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Our Boys and Girls
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THE CHOICE. '
"lli, bundle; where are you going with that
boy?"
A great white bundle, surmounted by a
round, boyish face and shaded by a man's
old Stetson hat, was struggling through the
half-open screen door. The white-aproned
young meat-cutter came from behind his
counter to take the bundle, and the three
elderly men seated in cane-bottom chairs at
one side of the shop regarded the newcomer
with interest. His clothes were those of a
man, but they had been cut down until they
fitted for practical purposes; he wore one boot
and one shoe. Though full of holes and
patchcs, the boy's clothes were clean, and his
catfish mouth wore a smile that was cheer
ful and independent.
""What's your name, son?" asked Bean, the
oldest of the three spectators, a big fellow
with a white moustache and kind, keen, dark
eyes.
"Buck Holler."
"Where do you live?"
"In a sort of a shack we built on the right
o' way."
"And why ain't you in school these bright
fall days?"'
"I ain't never been to school."
"Can't you read?"
The smile faded as the boy slowly shook
his head. In the meantime the meat-cutter
had been wrapping up several large bones
and some scraps of meat. He handed this
package to the boy, who took it and went out.
As soon as the door had closed behind him,
Morse, a scrap of a man with a grizzled, pointed
beard and a severe expression, said :
"That's old Bill Holler's boy."
"I didn't know old Bill was ever mar
ried," said Bean.
"Well, he is, and she is a big, fat, clean
looking woman. She was in here the other
day making arrangements to do the shop's
washing for her meat."
"What kind of a house have they built on
the right o' way?"
"Oh, just a sort of a den of railroad ties,
covered with pieces of tin. A miserable place
for a woman, but I reckon it keeps out the
most of the rain."
"Let's see," put in the third man, a genial
red-bearded fellow whose name was Edwards.
"How long has Bill Holler been gone from
here?"
"Seven years," put in Morse. "I remem
ber him a-passing my house in his wagon the
day Jim Thornton was killed."
"This boy looks to be about ten; he must
a-been a little feller then."
"Seems to me I remember seeing a little
tow head sticking out of the wagon."
"Old Bill was about half drunk yesterday,"
volunteered the meat-cutter.
"He'll be in jail before the month's out,"
foretold Morse.
"And better oft*," declared Edwards.
* "That's a terrible life for his folks," mused
Bean. "This little boy, now, looks like he
might amount to something if he had a
chance."
In the (lays that followed the boy was often
in the shop, and as the three men spent their
leisure there, they saw him frequently. He
was always clean, cheerful and attentive to
business. Bean had many a kind word for
him, and the two seemed to become friends.
"Son," said the man one day, "some time
you are going to be a man. Arc you going
to be a man that can't read a newspaper or
write his name?" The boy blushed and hung
his head. Bean had often spoken along this
line, but never so broadly as this. "I want
to make you a proposRion, " he continued. "It
is just sixty days till Christmas. Now, if by
that time you learn to read the easy sen
tences in this little book, and to write your
name, me and Morse and Edwards here will
give you a new pair of shoes or a hat or a
knife or any small-like thing not to exceed
the value of one of these. Maybe you'd rather
pick out something yourself. Is it a go?"
The boy's eyes sparkled.
"Sure," he replied, eagerly. "It looks hard,
but I'm willing to tackle it. Can I take the
book?"
"Yes, it's for you. You'll have to begin
with the letters, but I reckon your ma can
help you with 'em. Bring the book back on
Christmas Eve, show us what you can do, and
name your prize."
"I'll be here," declared Buck.
As the days wore on, the men often asked
the boy about his progress.
"I'm still a-stiulying," he would reply. "I'm
sure going to be with you Christmas Eve."
The men in the shop often ran out of
problems for conversational solution. On sev
eral of these occasions they amused themselves
by speculating as to the boy's choice of a re
ward.
"He'll take the knife," declared Morse.
"In my opinion it'll be the hat," said Ed
wards.
"He seems like a right sensible boy," re
marked Bean. "I'm thinking he'll take the
shoes. His won't last much longer."
"He may take something none of you are
thinking of," said the meat-cutter, who had
hitherto been silent.
Soon after this Bean undertook to sound
the boy himself on the subject.
"I dunno that I've rightly made up my
mind," he replied, slowly. "The knife looks
pretty good, but so does the shoes and the
hat. There's a lot o' difference in folks. If
it was my little sister, now, she'd take a doll,"
and Buck would never come any nearer than
that in committing himself to a decision.
On -the morning of Christmas Eve the boy
was on hand with his book. The three men
were also ready. The satisfactory tests were
soon applied and passed. And now the great
moment was come.
"What shall we give you, son?" asked Bean,
Buck though slightly embarrassed, was deter
mined.
"I want a doll ? for my little sister."
The silence lasted till he asked apprehen
sively :
"Is it all right? Do I get it?"
"You get it, son," declared Bean, with em
phasis.
"Sure you get it," boomed Edwards.
"For a fact," chimed in Morse.
He received more. The little story was wide
ly circulated, and many who heard it con
tributed to the Holler's Christmas. There was
a new suit, hat and shoes for Buck, and a
knife as well. The little sister's doll was
dressed by Mrs. Bean, and Christmas goodies
were provided for the family. But the most
lasting result of Buck's choice was recorded
in a remark of Mr. Bean.
"That boy is the right kind," he said. "I'm
going to keep an eye on him, and help him
to make something of himself."
JOHN 3:16.
"God so loved the world that lie gave His
only begotten Son, that whosoever belicvetb in
Him should not perish, but have everlasting
life."
One cold, wintry night a poor Irish boy
stood in the streets of Dublin ? a little city
Arab, homeless, houseless, friendless.
He had taken to bad courses, and become an
associate of thieves, who were leading him 011
the broad road to destruction. That vei'y night
they had planned to commit a burglary, and
appointed him to meet them in a certain street
at a certain hour.
As. he stood there, waiting, shivering and
cold, a hand was suddenly laid on his shoul
der. It was very dark, he could only see a tall ?
form standing by him, and he trembled with
fear; but a kindly voice said: "Boy, what
arc you doing here at this time at night? Such
as you have 110 business in the streets at so
late an hour. Go home. Go to bed."
"I have no home and no bed to go to."
"That's very sad, poor fellow! Would you
go to a home and to a bed if I provided one?''
"That I would, sharp!" replied the boy.
"Well, in such a street and at such a num
ber (indicating the place) you will find a bed."
Before he could add more, the lad started off.
"Stop!" said the voice; "how are you going
to get in? You need a pass; no one can get
in there without a pass. Here is one for you ?
can you read?"
"No, sir."
"Well, remember that the pass is 'John
3:16;' don't forget, or they won't let you in:
'John 3:16.' There, that's something that will
do you good."
Joyfully the lad rushed off repeating his les
son, and soon was in the street and at the
number indicated, before a pair of large iron
gates. Then his heart failed him, they looked
so grand. How could he get in there? Timidly
he rang the bell. The night porter opened, and
in a gruff voice asked, "Who's there?" Me,
sir. Please, sir, I 'in John Three Sixteen," in
very trembling tones. "All right; in with you,
that's the pass," and in the boy went.
lie was soon in a nice warm bed, and be
tween sheets such as he had never seen before.
As he curled himself up to go to sleep he
thought, "That's a lucky name, I'll stick to it!"
The next morning he was given a bowl of hot
bread and milk, before being sent out into the
street (for this house was only for a night).
He wandered on and on, fearing of meeting his
old companions, thinking over his new name;
when heedlessly, crossing a crowded thorough
fare, he was run over. ?
A crowd collected; the unconscious form
was placed on a shutter and carried to the
nearest hospital. He revived as they entered.
It is usual in the Dublin hospitals to put
down the religion, as well as the name and ad
dress of those admitted. They asked him wheth
er he was a Catholic or Protestant. Sure, he
didn't quite now. Yesterday he was a Cath
olic, but now he was John Three Sixteen. This
reply elicited a laugh.
After his injuries had been attended to, he
was carried up into the accident ward. In a
short time his sufferings brought on fever and
delirium. 7'hen was heard in ringing tones,
and oft repeated, "John 3:16. It was to do
me good, and so it has!"
These persistent cries aroused the other pa