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The Riverdale Stories
PROUD AND LAZY
A STORY FOR LITTLE FOLKS
BY
OLIVER OPTIC
AUTHOR OF "THE BOAT CLUB," "ALL ABOARD," "NOW OR NEVER,"
"TRY AGAIN," "POOR AND PROUD," "THE WOODVILLE
STORIES," ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
PROUD AND LAZY.
I.
Tommy Woggs was a funny little boy. He was very proud and very
lazy. He seemed to think he was a great man, and that other people
lived only to serve and obey him.
None of the boys and girls liked him, because he used to order them
round, and because he thought himself so much better than they
were.
Tommy's father was a doctor, and a rich man. He could afford to
have servants to wait upon his son, but he was not quite rich
enough to spoil the child by letting him do as he pleased.
There are some things that wealth cannot purchase. It will not buy
wisdom, for all the money in the world would not teach a person
even to perform a simple question in arithmetic.
It will not buy the love and respect of others. Many rich men are
hated and despised by nearly all who know them.
So Tommy's father could not buy an education for his son, nor would
wealth win for him the esteem of his companions. He must study like
the children of poor people if he wanted to be wise; and he must
treat them well, in order to obtain their good will.
Tommy did not like to study, and he did like to command others. He
wished every body to think that he was better than they, because he
had been to New York, and because his father was rich.
Children are just like men and women. They always find out the
really good boys and girls, and love and respect them. And they
never think much of those who think too much of themselves.
When Tommy was eight years old, his father sent him to the village
school. It was a public school, and it was the best in the town. He
had learned his letters at home, and was able to read a very
little.
At first he was pleased with the idea of going to school, and did
not even tell his mother he would not go. He was very apt to say he
would not do anything, when he was told to do it.
I am sorry to add that his parents were very much to blame, for he
was an only child, and they did not like to cross him. They did not
make him "mind," as all good parents ought to do, and as all good
children are willing to do. He used to have his own way; and when
he went to school, he hardly knew what it was to obey.
Miss Dale, the teacher, gave him a good seat, when he first went to
school, and spoke very kindly to him. For two or three days he got
along quite well. It was a new thing to him, and he was pleased
with the school and the teacher.
But in a little while he was tired of the place, and of the
teacher, and he had yet to learn that he could not always have his
own way.
On the fourth day of his school-life, when Miss Dale called him up
to read, he made up his mind that he would not read.
"I don't want to read," said he.
"Perhaps you don't, Thomas. Do you know what your father sends you
to school for?" replied Miss Dale.
"No, I don't."
"You must not speak so to me. Come here."
"I won't."
"Don't be naughty, Thomas. I asked you to come to me."
"I won't."
"If you won't come, I shall bring you."
Tommy didn't exactly know what to make of this; but the teacher did
not give him much time to think about it, for she took him by the
collar of his coat, and, in spite of his kicking and screaming,
dragged him up to the desk.
"Now, stand there, Thomas; and if you are a good boy, and obey me,
I will not hurt you at all."
"I won't be a good boy," growled Tommy; and when Miss Dale let go
of him, he threw himself on the floor and began to kick and scream
as though he had been mad.
The teacher opened her desk, and took out a little stick. Tommy did
not like the looks of the stick, but he kept on kicking and
screaming.
"Get up, Thomas," said Miss Dale.
"I won't," screamed Tommy, very loud.
"Won't you?"
"No, I won't."
"Then I shall whip you."
"No, you won't," yelled Tommy.
But he was mistaken. Miss Dale would and did whip him, till he was
glad to get up. He found the little stick was a thing not to be
trifled with, for it made him smart so he could not bear the pain.
"I'm going home," said Tommy.
"Not yet, Thomas."
"Yes, I will."
"I think not. Now, pick up your book, and be a good boy."
"I won't."
Then a smart cut of the stick upon one of his legs made him scream
with pain again.
"Pick up your book, now, Thomas."
"I'll tell my mother of you," snarled Tommy, as he picked up the
book.
"You may, if you choose. Now open your book."
He did not mind, and again he felt the terrible stick, which caused
him to obey.
"Now, Thomas," said Miss Dale, as she put the stick in the desk,
"when I tell you to do anything, you must obey me."
"I won't, either."
"You must not say you won't to me."
"Yes, I will."
The teacher opened the desk and took out the stick again.
"Will you?"
"Yes, I will."
Tommy felt the stick once more; and this time blow followed blow
till Tommy, of his own accord, promised not to use the naughty
words again.
"Now, Thomas, if you will be a good boy you will not have any more
trouble. You must do what I tell you to do, and not be saucy to
me."
"I'll tell my mother of you. She don't whip me," muttered Tommy.
"You may tell your mother, and if she does not wish you to mind,
she must not send you here. But I think she wants you to be a good
boy, obey your teacher, and get your lessons."
"No, she don't," said Tommy, who was not quite willing to be good
yet.
"Well, it does not make any difference whether she does or not; you
must mind all I say if you come to school here."
Miss Dale then heard him read; but he did not do very well. He was
thinking all the time what he could do that was naughty; but as he
kept one eye on the little stick, he did not venture again to
disobey or to be saucy.
When he went home that day he told his mother he was not going to
school any more; and perhaps she would have let him have his own
way. But his father, when he heard what Miss Dale had done, said he
was glad she had made him mind, and that he should go to school in
the afternoon.
[Illustration: Tommy makes a mistake.]
To make the matter sure, Dr. Woggs went to school with him himself,
and told the teacher to make a good boy of him, if she could, and
above all things to make him obey her. So Tommy got the worst of
it, after all.
[Illustration: Tommy and his Father.]
II.
Tommy Woggs learned to obey while he was in school. That little
stick produced a great change in him; but after the first week,
Miss Dale did not have occasion to use it again.
He found that he must mind, and he had sense sufficient to see that
it was just as easy to obey before he was whipped, or even scolded,
as it was afterwards.
It was the next year after Tommy began to go to school that he went
to New York. It was a great thing for a little boy like him to go
away so far, and see so many wonderful things; and his companions,
for a time, thought he was a real hero.
When he came back he told ever so many stories of what he had
seen--of the fine buildings in New York, of the great crowds of
people in Broadway, and the sights he saw at the Museum.
But the children soon grew tired of it, and did not want to hear
any more of Tommy's stories. I think it quite likely that, if Tommy
had not been so smart about it, they would have been glad to hear a
great deal more about New York.
But I have another story to tell about Tommy; and I hope it will
convince all my young readers that it is better to obey their
parents, even if they are not punished, than it is to disregard
what they tell them.
I have said that Tommy was proud and lazy. He was so proud he did
not like to mind; and so lazy that he did not like to go to school,
because he had to study there, and learn his lessons.
One fine morning in June, when the birds were singing on all the
trees, and the grass looked bright and green on the hills, Tommy
left his father's house to go to school.
He did not want to go to school that day. He told his mother it was
too pleasant to be shut up in a school room all day, and he begged
that he might be permitted to stay at home.
"No, Tommy, you must go to school. Your father says that you must
not stay at home a single day, unless you are sick."
This was about an hour before school time, and the lazy boy sat on
the door stone, for a while, and then came back and told his mother
he did not feel very well.
"What ails you, Tommy?" asked his mother.
"I'm sick."
"Not very sick, I think."
"Yes, I am; real sick."
Just then his father came in, and heard his complaint.
"How long have you felt sick, Tommy?" asked his father.
"Ever since I got up," replied Tommy, placing his hand upon his
stomach.
"You ate your breakfast very well for a sick boy."
"I feel worse since I ate my breakfast," said the little boy,
trying very hard to look sick.
"What ails you?"
"I feel sick at the stomach."
"Well, I think you will feel better by and by," added Dr. Woggs.
"But I can't go to school, father."
"O, you can't?" said his father, with a smile.
"I don't feel able to go."
"Then you needn't go."
Tommy was much pleased to find he had gained his point; and he did
not think of the wicked lies he had told. His father said he might
stay away from school that day, and this was all he wanted.
He had a pair of rabbits in the wood shed, and without thinking
that he was sick, he was going out to play with them.
"Where are you going, Tommy?" asked his father.
"Out in the wood shed to see my rabbits."
"I thought you were sick."
"So I am, father."
"Then sit down on the sofa, and I will attend to you in a moment.
Do you feel very sick?"
"I'm real bad, father," replied Tommy, quickly, for he was afraid
his father would send him to school, after all.
Dr. Woggs opened a drawer in his bookcase, and took out a little
jar, filled with a kind of yellow powder. He then asked Mrs. Woggs
to get him a little molasses in a cup, and a teaspoon.
Tommy turned pale then, for he knew all about that powder in the
little jar.
"Now, my son, we will make you well by to-morrow, so that you will
be able to go to school again," said Dr. Woggs, as he took the
cover off the jar.
Tommy began to cry, for he would rather have taken a whipping than
a dose of that nasty, yellow powder.
"What's the matter, Tommy? Do you feel worse?" asked his father.
"I don't want to take any of that stuff," whined the poor little
invalid.
"I know, Tommy, it isn't pleasant to take; but when we are sick, we
must take something to keep us from getting any worse."
"I don't want to take it, father. It always makes me a good deal sicker
than I was before--it does indeed, father."
"That's very true, my boy; but, for all that, you must take it. We
very often have to make folks worse before they can be any better.
It always hurts to set a broken arm or leg; but no one would think
of letting it remain unset because the operation is painful."
His mother soon came with the cup of molasses, and Dr. Woggs put
some of the yellow powder into it, and stirred up the mixture.
"I don't want to take it, father," cried Tommy, who was trembling
with dread at the very thought of the nasty stuff.
"I can't help it, my boy. You must take it," said the doctor, in
such a tone that the poor boy felt he must obey, or confess that he
had told a falsehood.
"I can't take it, father," he groaned.
"Poor boy! I know it is not good; but only think how sick you are!
Why, you are so bad that you cannot go to school."
"I will go to school," whined Tommy.
"What! when you are sick?" asked his father. "O, no; you must not
go to school when you are sick; it is a bad place for sick boys.
Take the medicine, stay at home and get well."
"I will go to school," repeated Tommy, earnestly.
"Not when you are sick, my son."
"I'm not sick, father."
"Not sick!"
"No, father."
"Didn't you say only a few moments since that you were sick--real
bad?"
"But I am much better now; and I think I am able to go to school."
"You may be sick again, my son."
"I shall not, father; I know I shall not."
"I think you had better take the medicine to prevent another
attack."
"No, father; I wasn't sick at all," said the little boy, very
sheepishly.
Dr. Woggs scolded him in a most severe manner for the falsehood he
had uttered, and then sent him to school. He ought to have
remembered this lesson. It was the last time that Tommy ever
pretended he was sick, as that disgusting yellow powder frequently
showed itself to his imagination.
I don't think it would answer for many parents to do as Tommy's
father did; but he was a doctor, and understood the case.
[Illustration: Tommy had been in New York.]
III.
It was a beautiful morning in June when Tommy Woggs left his home
to go to school, after the events which I have related in the last
chapter.
He did not want to go to school--of course he did not, or he would
not have pretended to be sick, that he might stay at home. The
grass looked so green, and the birds sang so sweetly, that he
wished to have a good time with them in the fields.
If he had been a good boy, and had always done his duty in school,
he would not have felt so; and he was just as much to blame for
feeling wrong as he was for doing wrong.
I have always noticed that children who behave well, and get their
lessons, like to be in school. It is a pleasant place to them. And
doing right always makes us happy, wherever we are.
But those who are naughty, and neglect their duties, are always in
trouble; and for this reason they hate school. It is their own
fault, however, that they dislike it, for if they did right, they
would be happy not only there, but everywhere else.
Tommy dragged along the street like a snail, or like a sheep led to
the slaughter. When he got about half way to the school house, he
met Joe Birch and Ben Tinker.
My readers already know Joe Birch, and know that he was a bad boy;
and I suppose, after being told that Ben Tinker was his constant
companion, they can easily guess what kind of a boy he was. They
were very much alike, and were the leaders in all the mischief done
in Riverdale.
"Where are you going, Tommy?" asked Ben.
"I am going to school," he replied, stopping to talk with the two
boys, who were seated on a rock at the side of the road.
"Have you got any money, Tom?" said Joe.
"No, I haven't."
"'Cause, if you've got three cents about you, I will tell you
something."
"What?" inquired Tommy, without thinking of the price which the bad
boy asked for his important information.
"That's telling," replied Joe, winking at his companion.
"Won't you tell me?"
"Give me three cents, and I will."
"I haven't got three cents; but I will give them to you some time."
"I won't trust you. Give me the money now, and I will tell you all
about it," added Joe.
"How can I give it to you when I haven't got it?"
The two bad boys saw that he was willing enough to pay them for
what they had to tell him, and they had only to devise a plan by
which he could raise the funds.
"Are you going to school, Tom?" asked Joe Birch.
"Yes."
"What for?"
"Because my father makes me go. I tried to get off this morning. I
made believe sick; but father was going to make me take some of his
nasty physic, and I thought I'd rather go to school than do that."
"I can tell you how you can stay away from school without taking
any physic."
"How?"
"Give me the three cents, and I will tell you."
"I haven't them; if I had I would."
"Well, I will tell you how to get them, if you like."
"How?"
"Go home to your mother, and tell her the schoolma'am sent you home
for three cents to buy a new book."
"I'll do that," replied Tommy, not stopping to think how wicked was
the act which the bad boy proposed to him.
"Mind you, Tom, go to your mother--don't go to your father."
Tommy promised to do just as he was told by these bad boys, and ran
home with all his might, to get the money for them. His mother did
not stop to ask him any questions, though she wondered what book he
could buy for three cents.
"Here's the three cents," said Tommy, as he joined the boys in the
road. "Now tell me how I can stay away from school without having
to take any physic."
"Just come with us; we are not going to school this fine morning.
When the factory bell rings for twelve o'clock, just go home; and
your folks won't know but that you have been to school."
"That's the way," added Ben Tinker. "That's what the fellers call
'hookin' jack.'"
Tommy did not exactly like the idea at first, for he could not help
thinking what might happen in case he got found out. He did not ask
himself whether it was right or wrong to do what the boys called
"hooking jack;" but only whether he should get found out or not.
We ought always to do right, whatever may happen to us; and we
should never do wrong, even if we feel certain of not being found
out.
"Where are you going?" asked Tommy.
"Over the other side of the river. We must not let any one see us
after school time, for they will know we ought to be in school."
"And, just you mind, Tom Woggs," added Ben, "if you get found out
yourself, you mustn't tell of us. If you do, you will be apt to get
a broken head--mind that."
Joe Birch jumped over the wall into the lot, and was followed by
his companions in evil. Tommy did not feel just right; not that he
felt bad because he was doing wrong, but because he was afraid of
the two boys.
When they had crossed the lot, they came to a by-road; and here it
was agreed that Ben should run up to the village and buy something
with the money which Tommy had furnished.
He was gone but a little while; and when he joined them again, they
all hastened across the bridge, and were soon in the woods, where
no one could see them.
"What did you buy with the money?" asked Joe.
"Some cigars. I got six for three cents."
"Cigars!" exclaimed Tommy. "What do you want of cigars?"
"To smoke, of course. What do you think?"
"It will make you sick."
"I guess not. You shall have one, if you like. A feller ain't
nobody if he don't smoke," replied Joe.
But the boys decided not to smoke at first; and seeing there was
plenty of sticks and brush in the woods, Tommy proposed that they
should build a house--just for the fun of it.
"So we will; and when we get it done, we will smoke our cigars in
it, and have a good time," replied Ben.
"That will be first rate," added Joe. "But how are you going to
build it?"
"O, I know how. I have been to New York, and I know all about these
things," said Tommy, beginning now to show his usual vanity.
"I say, Tom, do they make houses out of brush in New York?" asked
Ben.
"No; but then I have been about more than you have, and I ought to
know more, of course. I will be the builder, and you two shall be
my servants."
"Look here, Tom--none of that talk, my boy. We ain't your servants,
any how," said Joe.
"Never mind him, Joe," added Ben. "Let him build the house, if he
can. I wonder what it will look like!"
"Well, you bring me the sticks and brush, and see if I don't build
a good one," replied Tommy.
The two boys agreed to this plan; and in a little while they had a
great pile of sticks and brush, and Tommy began to build the
house. He stuck up two sticks, like the letter V, and then carried
a long pole from the top of them down to the ground. Against the
pole, he set up long sticks; and then told his companions to cover
them over with brush and leaves.
It did not take a very long time to build such a house as this, and
it was soon finished. The boys were much pleased with it, and
seated themselves on the ground, inside of it, for the purpose of
having a good time.
[Illustration: The home in the woods.]
IV.
It was now after eleven o'clock, and it would soon be time for the
truants to return home.
The hut which they had built was not very tight, but it kept the
sun out; and the boys were so well pleased with it that they agreed
to come there again in the afternoon. They wished the forenoon had
been much longer, for their fun came to an end too soon.
"Now, boys, we will have a smoke," said Joe, as they seated
themselves in the house.
"Yes; and we haven't any too much time," replied Ben Tinker, as he
took the cigars from his pocket.
"Have you any matches?"
"To be sure I have. What's the use of cigars without any matches?
Take a cigar, Tom."
Tommy took the cigar, and though he had some doubts about smoking
it, he did not like to be behind his companions in anything. He
thought it would make him sick, as he had known it to do to others.
He did not want to smoke it, but he had not the courage to refuse.
He was proud, and did not want to have the other boys any smarter
than he was. They thought it was manly and big to smoke, for I
don't believe either of them could have liked the fumes of a cigar.
They had not smoked enough for this.
Ben lighted a match, and then his cigar. Joe, as dignified as any
old smoker, took a light from him; and both of them puffed away,
and felt as big as though they were doing some great thing.
"Have a light, Tommy?" asked Ben. "If you are going with us, you
must learn to smoke."
"All the fellers that are anything smoke," added Joe.
"Then I'll smoke," replied Tommy. "I used to see lots of gentlemen
smoking cigars in Broadway, in New York, when I was there."
"Of course you did."
Tommy put the cigar into his mouth; he did not like the taste of
the thing, but he felt that it was a good cause, and he was willing
to be a martyr. Ben lent him his cigar to light it by; and with a
little instruction from his friends, he was soon able to puff away
as smart as any of them.
It was not half so bad as he had feared it would be. It did not
make him sick, at first, and he thought he was one of that kind who
can smoke without learning.
He felt as big as his companions then, for the wrong idea that
smoking was smart had taken full possession of him.
There are some savages who paint their faces--they think it is
smart; we don't think so. Some Indians wear bits of tin fastened to
the ends of their noses--they think it looks pretty; we don't think
so.
It does not follow, therefore, that every thing that looks smart is
so. A little boy, or any boy, with a cigar in his mouth, is a
disgusting sight to sensible people. We never heard of any man who
thought it was smart for boys to smoke, or to make use of tobacco
in any way.
"Now, Tom, tell us something about New York while we are smoking,"
said Ben.
"Well, I will, if you wish me to do so; but I have got almost tired
of talking about New York. Everybody wants to know what I saw
there."
[Illustration: Some Savages who paint their faces.]
"Do they?" laughed Joe.
"Yes; I don't like to say no to them, for I am willing to help
along those who don't know as much as I do."
"Do you mean to say we don't know as much as you do?" demanded Ben,
angrily.
"Well, you haven't been to New York--have you?"
"What if we haven't?"
"Then, of course, you can't know so much as I do. I was there a
week."
"If you say that again, I'll pound you," said Ben, rising.
"There's a stump for you, Tom," added Joe.
Tommy had not a great deal of courage; but, in a little while, Joe
Birch managed to get up a fight between his little companions. He
showed Tommy how to strike; and the two boys went into the matter
like real bruisers.
[Illustration: The fight in the woods.]
Of course, Tommy Woggs got whipped--and it served him just right.
His face was scratched, and one of his eyes was very red. Just then
he thought he should not tell another boy that he did not know as
much as he did.
The quarrel was soon made up; for after Ben Tinker had thrashed the
little boaster he was satisfied, and Tommy did not dare to be
cross. By this time they had to start for home.
Tommy had not got half way to his father's house before he began to
feel dizzy, and to realize a very unpleasant feeling at the
stomach. But he hurried home as fast as he could, which was not
very fast, for he was sick in earnest now.
He staggered into the parlor, where his mother was sewing. He felt
very bad then, and wished, with all his heart, that he had gone to
school, and kept away from the bad boys.
"I feel sick, mother," said Tommy, as he threw himself into a
chair.
"Why, Tommy! You are as pale as a ghost," exclaimed his mother,
looking up from her work. "What ails you?"
"I feel sick at the stomach. I want to go to bed."
Whatever were the doubts Mrs. Woggs had in the morning about her
son's sickness, she had none now. His pale face and blue lips were
evidences of his condition.
Taking him by the hand, she led him upstairs, and put him into bed.
Then she called Dr. Woggs, who was in his library, to come upstairs
and see him.
"Poor boy; he is real sick," said his mother, as the doctor entered
the room. "He is just as pale as death, and could hardly walk
upstairs."
"What ails him?"
"He is sick at the stomach, just as he was this morning. It was too
bad to send him to school when he felt so sick. I knew he was ill
then."
"He wasn't very bad this morning," said the doctor, who did not
know what to make of it.
"He was real sick then, and I knew he was. It was too bad to make
him go to school," added the fond mother.
"But I didn't make him go to school," replied Dr. Woggs. "I was
only going to give him some medicine to make him better."
The cigar had done its work; and it operated upon him just as that
nasty yellow powder would if he had taken it.
"What's this?" said the doctor, after the contents of Tommy's
stomach had been thrown up. "What have you been doing, Tommy?"
"Nothing, father," replied Tommy, faintly.
"You have been smoking. You smell as strong of tobacco smoke as a
bar-room loafer."
"Smoking!" exclaimed Mrs. Woggs, with horror.
"Have you been smoking, Tommy?" asked his father sternly.
The poor sufferer felt so bad, he had no courage to tell a lie, and
he was obliged to own that he had been smoking.
When he felt a little better, his father questioned him so closely,
that in spite of his promise, Tommy had to say he had "hooked jack"
that forenoon, and that he had been in the woods with Joe and Ben,
where each of them had smoked a cigar.
Dr. Woggs went to the school that afternoon, and told Miss Dale
all about it; and then to the parents of Joe and Ben, and told them
all about it. The truants were all punished; and as the
schoolmistress promised to send word to their homes when either of
them was absent again, they had no chance to "hook jack"
afterwards.
Tommy was as well as ever the next day; but that red eye became a
black eye, and the children laughed at him for a week.
He thought how much trouble he had caused himself by being proud
and lazy, and he resolved to be a better boy. He did very well for
some time; he went to school without complaining, and didn't talk
big; but he was not entirely cured.
It often takes a great while to get rid of bad habits; but we
should banish them, even if it takes a whole lifetime to do so.
CARELESS KATE.
[Illustration: She tried to look as if nothing had happened.--Page
83.]
CARELESS KATE.
I.
"Kate!" said Mrs. Lamb to her daughter, who was playing in the
garden, in front of the house.
"What do you want, mother?" replied the little girl, without even
lifting her eyes from the ground, in which she was planting a
marigold.
I don't think any of my young readers regard this as a proper
answer for a little girl to make to her mother; and I hope none of
them ever speak to their parents in this manner.
"Come into the house. I want you," added her mother.
But Kate did not go till she got ready. She was not in the habit of
minding her mother at once, and without asking any improper
questions, as all good children do, or ought to do, at least.
When she stepped out of the bed of flowers, in which she had been
at work, instead of looking to see where she put her feet, she kept
her eyes fixed on the place where she had just planted the
marigold.
"Look before you leap" is a good motto for everybody--for children,
as well as for men and women. If Kate had thought of it, perhaps
she would have saved herself and her mother a great deal of
trouble.
She did not mind where she stepped, and put her foot upon a
beautiful, sweet-scented peony, which had just come out of the
ground. She broke the stem short off, and crushed the root all in
pieces.
Now, this flower was very highly prized by Mrs. Lamb, for she had
brought it from a great distance, and it was the only one of the
kind in Riverdale at that time.
Kate was very fond of flowers herself, and when she saw the
mischief she had done, she cried with anger and vexation. She would
not have spoiled this peony for a great deal, for she had looked
forward with much pleasure to the time when it should bud and
blossom, and fill the garden with its fragrance.
"What is the matter with you, Kate?" called her mother, from the
house, when she heard Kate crying.
"I did not mean to do it, mother," sobbed the poor girl.
"Didn't mean to do what, Kate?" said her mother, rushing into the
garden to find out what mischief had been done.
Mrs. Lamb was very angry when she saw that the peony was spoiled;
and she took Kate by the arm, and shook her. I don't think this
shaking did any good; but it was a great trial to her to see her
favorite flower destroyed.
"You careless girl!" said Mrs. Lamb.
"I didn't mean to, mother," replied Kate.
"But you were careless, as you always are. Will you never learn to
be careful? You walk about the flower beds as though they were
solid rocks."
"I did not mean to tread upon it," was all that poor Kate could
say.
It was very true that she did not mean to spoil the peony; but it
was almost as bad to ruin it by being careless. Children ought to
understand that not meaning to do wrong is not a good excuse, when
the wrong might have been prevented by being careful.
Suppose the captain of a ship should run his vessel on the rocks,
and lose a dozen lives, by being careless; do you think people
would be willing to trust him with another vessel afterwards?
Suppose the engineer should neglect to keep watch of the boiler,
and it should burst; would not people blame him? Would they think
it a good excuse if he said he did not mean to let it burst?
If the man who has the keeping of a powder house should smoke a
pipe in it, and twenty persons should be killed by his carelessness,
do you think it would be enough for him to say he did not intend
to kill them?
When we go on the water in a sailing vessel or a steamer; when we
ride on a railroad, in a stage, or wagon, our lives depend on the
carefulness with which the vessel, railroad, or carriage is
managed. People don't excuse them, when lives are lost, because
they did not mean to kill anybody.
You are liable to lose your life every day by the carelessness of
some one. The house in which you are to sleep on a cold winter's
night may be burned down by the neglect of those who take care of
the fires.
The careless use of a lamp might destroy many lives and much
property. If you play with fire, though you do not mean any harm,
you may burn the house in which you live, and perhaps destroy the
lives of your friends.
A little carelessness may produce dreadful results. The want of
thought for a few moments may do more mischief than you can repair
in a whole lifetime.
Kate Lamb was not a bad girl at heart. She loved her parents and
her friends as much as any little girl; but she often gave them a
great deal of trouble and sadness by her carelessness.
She was so thoughtless that she had come to be called "Careless
Kate." It was a bad fault; and it sometimes led her to commit
worse ones, as my story will show.
"Now, Kate, come into the house; and next time, when I call, come
at once," said her mother. "If you had minded me, perhaps my flower
would not have been spoiled."
"I will be more careful next time, mother," replied Kate.
"I hope you will. I think you have done sufficient mischief by
being careless, and I hope you will soon begin to do better."
"I will try, mother."
Very likely she meant to try, just then, while she was smarting
under her mother's rebuke, and while she was still sad at the loss
of the flower; but she had promised to do better so many times,
that her mother could hardly believe her again.
"I want you to carry this quart of milk down in the meadow to poor
Mrs. O'Brien," said Mrs. Lamb, as she handed her a tin kettle.
"And you must go quick, for it is almost dark now."
"It won't take me long, mother."
"But you must be very careful, and not spill any of the milk."
"I will be very careful."
"Mrs. O'Brien is sick, and has two small children. This milk is for
their supper."
"That is the woman whose husband was killed on the railroad last
summer--isn't it, mother?"
"Yes; and she is very poor. She is sick now, and not able to work.
The neighbors have all sent milk to her for her children, and a
great many other things. Now go just as fast as you can, but be
very careful and not spill the milk."
[Illustration: Mrs. O'Brien and her child.]
II.
Kate put on her bonnet, and taking the pail of milk, hastened
towards the house of the poor sick woman. But she had gone but a
little way when she met Fanny Flynn, who was an idle girl, and very
fond of mischief.
"Where are you going, Kate?" asked Fanny.
"I am going down to Mrs. O'Brien's with some milk."
"Give me a drink--will you?"
"I can't; it is for the poor widow's children. I suppose they won't
have any supper till they get this milk."
"Yes, they will. I won't drink but a little of it."
"No, I can't give you any. It would not be right for me to do so."
"Pooh! You needn't pretend to be so good all at once. You are no
better than I am."
"I didn't say I was. Only I shall not give you any of this milk,
when it is for the poor woman's children; so you needn't ask me,"
replied Kate, with a great deal of spirit.
Some people think, when they do anything that is right, they ought
to make a great parade over it; but this only shows that they are
not much in the habit of doing right, and they wish to get all the
credit they can for it.
It was so with Kate. She ought to have been content with merely
doing her duty, without "talking large" about it. Fanny felt that
she was just as good as Kate, and she was angry when the latter
made a needless show of her intention to do what she believed to be
right.
[Illustration: Fanny and Kate.]
"I don't want it," said Fanny.
"What did you ask me for it for, then? You wanted to make me do
something that was wrong."
"You are not always so nice," sneered Fanny.
"I don't mean to do wrong, anyhow, as some folks do."
"Do you mean me?"
"No matter whom I mean."
Fanny was so angry that she walked up to Kate and pulled her
"shaker" down over her face. She also used some naughty words when
she did so, which I will not repeat.
Kate, in her turn, was very angry with the saucy girl, and wanted
to "pay" her for what she had done. But Fanny did not wait for any
reply, and ran away just as fast as she could.
It would have been much better for Kate if she had let her go; but
she was so angry she could not do this; she wanted to strike back
again. Without thinking of the milk in the pail, she started to run
after the naughty girl.
For a few moments she ran with all her might, and had nearly caught
Fanny, when a stone tripped her up, and she fell upon the ground.
Then she thought of the milk, and tried to save it; but the cover
of the kettle came off, and it was all spilled on the ground.
The fall did not hurt her, but the laugh with which her misfortune
was greeted by Fanny roused a very wicked spirit in her heart, and
dropping the pail, which she had picked up, she pursued her.
But the naughty girl had the start of her, and though she followed
her a good way she could not overtake her. Then she stopped in the
path, and cried with anger and vexation. The thought of the milk
which had been spilled, was, after all, the worst part of the
affair.
Walking back to the place where the accident had happened, she
picked up the pail again, and began to think what she should do. It
was of no use now for her to go to Mrs. O'Brien's. She had no milk
for the children's supper.
What would her mother say to her if she should return home and tell
her she had spilled all the milk? She had told her to be careful,
and she felt that she had been very careless.
It was not necessary that she should chase the naughty girl,
whatever she said; and she could not help seeing that she had been
very careless. While she was thinking about it, Ben Tinker came
along. He lived in the next house to Mr. Lamb, and the children
were well acquainted with each other.
"What is the matter with you, Kate?" asked Ben, when he saw that
her eyes were red, and her face was wet with tears.
"I have just spilled a pailful of milk on the ground," sobbed Kate.
"O, well, it's no use to cry for spilled milk," laughed Ben.
"I was carrying it to Mrs. O'Brien."
"No matter; she will get along very well without it."
"That ugly Fanny Flynn struck me on the head, and that's what made
me spill the milk."
"Didn't you hit her back?"
"I couldn't catch her; she ran away. I was chasing her when I fell
down and spilled the milk."
"You can catch her some time; when you do, give it to her."
But Kate had got over her anger, and heartily wished she had not
attempted to catch Fanny. Besides, she very well knew that Ben was
giving her bad advice.
That passage from the New Testament, "If any man smite thee on the
one cheek, turn to him the other also," came to her mind, and she
felt how wicked it was to harbor a desire for revenge.
The loss of the milk, and what would follow when she went home,
gave her more trouble than the injury she had received from the
naughty girl.
"I don't know what I shall do," said she, beginning to cry again,
as she thought of her mother.
"Do? you can't do anything--can you? The milk is gone, and all you
have to do is to go home," replied Ben.
"What will my mother say?"
"No matter what she says, if she don't whip you or send you to bed
without your supper."
"She won't whip me, and I have been to supper."
"Then what are you crying about?"
"Mother says I am very careless; and I know I am," whined Kate.
"Don't be a baby, Kate."
"I spoiled a flower this afternoon, and mother scolded me and shook
me for it. She told me to be very careful with this milk, and now I
have spilled the whole of it."
"Well, if you feel so bad, why need you tell her anything about
it?"
"About what?" asked Kate, looking up into his face, for she did not
quite understand him.
"You needn't tell her you spilled the milk. She will never find it
out."
"But she will ask me."
"What if she does? Can't you tell her you gave the milk to the old
woman, and that she was very much obliged to her for sending it?"
"I can do that," said Kate.
She did not like the plan, but it seemed to her just then that
anything would be better than telling her mother that she had
spilled the milk; and, wicked as it was, she resolved to do it.
[Illustration: Crying for spilled milk.]
III.
Kate did not think of the poor woman and her hungry children when
she made up her mind to tell her mother such a monstrous lie.
She did not think how very wicked it was to deceive her mother,
just to escape, perhaps, a severe rebuke for her carelessness.
She felt all the time that she was doing wrong, but she tried so
hard to cover it up, that her conscience was not permitted to do
its whole duty.
When we are tempted to do wrong, something within us tells us not
to do it; but we often struggle to get rid of this feeling, and if
we succeed the first time, it is easier the next time. And the more
we do wrong, the easier it becomes to put down the little voice
within us.
It was so with Kate. She had told falsehoods before, or it would
not have been so easy for her to do it this time. If we do not take
care of our consciences, as we do of our caps and bonnets, they are
soon spoiled.
Did you ever notice that one of the wheels on your little wagon,
when it becomes loose, soon wears out? The more it sags over on one
side, the weaker it grows. While the wheel stands up straight, it
does not seem to wear out at all.
It is just so with your conscience--your power to tell right from
wrong. While you keep it up straight, it works well, and never
wears out. But when it gets a little out of order, it grows worse
very fast, and is not of much more value than a lighthouse without
any light in it.
Kate's conscience had begun to sag over on one side. It was growing
weak, and did not remind her of her wrong deeds with force enough
to make itself heeded. If she could only escape the reproof of her
mother, she did not care.
Thus moved by the wicked counsel of Ben Tinker, she hastened home.
She tried to look as if nothing had happened, but her eyes were
still very red from crying; and her mother wanted to know what had
made her cry.
"Fanny Flynn struck me, and pulled my 'shaker' over my face,"
replied Kate.
"What did she do that for?"
"She asked me to give her a drink of the milk, and because I
wouldn't, she struck me," answered Kate, placing her pail upon the
kitchen table.
"She is a naughty girl, and I will go and see her mother about it.
What did she say to you?"
"She asked me for a drink of the milk."
"What did you answer?"
"I told her it was for Mrs. O'Brien's children, and that it
wouldn't be right for me to give it to her, and I would not."
"Well, I will see to that. I think it is a pity if I can't send one
of my children out on an errand of charity without her being
treated in this manner. She shall suffer for it."
"She is a naughty girl, mother; and I never mean to speak to her
again as long as I live," said Kate, with much apparent
earnestness.
"You did right not to give her any of the milk, and I am glad you
did not. I am happy that my daughter has been brave enough to do
right, and even to suffer for doing it. You are a good girl,
Kate."
"I meant to be, mother."
"What did Mrs. O'Brien say when you gave her the milk?" continued
Mrs. Lamb.
"She said she was much obliged to you," replied Kate, not daring to
look her mother in the face.
"Did you see the children?"
"Yes, mother."
Mrs. Lamb was going to ask more questions about the family, but
something called her attention away, and Kate was saved from
telling more falsehoods.
She took a book and tried to read, but she could not, for she did
not feel like a good girl. The little voice within told her how
wicked she had been, and she began to wish that she had not
deceived her mother.
While she sat with the book in her hand, her father came home; and
her mother told him what Fanny Flynn had done. He was very angry
when he had heard the story, and asked Kate a great many questions
about the affair.
"You did well, Kate, and I am glad you were so brave and so smart,"
said Mr. Lamb.
"Of course I could not give her any of the milk when it was for the
poor widow's hungry children."
"You did right, Kate," repeated her father. "The poor children
might have had to go to bed hungry if you had given up the milk to
that bad girl."
"I know it, father."
"Only think what a sad thing it would have been if the poor little
ones had been sent hungry and crying to bed. That Fanny Flynn must
be taken care of. When little girls get to be so bold as that, it
is high time something was done."
"I think so, too, father."
"It is time for you to go to bed now, Kate," said her mother.
"I am ready, mother, for I am tired as I can be."
Kate was glad to get away from her father and mother, for while
they were praising her for her good conduct, she knew very well
that she did not deserve it.
What would her parents think if they knew that she had spilled all
the milk on the ground? What would they say to her if they found
out that she had told them so many lies?
The more she thought of her conduct, the more she felt that she had
done wrong. She now saw that, if she had returned home and told her
mother the truth, she would have excused the fault, and sent
another pail of milk to the poor sick woman's hungry children.
She wished she had done so, for it would have been a great deal
better to be scolded for her carelessness than to feel as guilty
as she now felt. She was sure that it was far better to suffer a
great deal than to do even a little wrong.
She was not satisfied either that her mother would have scolded
her, if she had stated the whole truth to her--that Fanny Flynn had
made her spill the milk.
She went to bed; but when her mother bade her good night, and took
the lamp in her hand, she begged her to leave it, for she did not
like to be alone in the dark.
It seemed just as though a wicked spirit was tormenting her; and
though she was in the habit of going to sleep without a light, the
darkness was terrible to her at this time. She did not even wish to
be left alone, but she dared not ask her mother to stay with her.
When Mrs. Lamb had gone out, Kate covered her face wholly under the
bedclothes, and shut her eyes as close as she could, trying in
this manner to go to sleep. But her guilty conscience gave her no
rest.
[Illustration]
Then she opened her eyes, and looked around the room; but
everything in the chamber seemed to mock and reproach her. Again
and again she shut her eyes, and tried to sleep.
The little voice within would speak now, in the silence of her
chamber. She had never felt so bad before; perhaps because she had
never been so wicked before. Do you want to know why she suffered
so much? It was because she could not keep from her mind those
hungry, crying children.
[Illustration: Kate tells the whole story.]
IV.
Poor Kate! She had certainly never been so wicked in her life
before. The words of her father still lingered in her ears, and she
could almost hear the moans of those hungry, crying children.
She had never been sent to bed in her life without her supper, and
it looked like a dreadful thing to her--perhaps even more dreadful
than it really was.
If there had been nothing but the falsehoods she had told, she
might have gone to sleep; but it was sad to think that she had
deprived the poor children of their supper, and sent them hungry to
bed. This seemed to be the most wicked part of her conduct.
I do not know how many times she turned over in the bed, nor how
many times she pulled the clothes over her eyes to shut out the sad
picture of those hungry and crying children that would come up
before her, in spite of all she could do to prevent it.
She tried to think of other things--of the scene with Fanny; of her
school; of a picnic party she had attended on the first of May; of
almost everything, indeed; but it did no good. The poor children
could not be banished from her mind.
Kate had been sick with the measles, with the scarlet fever, and
the mumps; and she remembered how bad she felt at these times; but
it seemed to her now that she would rather have all these diseases
at once than suffer from a guilty conscience.
When she was sick, her mother bent over her and pitied her, and did
all she could to ease her pain; and even when she was burning with
fever, and racked with pain, she felt happier than she did now.
She could not inform her mother how bad she felt, for that would
expose her guilt. She heard the clock strike nine, and every moment
appeared to her like an hour. Those poor little children constantly
haunted her; whether her eyes were open or shut, still she saw them
crying, and heard them moaning, and begging their sick mother to
give them some supper.
O, Kate! how severely was she punished for the sin she had
committed! Her mother and her father had praised her, but still she
was unhappy.
Slowly, very slowly, the time passed away and she heard the clock
strike ten. She could endure her sufferings no longer; and she
burst into tears, sobbing and moaning as if her heart would break.
For some time she cried; but as her distress increased, she sobbed
and moaned so loud that her father and mother, who were in the
adjoining room, heard her, and hastened into the room to find out
what ailed her.
"What is the matter, my child?" anxiously asked her mother.
"Haven't you been asleep since you went to bed?"
"No mother," sobbed Kate.
"What ails you? Are you sick?"
"No, mother."
"What are you crying for, then?"
"O mother!"
"Why, what ails you, child? Have you been frightened?"
"No, mother."
"Tell us what ails you, Kate," added her father.
Both of her parents were greatly alarmed about her, for they loved
their little girl very much; and they knew that something must ail
her, or she would not have lain awake so long, or have cried so
bitterly.
"Can't you tell us what ails you, Kate?" inquired her mother, very
tenderly.
"I have been very naughty, mother," replied Kate, almost choking
with emotion.
"Naughty, child?"
"Yes, mother."
"I thought you had been very good," added Mr. Lamb.
"No, I have not; I have been very wicked, and you will never
forgive me."
"Why, what have you done, Kate? How strange you act, my child!"
"I can't help it, mother. If you will forgive me this time, I will
never be so wicked again while I live."
"Tell us all about it, Kate, and we will forgive you," said her
father, very kindly.
The poor girl sobbed so that she could not speak for some time, for
the tenderness of her parents made her feel a great deal worse
than if they had scolded her severely.
"What have you done, Kate?" repeated Mrs. Lamb.
"I didn't carry the milk to Mrs. O'Brien, mother," gasped the poor
penitent, as she uncovered her eyes, and looked up in the face of
her parents to notice the effect of her confession upon them.
"Didn't carry it to her?" was the exclamation of her father and
mother at the same time.
"No; I spilled it on the ground."
"Why, Kate! what did you do that for?"