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An hour passed away pleasantly, and
therefore quickly. The children had
quite forgotten their weariness. After
the light failed, they sat talking over
the wonderful instrument until the bell
rang for tea.
“Have we seen it all?” asked Lob,
as aunt Edith was putting away the mi
croscope after tea was over.
“ No, indeed. I’ve beautiful things
to show you, and much to tell you.
Shall I save it for rainy days? ”
“Yes; and then we won’t get cross
and tired ; ” and Kitty gave her aunt a
kiss.
Then the children went up stairs to
bed, and dreamed, I dare say, of more
wonderful things than I can write.
The Household,
- •
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
QUEER KITTY.
BY MRS. J. R. HANCOCK.
CHAPTER 11.
__
SITTY had two little friends
1. whom she dearly loved —sis-
ters of the young Kentucky
boy, who had just come from his native
State to join his family. Their names
were Mary and Lydia Rice. Mary was
a sw§ e t, 1 gentle girl, who .enjoyed fun
"amftroli®, but never originated it. Per
haps this was why she loved Kitty so
much—because their natures w r ere so
opposite; but Lydia was about as wild
as Kitty.
They had long ago exchanged broth
ers, and in their favorite plays of house
keeping, their dolls always bore the
names of their future husbands.
The little girls once came to spend a
week with Kitty, and after much coax
ing, one morning they persuaded Mrs.
Carson to pass the day with Aunt Dun
can. After seeing her off, and giving
some wild yells of delight, Kitty ex
claimed, “Now, girls, let’s play keep
ing house.”
So she opened her mother’s ward
robe, and gave each her choice of
dresses, taking anew black alpacca for
herself. Then she took out a bandbox,
and selected three nice caps, with
thread-lace borders, and they pro
ceeded to select their houses. Lydia
choose Mrs. Carson’s room, Mary the
parlor opposite, and Kitty a little room
by the parlor.
When Kitty’s time came to exchange
visits, she gravely strutted through
Mary’s room, arrayed in her cap and
trailing black alpacca. In one hand
she carried a huge pillow, dressed up
like a baby; in the other, an old
fashioned green parasol, with a top
like a tent. Proceeding into Lydia’s
room, she sat a while, then, passing
the usual compliments at parting, pre
pared to leave.
Just as she reached the hall, Lydia
BURKE’S WEEKLY FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.
screamed, “Kitty! Kitty! your mo
ther’s coming! ”
Kitty, frantic with fright, threw her
baby one way, and clutching the cap
from her head, sent it another. In her
speed to escape, she stepped on her
long dress, and fell sprawling to the
floor. Quickly rising, she flew into her
own room, and then for the first time
became conscious of the screams of
laughter with which her little friends
were regarding her. Understanding the
joke at her expense, she angrily ac
cused Lydia of telling her a story.
“No, I didn’t; I said, ‘Your mo
ther’s coming,’ and then I said right
low, ‘ Coming to her age, and going to
her grave,’ and that wasn't a story,”
reasoned the young sophist.
“ You made me tear mother’s dress,
too,” said Kitty tearfully, showing a
rent in the new alpacca.
Though Kitty was so heedless, she
loved her mother devotedly, and that
mother’s influence was felt all through
her life.
Mrs. Carson hadjpromised her little
daughter a locket, if she would read
the Bible through in a year ; telling her
if she would read three chapters every
day, and five on Sunday, she would
finish it in that time. Every day the
little girl read aloud the allotted chap
ters.
One day her mother called her and
showed her a pretty locket.
i ‘Ob, mother! is it mine ? Can I
have it now?”
“And will you remember your pro
mise ! ”
“Indeed I will, mother.”
“ I think I can trust my little daugh
ter,” said her mother.
And Kitty faithfully kept her word.
When the autumn leaves began to
cover the ground, her aunt Duncan
grew very sick, and Mrs. Carson was
sent for to assist in nursing her. One
week she suffered, and when Saturday
came, Mrs. Carson called her daughter
to her, and whispered:
“ My child, your aunt is dying; come
and go with me.”
She led the awe-stricken girl into the
room, where the distressed family were
assembled to take a last farewell of the
departing Christian.
The broken-hearted husband knelt
by the bed-side —his head bowed in
anguish on the pillow of his dying
wife ; the sons and daughters were
giving vent to their grief in heart
piercing cries, as they listened for the
last time to the counsels of their be
loved mother.
“See, my dear,” said Mrs. Carson,
“how hard it is to give a mother up.
What would you do, my poor child,
without yours?” and she drew the
weeping girl more closely to her
breast.
That same evening, Kitty’s mother
was taken sick. As the days wore
slowly away she grew no better. Often
in her unconsciousness, she would ask
God to bless her child ; and before the
week had closed, Kitty was an orphan!
She was taken to the home of her
only sister, who was very kind to her;
but long and deeply she mourned the
tender mother who had been all the
world to her.
Every night she opened her Bible to
read her chapters ; but she never knew
what she was reading, because her
heart was so full of aching, and her
eyes so blinded with tears, thinking of
the loved parent in the far-off happy
land.
One night her sister came into her
room, and finding her sitting in the
cold, began to reprove her ; but seeing
what she was reading, and her stream
ing eyes, she laid her hand on her
head, and said, “You are a good girl,
Kitty.”
Long years have passed away, bear
ing with them many changes. The
gentle Mary, when just budding into
womanhood, was transplanted to the
Paradise of God ; she was followed in
a few years by her loved brother.
Kitty is now a sober, thoughtful lady,
with quite a family of little ones. Some
of them are as wild and thoughtless as
thf ir mother was ; and very often when
her patience is most sorely tried, she
reminds herself of the prophecies of
her old friends about Queer Kitty.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
TRUST' If! CtOD,
FOR THE LITTLE ONES.
hi T was the afternoon of a warm,
AMSi. summer day, that the mother
of four darling children —in-
mates of a little “brown parsonage” in
one of our Southern States—was making
ready to partake of the evening meal.
But father was absent —had gone out to
try anew horse ; and as his stay was
protracted, each member of the house
hold began to feel restless and uneasy,
for he was a fond parent, and even the
youngest heart within that home circle
had learned to ache when he was in
danger.
The rumbling of distant thunder, be
tokening a storm, was heard, and the
anxious ones became still more troub
led. Nearer and nearer came the sound,
rapidly arose the heavy cloud, the light
nings flashed continually, and terrible
peals of thunder shook the house.
Each eye turned often toward the
road, to see if father was coming.
There were, I know, silent prayers
going up for his safety, when suddenly,
a peal, even more terrible than any
previous one, startled all.
As it came, a sweet child of five sum
mers ran to mamma, and exclaimed:
“ Oh ! what will become of papa? ”
The mother replied, calmly as pos
sible: “My dear, God will take care
of him, if we ask it;” then turned
away, too much engrossed with her
own anxiety to think long of the little
one.
Presently she was missed, and on
entering arf adjoining room the mother
found her kneeling and earnestly plead
ing with Him who can stay the storm,
to care for and bring safety home the
loved parent then in danger.
Silently the mother passed out, feel
ing herself calmed, and more certain of
his safe return, after seeing her darling
child thus pleading for him. She knew
the lambs of the flock were dearly
loved by the Good Shepherd, and that
He delights to hear them call upon
Him, whether in joy or in sorrow.
Presently the clouds scattered, the
deafening thunder ceased to roll, and
died away in the distance; and just as
all the household were becoming more
calm and trustful, the absent father en
tered unharmed, proving to all—but to
the praying little one in particular—the
faithfulness of Him, who has said, “Ask
and ye shall receive,” “Call upon me
and I will hear.”
The “ little one” here spoken of is
now a child of larger growth, for ten
more summers have been given her ;
still she has, through all these years,
never forgotten where to go when in
trouble. The path to the mercy seat,
even by the blessed cross of her Re
deemer, she is constantly treading— ’tis
her refuge at all times.
Yet, dear children v you must not for
a moment think that, beginning so early
to pray, and ever keeping it up all along
the way, has made her a dull, gloomy
child. Far from it, she has ever been
the sunshine of her home. A number
of little brothers have come to that
home since the time above alluded to,
and she is the sister who, by loving
words, and “little deeds of kindness,”
has won for herself the name of “ Little
Mother.”
Dear children, would you thus make
bright and full of joy the hearts of those
that love you —would you be ever cheer
ing father, mother, sisters and brothers,
and cause all to say of you, “None
know but to love them”—be a pray
ing child ; for the oftener you speak to,
and commune with, the gentle, loving
Saviour, the more like Him you will
become.
Moreover, there is a storm far more
terrible than comes from the gathering
of earthly clouds, fast approaching;
and I know you will want to be shielded
yourself, and want all your loved ones
safe from its power. Then, learn early
to flee to Him who alone can shelter
and save you. Bea praying child! for
the dear Redeemer himself says, “ Os
stick is the kingdom of Heaven.”
One ivho Loves the Little Ones,
Be careful of your words and of your
thoughts. If you control the tongue,
you will soon be able to control the
mind, and save it from corruption.