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FALVEY MEMORIAL LIBRARY
FALVEY MEMORIAL LIBRARY
Dime Novel and Popular Literature
The Youth's companion
Volume 37 (1863)
The Youth's companion, v. XXXVII, no. 35, Thursday, August 27, 1863.
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The Youth's companion, v. XXXVII, no. 35, Thursday, August 27, 1863.
17 January 2020
Boston : Olmstead & Co.
Dime Novel and Popular Literature
Children's periodicals, American.
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want Fol (NUMBER 35. OLMSTEAD. & CO., PUBLISHERS. FPRED,HAYDEN. : “I don’t want to travel away up-stairs just to change my boots. Now what’s the use, why can’t “I wear these, mother ?” So said Fred Hayden, in reply to his mother, who had @esired him to put on his rubber boots to. wear to school. ’ “Jt has been raining all the thorhing” his mother replied; “you could not wear the boots you have on without wetting your feet; and then you would be very: uneomfortable ‘all day, beside anne the risk of getting sick.” When his mother had finished speaking, he went, “bat not willingly, for he” stamped on_every Stair, and when he returned, instead of pleasantly bidding his mother “good morning,” he muttered, ‘J should have been half way ‘there by this time, if I could have gone with ‘the boots that I had on.” 5 “O no, my son,” said his mother, as she opened his umbrella for him. Charging him to be a good boy in school, she cast a lingering glance after him, then closing the door, breathed an earnest prayer on his behalf. Now Fred was not habitually disobedient. He never positively refused to obey; but sometimes, as on the morning of which I have been speaking, the spirit of obedience was entirely wanting, and it ~ grieved his kind parents. \-. Fred liked his school. “He was fond of study. . He never copied his examples from the slates of other boys. If some problem was difficult, he , . would study hard, and try to find the reason con- tained in the rule; and when at last he obtained the true answer, his eyes would sparkle with de- light. Once upen such a timé, he clapped his hands and sung out, “O glory, halle-halleluiah.” It was one evening, when sitting at the table, where _his*mother was reading by the same light. . “My son!” she exclaimed in surprise. * «Pay'so glad, mother,” he said, “because I’ve got this hard example out, all myself.” - Then she explained to him the meaning of the word “halleluiah,” and told him it was a profana- tion of the word to use it when there was no inten- tion of ascribing praise to Jehovah, .o “Well, then, I think a good many are profane who sing the ‘John Brown Song,’” said Fred, “for I don’t believe half of them mean to praise the Lord.” But he remembered not to repeat the phrase again in a thoughtless manner. Fred was fond of play, too; he had great inven- : “tive powers, and would contrive new plays; which made him a great favorite with the boys, for they were sure of having sport enough, if he could only be with them. » Near the school-house was a a brook, across which, from bank to bank, the boys had been building * dams, at different distances, for several days. Fred had made a wheel and fastened it by a stake to the ground, which, when the water should reach a certain height, would be revolved by its force. So the boys were wishing for rain, that the water in the brook might rise. No pupil lived farther from the school-house than did Fred; yet he was never late. He knew how ‘much time it required to walk the distance, and he took care always to start in good season. He had two reasons for this: one was,’ because he loved to be promptly present at the opening of the school. Ile thought the boys looked mean, who crept in after school had begun. © The other reason was, that he might have some play before it was time for school to commence. And the teacher ‘said he thought those who learned their lessons well had a right to enjoy their play, and he did not “doubt that they were far happier in their sports than idle pupils. » Now on the morning. alluded to, Fred’s great “haste to go to school was not a fear of being late, but to see if the water in the brook had reached . his wheel. So although he was impatient at the | delay occasioned by changing his -boots, he soon recovefed his good humor, knowing that he had ample time to accomplish all his intentions. As he passed the house of Arthur Hurd, Arthur runout. +,» . * «}lurrah, Fred,” said he, “isn’t this just the rain we've been looking for P” “Arthur,” called his sister, who had hurried to! “2 the porch, “mother says you must come back: and put on your boots. “Yes? well, I won't,” said Arthur, afong with Fred Hayden.” j * “Tl wait,” said Fred. * °°" - “I’m not going back,” said Arthur, n obstlantaly ; “just as though I'm not too old to be told ‘I must.’” Arthur’s sister saw that he intended to go on, and she called “Please, Arthur, do come, I'll bring them to the steps.” “Go; I would,” said Fred. “Mind a girl!” said Arthur, contemptuously. Then he began to whistle, and soon they turned a corner which placed them out of his sister’s tiew. On reaching the brook they found other boys al- ready there. “Come on, Fred, your wheel goes like a clack- ing mill,” one called out. ~ Some who had on high rubber boots were wading into the brook to place large stones where cascades could be formed, and Fred joined their number. Arthur wished he had gone back at his sister’s call, but he did not say so. He stepped as near the water’s edge as he could without going into the brook, till a stone on which he had ventured to rest his feet slipped, and he was standing above his ankles in water. He screamed, and throwing up both hands, called out, “Help me out of the water.” Several of the boys laughed heartily; some called, “Run out yourself, it isn’t deep ;” but Fred seeing how frightened Arthur looked, ran, caught hold of his hand, and led him up to the bank, “Did you think you should drown, Arthur ?” Ed Smith said, laughing. “You couldn’t drown in this brook if you should try to.” “If your feet were fast in the clay as mine were, Idon’t think you'd laugh,” he replied, being ex- ceedingly vexed that so little sympathy was mani- fested at his misfortune; he forgot, too, to thank Fred for his assistance, and even said “I don’t be- lieve you care much, Fred; I suppose you think I might have gone back when my sister called me.” “You could have had more fun if you had,” said Fred, “seeing that it hardly rains at all now.” Arthur’s buots were covered with mud; and as his feet were very uncomfortable, he made haste to the school-house. A low stool was in the entry, on which seating himself, he began rubbing the clay from bis boots, with the covers which he had torn «I'm going from his books; but with all his efforts his appear- |" ance was very untidy. “What a pity to take that cover off of your geography, ‘twas sewed on s0 nice,” said a little girl When the school bell rung, all hastened to their seats. Fred directly drew off his boots, took out te Hl TOMMY DYER’S CAT. his neat slippers that he wore in them, and as he ut them on, thought of his mother’s kindness to him, Beautiful slippers they were, handsomely wroysht with worsted: a birthday present from his mother; and so comfortable! His pants, too, were all dry around the ankles; and as he contrasted his comfortable condition with the inelegant ap- pearance of Arthur, reflections of his unkindness to his mother that morning flashed vividly across his mind, and he resolved never again to yield such reluctant obedience to his mother’s requests. Fred had carried his dinner that day, as he al- ways did in stormy weather; and as he was a dili- gent scholar, the time in school was pleasantly passed; the amusements of the intermission he ea- joyed, and the day. did not seem long and tedious to him. When school was done, and he was on his way home, he seemed very unlike the ill-humored boy that had started from his home that morning. The weather, too, was changed. The rain was over. A beautiful bow was arching the sky. The leaves of the trees were of a brighter green, and seemed to have expanded since morning, while over the broad fields of grass the sun threw a golden radiance, and the very fields looked glad. . Arthur Hurd was absent from school in the afternoon, and as Fred passed his house when go- ing home, he decided to stop and inquire the cause of his absence. But Arthur's sister was just going out of the gate when Fred arrived there. “O dear, Fred!” she said, “I’m so afraid Arthur will die ; he has a dreadful sore throat, and says he fears it is the diptheria.” Fred expressed his sympathy for Arthur's suffer- ing, and then proceeded homeward. His mother met him at the door with a smile, wea d inquired if he had observed the beautiful rain- gz owes, mother, I think it’s splendid, but” and he hesitated. “But what, my son ” “I want to tell you something, mother: Arthur Hurd is sick.” “Come in, Freddie, and tell me about him. What is the matter with him?” his mother in- quired, as Fred seated himself by her side. “Ile has a sore throat. But I wanted to tell you I'm sorry, mother.” “Of course you are sorry to have him sick.” “Yes,” interrupted Fred, “but that isn’t what I mean. I mean I’m sorry I was so unkind to you this morning. I mean to be a better boy in future, and do what you desire pleasantly. .“Then, my son,” replied his mother, “soa will rejoice your parents’ hearts. You will make mani- 22 SCHOOL STREET, BOSTON. more happy than you would be in persisting in your own way, and will become entitled to the promise made to those who honor their parents.” + COUSIN DEBORAH’S LEGACY, Cousin Deborah was an old, unmarried lady, who had no other property than a moderate life annuity. The furniture of the house was faded and antique ; the linen was well darned; the plate was scanty, and worn thin with use and frequent scouring ; the books were few, and in no very good condition, She had no jewelry or trinkets; her days were passed in a dreary state of tranquillity, stitching, stitching forever, with her beloved huge workbox at her elbow. That wanted nothing, for it was abundantly fitted up with worsted, cotton, tapes, buttons, bodkins, needles, and such a multitude of reels and balls that to enumerate them would be a tedious task. : Cousin Deborah particularly prided herself on darning ; carpets, house linen and stockings all bore unimpeachable testimony to this branch of in- dustry. Holes and thin places were hailed with delight by her; and it was whispered—but that might be a mere matter of scandal—that she even went so far as to cut holes in her best table cloths for the purpose of exercising her ingenuity in re- pairing the fractures. Her conversation turned on the subject of thread, paper, and needle-cases ; and never was darning cotton more scientifically rolled into neat balls than by the taper fingers of Cousin Deborah. The contents of that wonderful workbox would’ have furnished a small shop.. As a child I have al- ways regarded it with awe and veneration; and without daring to lay a finger on the treasure it when the raised edge revealed its mountains of cot- ton and forests of pins and needles, . garded me with favor in consequence of being asked by my mother to give me a lesson in darning—a most necessary accomplishment in our family. I was the eldest of my brothers and sisters; and stances of our dear parents rendered the strictest industry and frugality absolutely indispensable in order to make both ends meet, She was proud of me, on the whole, as a pupil, though she sometimes had occasion to reprove me for idleness and slipping of stitches; and between us, it is impossible to say how many pairs of stock- ings we made in the course of a year. We resided near our Cousin Deborah; and many a time I was invited to take tea with her, and bring my bag in hand as a matter of course, and sit with her long hours without speaking, intent on our needles, the silence unbroken expect by the ticking of the eight- day clock. I sometimes felt it very dull work, I confess. Not so-with Cousin Deborah. She needed no other society than that of her workbox, and I do not believe that she loved any human being so well. Her whole heart was in it; and the attachment she evinced towards me, as she went on, was fostered and encouraged by our mutual zeal in performit g tasks of needlework. Not-that I shared in her devotion ; I was actuated by a sense of duty alone, and would far rather, could I have done so con- scientiously, have been running and laughing with companions of my own age, But ply the needle I did, and so did Cousin Deborah; and we two be- came, with the huge workbox between us, quite a pair of loving friends; and at least two evenings in every week I went to sit with the lone woman, She would have me do so every evening, but though there were so many of us at home, our pa- rents could not bear to spare any of us out of their sight oftener than they deemed indispensable. At length Cousin Deborah’s quiet and blameless life came to an end. Haying shut her workbox, locked it, and put the Rey i in a sealed packet, she turned her face to the wall and fell asleep. When her will was opened, it was found that she had left her books, furniture, and plate toa family that stood in. the same relationship to her that we did, but who were in much more prosper- ous circumstances than we. To me she devised the huge workbox, with all the contents, in token fest the love that you feel for them; you will be of the high esteem and affection by which I was contained, my prying eyes devoured its mysteries ~~, I have no doubt that Cousin Deborah first re- though very happy among ourselves, the circum- . i te