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Our Boys and Girls
WILL O' THE WISP.
Once upon a time there was small white
baby who was turned into a Church Bell, a
Book-Seller, and a Regular Ail-Around Mis
sionary whom everybody followed, greatly to
the delight of his mother and father, who tried
the experiment when everything else had
failed.
For they had not been in this hot little vil
lage of India very long, and when Sunday
mornings came around nohodv ever seemed to
know it. And, of course, Mr. Missionary did
so much want to have people there to hear
his sermon. Mrs. Missionary said nobody came
because Sunday was so exactly like every other
day in the week that there was 110 possible
way for heathen men and women to know
Sunday from Monday. "What we need is a
ciiurch bell," she said; then she sighed, know
ing the mission could never, never afford to
buy one.
But of course there was Willie ! Why not
turn him into a church bell? So she put him
inside his baby-carriage and handed him the
little toy drum which some one had given him
on Christmas. Then she trundled him down
the dusty village street.
"Thump! Thump! Thumpety-tliump
thump!" banged WTillie, chuckling and dim
pling all over his dear little round face. And
neighbors came rushing to their doorways to
see what in the world was happening.
"We're on our way to church,' ' Mrs. Mis
sionary would call out peasantly. "Won't you
come along with us?"
And it is a fact that one by one people tagged
along, until a regular procession followed Wil
lie's perambulator, where Willie himself sat
beaming and thumping his noisy drum.
Mr. Missionary was never more astonished,
and whispered to dear Mrs. Missionary that
she was a "perfect genius," but she laughed
and said she was sure anybody anywhere
would follow such an adorable Will o' the
Wisp! So after that, every single time there
was to be a church service she turned Willie
into a church bell again, and trundled him
down the village roadway while he merrily
thumped his toy drum.
Then there came a day when a big package
full of Bibles arrived for Mr. Missionary. He
had been waiting and waiting for those Bibles,
because it made his heart ache to see grown
men and women kneel in heathen temples and
bow their heads in the dust before painted
idols, carved from wood and stone. Like great,
ugly dolls those idols sat in stony silence, while
the heathen people brought rich presents to
lay at their feet, and burned sweet-smelling
incense to please them. But never a wooden
idol budged one tiniest inch to touch the lovely
present, or sniffed with delight at the incense.
Do you wonder Mr. Missionary told the peo
ple in his village to read for themselves what
the Bible tells of God, our Heavenly Father?
But try as he would, he had a hard time per
suading any one to buy.
"I have no money," said one man.
"I do not know how to read," said another.
"T am very busy," cried a third.
"Why should I have still another god to
worship?" groaned a fourth. And so they one
and all made excuses and excuses, until Mr.
Missionary became almost discouraged.
But Mrs. Missionary knew there was always
Willie. Surely Willie would be a born Book
Seller 1 So she put him into bis baby-carriage
with Bibles all around him, and she trundled
him down the village roadway to the bazaar,
or marketplace, where merchants were selling
food and baskets and jewelry and clothes. She
wheeled Willie under the shade of a great
palm tree; then she opened one of the Bibles
and put it in "Willie's hands. lie looked at it
in the greatest Surprise, and seemed so spell
bound that a man passing by said 'to Mrs.
Missionary: "Oh, mem sahib. I cannot believe
my eyes, yet isn't this little white baby of
yours reading?"
"It looks that way," laughed Mrs. Mission
ary. And at just that moment the baby sol
emnly turned over a page !
"Well, I never!" gasped the Hindu man,
and peeped over the baby's shoulder to see
what this foreigner's book was like.
"You really ought to own a eopv for your
self," said Mrs. Missionary, and was about to
get one from the bottom of the baby earriage
when Willie did the most unexpeeted thing,
lie crowed with delight and poked his Bible
up into the face of the strange brown man!
You may be sure the brown man took the
book, and paid for it, and spread the news far
and wide that the baby of the white sahib was
selling books at the edge of the bazaar. "See,
here is the very book that baby sold me! It
is too comical ; you should see him sitting there
reading, like some ancient scholar!"
By this time quite a crowd had gathered to
see the wonderful Baby-Who-Could-Read, and
certainly he flapped the pages over, one by
one, in the wisest kind of way, chuckling at
his audience.
"It is amazing!" laughed these bystanders,
and a number of them bought Bibles ? soma
because they were amused, some because they
were curious to see the book for themselves,
and some because of the whiteness of this dim
pled baby.
"Oh, mem sahib," they kept asking, "is he
really white all over? Even under his clothes?'"
"Oh, yes, he's white all over," Mrs. Mission
ary assured them, smiling. Whereupou one
woman bought a Bible because she hoped it
would make her little chocolate-colored baby
turn white, also!
Willie proved such a successful Bible-seller
that everywhere that Willie went Bibles were
sure to go, too, and he thought it great fun to
flap the leaves and have so many grown people
try to take the book away from him. And
always, everywhere, brown mothers would say
enviously: "A Bible baby seems so different
from a heathen baby."
"Very different," said Mrs. Missionary, and
within a few weeks she was welcome inside al-'
most every hut to tell people how a Bible Chris
tian baby should be washed and fed and
treated.
So that year when Mr. Missionary sent home
his report to his church in America, he wrote:
"There is one new missionary on this field who
is not receiving any salary, yet he regularly
goes out and brings people to hear me preach,
he is a remarkable book-seller, and has ably
assisted my wife in starting a weekly mothers'
meeting. ? Thinking you may care to see a
picture of this helpful young Will o' the Wisp,
we are enclosing his latest photograph."
And everybody in that church in America
smiled lovingly at the picture of that dear lit
tle two-year-old missionary sitting in his baby
carriage, reading a Bible in the most interested
fashion ! ? The Baptist.
THE ROLL OF HONOR.
It was a showery morning. Great puddles
shone in the road, and the crossings ran in
rivers; while a patter of raindrops pelted mer
rily on two umbrellas that were bobbing along
side by side toward the schoolhouse. Under
neath them Marie and Marta chattered away
as happily as though the skies were blue and
the sun shining, and there was not a trace of
a cloud to be seen in the blue of their eyes.
' ' I just love rainy mornings, don't you?
Isn't it fun to hear the drops pattering on our
umbrellas?" Mario said, tilting hers a little
to see them run otT in a crystal shower.
"Yes, and it is such fun to wade the cross
ings with our rubber boots on. We can just
splash right along and not a drop can get in
side," Marta replied.
"Just think! I haven't been late this year,
and I'm not going to be, either. I mean to
get on the roll of honor this year," Marie said.
'1 haven't been late, either. Won't it be
lovely if we both get on the roll of honor at
the sanv time?" Marta asked delightedly.
"Yes, it will! We can do it, I know, if we
just don't let anything stand in our way."
.lust then a wail of distress broke into the pat
ter of the raindrops, and both girls stopped
to listen.
"It's Joey Peters, I guess. He prob'ly sees
a toad on the walk and is seared to death. He's
always crying about something."
"Don't you think we ought to go back and
see?" Marta asked anxiously. "He might ba
hurt."
"Oh. I know he isn't ? not much. I'm not
going back, anyhow. I'm not going to be late
for Joey Peters," Marie said, going on down
the street.
Marta hestitated a moment. She did not
want to be late, either; but she could not go
on until she kn?w who was in distress, and
had done what she could to relieve them; so
she ran back around the corner and there was
little Dollie Price, dripping with wat.^r where
she had fallen in a big puddle, and there was
her new first reader and her big red apple
she was taking to teacher floating away to
gether down the gutter. Marta rescued them
both, and wiped the water off the reader with
her nice clean handkerchief till it was most
as good as ever.
"Don't cry, Dollie! I'll take you home, and
your mamma can get you some dry things, and
you can come to school with me. I'll wait for
you," she said consolingly, taking hold of Dol
lie 's grimy little hand.
School had begun when Marta and Dollie
reached the schoolhouse. "I can't get on the
roll of honor this year, now, can I, teacher?"
Marta asked when she went in, and the teacher
said she would start a new roll of honor that
very minute for every little girl or boy who
did a kind act, and she put Marta 's name at
the top. ? Mary Morrison, in the Child's Gem.
THE BOY WE LIKE.
The boy who never makes fun of old age.
The boy who does not cheat in work or play.
The boy who never calls anybody bad names,
no matter what anybody calls him.
The boy who is never cruel to animals.
The boy who never lies. Even white lies
leave black spots on the character.
The boy who never makes fun of a compan
ion for something he could not help.
The boy who says "No" when asked to do
a wrong thing.
The boy who is always courteous to women
and girls.
The boy who would "rather be right than be
President." ? Boy's Life.