Part 17 (1/2)

”I don't mind it for myself, mother,” said Teddie lovingly, ”I only mind it for you.”

”But, darling, do you think you know what it means?” she asked. ”No presents, no treats, very few pleasures of any kind. Can you meet all this patiently and bravely? If you do you will carry out Christ's command: 'Bear ye one another's burdens,' for you will be helping your father and me to bear _our_ burden.”

”I will try;” and though when Teddie raised his head from its resting-place his eyes were wet, his face still wore a look of brave resolve.

It was a promise which he at once began to carry out in deed. It would be hard to part with his rabbits, hard to go to Gerald and say he would accept his offer after the somewhat scornful way in which he had before refused it. But he did not know _how_ much the sacrifice would cost until he opened the hutch, and out came the little animals for their evening meal. He took Stripe in his arms, and Brownie put her front paws on his knee, as if jealous of the caresses Stripe was getting. He felt he could not let them go. But the feeling only lasted a few minutes, and he hadn't a single regret when next day he placed two sovereigns in his mother's hand.

She could only kiss him and thank him. Not on any account would she have told him that had she known his intention she should not have allowed him to carry it out.

I am glad to say that in a few years Mr. Braham fully regained the money he had lost. But in better circ.u.mstances Teddie did not cease those loving acts of kindness and unselfishness which he tried so hard to practise for his mother and father's sake in their time of difficulty, and he still finds ways and means in which to obey that ”law” of Christ: ”Bear ye one another's burdens.”

OUR BOAT.

Ferdy and I quarrel sometimes, but not always. We don't like quarrelling, and yet somehow we can't help it; and Ferdy _will_ want everything his own way because he is the elder, and that isn't fair. I ought to have my way sometimes, I think.

Mother gave us a boat not long ago--a beautiful boat, with a sail and a dingy and everything complete, and it was to be between us. So we took off our shoes and stockings and went down by the quay to sail our boat.

It sailed as nicely as any boat could, and we were so pleased with it, but in spite of that we began to quarrel. You see, Ferdy wanted to call the boat the ”Amy,” after Amy Stevens, a little girl we have met on the beach this summer. Ferdy thinks her as pretty as a fairy, but I don't, though she's very jolly sometimes, and can play at anything. Well, Ferdy _would_ have the boat called ”Amy,” and I wanted it to be ”Isabel,”

after mother, because she gave us the boat, and we love her better than any one else in the world. And then we quarrelled. I suppose we made a noise--quarrelling people generally do--for suddenly we found that Amy was watching and listening, and then Ferdy turned very red and did not say anything for some minutes.

”Look here, Alf,” he said at last; ”I'll give you my share of the boat, and then you shall call it what you like.”

”Oh, no!” I said, ”you must have half--and so you shall, for if you give me your share I'll give you mine.”

So we settled it very nicely in that way, and called the boat ”Isabel Amy;” and all the afternoon Amy Stevens played that she was the captain and we were the sailors.

”BLIND TOMMY.”

What a funny name for a dog! But I will tell you how he happened to get it. Blind Charlie was his master, and he was the happiest old man I ever knew.

Charlie used to sit reading the blind people's Bible, beside a sheltering wall, at the Royal Academy in Edinburgh, Blind Tommy, with his little pitcher in his mouth, begging for pennies. I got to know them so well that, every time I pa.s.sed, Charlie allowed the dog to put his pitcher down, while I fed him with a biscuit or bun. I made him a nice warm coat, too, for the cold days.

One day I missed them both, and I went at once to Charlie's lodgings.

Here I found that on his way home one dark night, Charlie had been knocked down by a carriage, and had his leg broken. He had been carried home, and the neighbors had been very kind and had got him a doctor.

”But, oh, ma'am,” he said, ”there's no nurse like Tommy! He sits close beside me, and seems to know everything I want. If I am thirsty, I say, 'Tommy, some water,' and off he goes with his little pitcher to the bucket, fills it, and carries it so carefully back to me.”

THE GHOST IN THE GARDEN.

Harry Peters had to cross the common one evening in the dark, and, though his father had sent him to post a letter, he could not get on, for he saw a ghost, as he fancied, in the garden near the lane, and his hair stood almost on end. There it was, rising white and spectral before him with outstretched, slowly moving arms. Harry uttered a piercing shriek, for the boys at school had told him some dreadful ghost stories, and he quite expected to be carried off by those ghostly beckoning arms.

His father was very vexed that he had lost the post, and would not believe he had seen a ghost.