworad y.diro '' + Vinir 'rzi
alive nmv."
"Oh, yes," said mamma, "and F.dward and
I mii!*t teaeh yon girls to know the pretty bluebird.
Pink and blue birds we called them, for
we liked the soft color of the under side of their
bodies almost as well as the bright blue of the
l ack and wings. In our chase after birds and
(lowers we were 'ollowing the beaten path,
which was very near to the fence. There were
many .bushes and small tree3 growing in the
' omers. and sometimes they hid the path before
11s. In our happy frolic, as we passed one clump
of bushes, we came suddenly upon a cow lvinsr
in the shade. As we came near to her, she
started to rise to her feet. Coming upon her so
unexpectedly frightened us very much. She
looked to us of monstrous size; and we had no
doubt that she was getting up to do something
terrible to us. Your Aunt Susan seized my
hand and dragged me to where the wagon track
lay bordered bv the green grass. Then she took
me up in her arms and ran as fast as she could.
I was very heavy, and she was a slender girl
but I felt sure she would take care of me. So I
do not think I was as frightened as she was.
Still we both felt sure that the Aow was tearing
after us, and, when sister could carry me no
longer, I slid to the ground, and ran by her side,
holding her hand. At last I stumbled and fell,
and then Susan had to stop.
"Now we knew that we were at the mercy of
the cow. and that something must happen.
"Sister glanced behind with a look of terror
i r r 4u
uii iter iart'. x, tut?, iuuKt-u ixi luc name uiuxtion,
as I lay fiat upon the ground. And I remember
thinking that the cow must be standing
over me. We could not believe our eyes! There
was no cow in sight! IIow we wondered at the
peaceful quiet of the road behind ss! The
gentle old bossy had not "stirred from the shady
spot where we saw ber, and had no thought of
running after two little girls."
"Oh, wasn't that terribleT" said Nell, her
RESBYTERIAN OF THE SO
cheeks as red and her eyes as bright as if she
herself had been in the race.
"Poor mamma." said Marv. in a oitvinor voiie.
"So you see, my pets, how children, and older
folkn, too, are often frightened at things that
aren't happening to them at all."
"If you had known more, it would have been
better, wouldn't it, mamma," said serious little
Edward, patting her hand in sympathy.?Mary
S. Roberts, in Sunday School Times.
THE HOMES THEIR FATHER GAVE THEM.
There Was a kind and lnvinor fnthar who
bad a family of daughters, and he gave each
one a comfortable home.
When he gave these homes he said: "I expect
you to occupy them as long as you live,
hut T shall still consider them mine, and as a
proof of your love for me. I shall expect you
to take care of them."
The houses were not exactly alike, nor were
they common tenements. Each had some really
attractive feature, within or without.
The first we will describe was. or might have
been, a house beautiful, but the daughter who
lived in it gave but little attention to it. She
thought that it was pretty enough to be let
alone.
Her heart was set on pleasure. She plunged
recklessly into gayeties of all kinds, and in
consequence, neglected the house, both on the
outside, and within, excepting so much as had
to do with her pleasures.
As the years passed the outside of the house
looked faded and old. The windows were dim,
the gateway was broken down. Some one asked
whv she did nn' tnlce hr>ttpr? corn nf it
her father's sake, if not for her own.
"Oh. it doesn't matter,?father lias his own
beautiful home, and he does not come hern
now, very often." So she let the old building
crumble down and become unsightly, and people
who remembered it in the earlier years
could hardly believe it was the same place.
The next one was substantial rather than
handsome. It was occupied by a young woman
who took life seriously.
She knew how to eoolc. and to sew. and was
ahvavs busy. She did much good work among
the poor, and the sick.
When friends would suggest to her that, she
might improve the looks of the place by cultivating
flowers, and the interior by collecting
a library and reading more, she would reply,
good-naturedly-:
"Oh, T haven't time for all that. T think
people waste a lot of time on such things. T
don't expect to get into society. Only the
people that love me come here, and they love
me for my own sake, I hope."
"But for your father's sake, and for the
sake of those who love you, I would think you
would want to keep it up. It is your father's
house, anyhow, isn't it?"
1 'Yes, but he didn't tell me to make it fine,
and I pet along very well this way."
In despair her friend stopped talking to her,
and the h^"je grew shabbier as the years went
by. and depreciated in va'uj too. and people
said of her:
"Oh. yes. she's a good woman?but?"
Then there was a daughter who lived in one
of the eh< ieest of her fathers houses. She
gave muoh time to the bvir",y tiff of her home,
earing for the interior too. fur see ree >gnized
how much that had to do with a really beautiful
home.
As the years passed on Rhe was very popular.
People gathered around her, and she knew
tlia* the beautiful house had mueh to do with
it, and she consequently gave more and more
4 r
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U T H (1421) 7
thought to beautifying the exterior especially.
Then she married, and her husband's great
admiration for the beautiful home kept up her
interest; but as she grew older she began to
grow just a little indifferent. Fler health was
not very good, and said to herself: "Well, husband
is so busy, and is away so much, he will
not notice how things look; besides, he loves
ine for myself, not for the house. If I give
him good meals, and let him do as he pleases,
it will not matter if 1 do get careless, and
things begin to look rusty."
Thus, without realizing the importance of
this matter, she grew indifferent. Every now
and then when company was invited she made
special efforts?the flowers were attended to,
the rooms were decorated, and she would read
hooks, so mat, as sne laugningiv expressed it,
she would "know what to talk to her guests
about." She did not observe the gleam of
pleasure In her husband's eves, on these occasions.
nor did she realize that she was giving
her father the proof of her love in so doing.
She had a devoted friend who often whispered
to herself: "Oh. if she could only realize
how much more influence she might wield in
society, not only for social uplift, but for her
father's sake, if she would make a habit of
keeping her house in this order'"
Another daughter had been given a house
of ordinary comfort and attractiveness, and
as she not only had something of an artist's
eve. but. owing probably to her being unmarried
and living alone, had more time to give
ro ner nome, sue marie every reasonable effort
to make the house attrnetive, asking her father's
advice, not unfrequently.
She sought dainty colors for the walls, gave
rime to her Mowers, and strove to give pleasure
to her friends. She cared for the interior, and
the laws of health were carefully studied and
all was done conscientiously.
Her library gave pleasure to all who entered
it. and she made a point ot' sharing it with
others. Not even her books were forgotten
in the dispensing of the hospitalities of that
home.
They are only mine to shire with others.
1 think that father meant it to he so.
No wonder then that people stopped to notice
Ihe place, and to ask about it.
Old friends declared that the home was more
attractive then than when she first moved. The
air of age did not detract from its looks.
When they told her so, her reply always was:
"Why, it's father's house. I do all 1 can t*
U c u:~ ?i-- e? T i ?
jxvt-j* n uji iur nifs sat\.u, n*r i love mm more
and more as the years go by. "When he comes
to see me, I want to hear his, "Well done!"
Which of these homes is yours* D.
MY GUEST.
By Lawrence MendenhalL.
Dear Saviour, this day I pray
That Thou my guest will be.
Let me Thy face forever see
Ab I travel my way each day.
Oh make my heart Thy dwelling place.
Fit for such a Guest as Thee;
Thy kindly face I fain would see,
And feel a Father's kind embrace.
fiweep clean the chambers of my heart.
And from all doubt make free:
Though all titne abide Thou In me
And never from my life departEvermore,
dear Lord, be my Guest,
My guiding Power be:
May ev'ry thought be bles't by Thee,
My God, my Lord, nay Guide, my Rest