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A True Incident.
The Little Mother ran busily back and forth from sitting ro m to kitchen.
It was Saturday afternoon, and Aunt Susan was in the midst of the bak
ing which called for her superintendence. Dotty and Trotty in their little
scarlet hoods and mittens played in the back yard, and the house boy’s axe
rang sharply out on the December air as he cut up his kindling wood to rui
over Sunday.
Through the circular hole in the high board gate a black hand wat
thrust, and as the latch lifted Old Bob appeared lugging a large demijohn.
The Little Mother paused in her passage from the kitchen—the color left
her cheek, and her sweet voice trembled as she said:
“Bob, why did you bring that here?”
“De marster tole me ter,” he answered respectfully, making his waj
toward the pantry.
“Not there,” she said. “Put it in this closet.”
Trotty and Dotty had followed along, silent and with wide open eyes.
They knew what it meant; and the look on their mother’s face struck theii
little hearts with an icy chill. As she closed the door she murmured what
they had heard her say more than once of late—“l ought to take the axe and
break it!”
But alas’ Their childish understanding, feeling her thought, and com
prehending, though they could not have explained, the struggle in her trou
bled heart between fear of the growing danger which menaced and her sense
of duty which dared not—. They knew the Little Mother dared not breal:
it! And slipping away to talk it over between themselves Trotty’s heart
grew brave.
“Let’s us break the jimmy-john!” she said, and faithful little Dotty
assenting, their hying feet quickly carried them—oh, ever so quickly!—tc
the dark closet which held the huge jug regarded with such mysterious dread.
Little Mother was still in the ki chen and Sister in her own room. There was
no one to see what they did; but they worked hurriedly and without am.
noise, pulling and tugging at the unwieldy, gurgling thing, through the din
ing-room, and down the long hall, and out on to the croquet ground. It
was all their strength could do to bump it down the steps; but soon it was
in the middle of ground, and Trotty was gone to get William’s axe.
“If you do, I’ll—l’ll—Don’t you dast to do it!” she blazed back at
him, as running she dragged the axe behind her.
It was too heavy for her excited hands. She made two or three efforts
before the thick glass crushed in, and out poured the stream of contents
while the fumes spread over the yard and reached to where the Little Mother
was just returning for the last time from the kitchen. Paler than eve;
she hastened out.
“0, children, what have you done?” she cried.
“We’ve broke it!” said Trotty, and Dotty looked from one to the
other.
“What will Father say?”
It was the question that confronted them, too, all in a moment, nov
that the deed was done. And as the Little Mother turned away they real
ized childishly that they had brought further trouble upon her, for what
ever Father had to say would be to her, not to them—that was his way.
They crept into Sister’s room and pulled up their little chairs in front
of the glowing grate. She understood in a word what had occurred, anc
they all sat silent looking into the coals. Trotty was curiously still, and he.
eyes grew larger; but soon poor little Dotty’s lip trembled, and she brokt
down.
“I’m skeered!” she cried piteously.
“Dotty, you’re a goose!” Trotty turned on her fiercely. It was no use
Dotty was crying now helplessly, and Trotty slipped quietly out and
was gone. The sun was setting red and cold as she ran out the side gate
and her little red hood sped swiftly down the street. She had done it. Tht.
Little Mother—Dotty—they must not bear the blame. She had broken it
and she must tell Father. On she went, her heart beating, and the dusk be
ginning to gather; over the hill and down to the big bridge where in tht
shadow she waited; it grew colder and darker and she shivered, and trem
bled at the approach of every pedestrain, fearful lest it be what most she
dreaded—“a drunken man”—till finally the form and step she waited drev
near in the gloom, and she sprang from her hiding place.
“Why, Trotty,” exclaimed her father in surprise, “what are you doin<
here, little girl?”
“I broke it!” she cried tremblingly, her hand in his as they walked on
“Broke it?” he asked—“broke what?”
“I broke it!” she said again, in timid, frightened tones; “the jimmy
johm!” , ; i •’ vFI d
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The Golden Age for February 7, 1907.
The way of the]
transgressor I
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I
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The following letter from the Superintendent of West End Presbyterian S. S., Atlanta, Ga.. is a
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Suitable for Church Services, Sunday Schools and Young Peoples’ Meetings.
Atlanta, Ga., January 3, 1906.
Mr. H. C. Robert, Mgr.
Dear Sir: Answering your favor of 30th inst., referring to the matter of song books purchased
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C. R. Normandy, Sunt. West End Pres. S. S.
READIWHAT OTHER GOOD JUDGES SAY:
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Ls — — 'vC/lA/z'--- "Xx 1 I xW x
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