A QUEER LITTLE STOREKEEPER.
“Please may I have another piece of plum-cake?” asked Ray.
“No, dear,” answered Aunt Polly. “I am afraid you have had more than is
good for you already.”
“Just one little, teeney, weeney piece,” pleaded Ray.
“No, dear, not any more to-day.”
When Aunt Polly said these last words in her firm, pleasant voice,
Ray’s sunny face clouded. I am sorry to say that he pouted and did not
look at all like the kind of boy he really was.
You must know that he was visiting dear Aunt Polly again, and he was
very fond of her delicious plum-cake. But like many other little boys
and a great many big ones he wanted more than was good for him, and
Aunt Polly gently and wisely refused. I would not like to tell you how
he hung his head, thrust his hands into his pocket and scuffled out of
the room, because I do not like to draw disagreeable pictures. And yet,
that is just what he did, and muttered to himself as he went, “stingy.”
Aunt Polly heard him, and looked very much hurt, but Ray did not seem
to mind. He walked out of the house, into the beautiful June sunlight
and wandered off, all by himself.
He had walked quite a distance before he decided to sit on the warm
grass and rest a minute.
“When I’m a man, I’ll have all the plum-cake I want,” said Ray to
himself, “and I shan’t be stingy like Aunt Polly.”
“Poor Aunt Polly!” whispered a wee voice in Ray’s ear.
Ray jumped to his feet to see who had spoken, but he could not see
anybody.
“Who said ‘poor Aunt Polly’?” asked Ray, looking all around him. No one
answered, so he sat on the grass again.
“Dear, good, kind Aunt Polly,” whispered the wee voice again. Once more
Ray jumped to his feet but could not see the least sign of anybody.
All at once, as he looked around, he realized that he was in a strange
place. He had wandered into Aunt Polly’s old-fashioned garden with its
wealth of roses and its quaint beds of four-o’clocks and mignonette.
At least Ray supposed he was in her garden, but, as his eyes rested on
the strange sight before him, he said to himself, “Surely this is not
Aunt Polly’s beautiful garden.”
It looked dark and gloomy, and strangest of all, the flowers were all a
peculiar shade of blue.
Ray walked to some rosebushes, and could scarcely believe his eyes,
when he discovered great, blue roses.
“Who ever heard of a blue rose?” said Ray, stooping to smell of one.
There was not the least odor, and the little boy was disappointed.
“Old, blue roses,” muttered Ray. “I’d rather have red roses that scent
the whole garden with their perfume.”
He tried some of the other flowers, and found the same story to be told
of them. They were blue in color, and had not the slightest odor.
Ray walked all over the garden. He was getting very tired of the same
blue shade to everything, when he happened to spy a narrow staircase,
near the garden wall.
It led downward and Ray, without thinking, walked down the tiny stairs.
At the very end of the staircase he came to a small, iron door, which,
like everything else, had a bluish tinge.
Ray opened the door and walked into a room that was fitted up with
shelves and a grand show-case. It looked very much like a store.
In the center of the room sat a little old man, dressed in blue, with a
queer, blue cap on the top of his head.
“Well, my boy, what can I do for you to-day,” asked the little blue
man, jumping to his feet and making a low bow to Ray.
“Nothing, thank you,” said Ray, looking curiously around.
“Then you don’t care to buy,” said the little blue man, and it seemed
to Ray that his whole appearance became a deeper blue, and he seemed
disappointed.
“What have you to sell?” asked Ray.
“Manners,” answered the little man quickly.
“Manners!” repeated Ray, “how funny, I didn’t know that manners were
for sale.”
“O yes, they are,” was the answer; “and some are very cheap indeed.”
“How much?” asked Ray, wondering.
“I have heard,” said the little blue man, “of people selling their
manners for a piece of plum-cake.”
Ray was very quiet for several minutes, when he heard this. Suddenly
he said, “Are the manners that you have to sell in those boxes?” (Ray
pointed to the show-case, where several gaudy boxes stood in a row.)
“Yes,” replied the little storekeeper, “that is where I keep some of
them.”
“And when people buy them, what do they do with them,” asked the boy.
“Well, my boy, they take them out of the boxes and put them on, very
much as they do their clothes. These manners are very cheap, they are
not the best kind, of course.”
“Where do you keep the best kind?” asked the child.
The little blue man’s face brightened. He walked behind the show-case
and disappeared for a minute.
He returned with a very tiny box of no particular color. It was a sort
of brownish green, but the shade was so quiet and restful to the eyes
that one liked to look at it.
He held it before Ray and raised the lid. It was only for a second, but
there was something so bright and beautiful in the tiny box that Ray’s
eyes sparkled and he cried:
“O let me have this box--I’d like to buy these manners!”
The little blue man smiled and said:
“But this box contains good manners, and they are not for sale.”
Ray felt terribly disappointed. There was something so pleasing and
altogether delightful about the little box that he wanted it very much.
“Are you quite sure that you don’t want any of these other boxes?”
asked the little storekeeper.
“No, thank you,” replied Ray. “I don’t care for them, after seeing
this little box of good manners.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say so,” said the blue man, “because I don’t
get any profit from these boxes, and still I sell more of them in one
week than I do of the other kind in a month.”
“I’d like to have the box of good manners,” said Ray, “but if it is not
for sale I don’t see how I can get it.”
“I’ll tell you,” said the little man; “you can earn it. It is a fairy
box, and can do the most wonderful things. I have known this little box
to get into a boy’s pocket and thence into his very skin. It settles up
near his heart in some good place and there it remains, bringing him
all sorts of good fortune.”
Ray looked eagerly at the little box.
“Listen,” continued the little storekeeper, “and I’ll tell you a true
story about this wonderful little box.”--
Once there was a little, ragged boy named Hans, so poor that his good
mother could not afford to buy him shoes. All day long he trudged,
weary and footsore, from door to door to sell mats that he braided from
straw.
Sometimes people were kind and smiled at his bright little face, even
though they could not buy the mats.
A smile made Hans happy for a whole day. Sometimes people did not buy,
but they gave him a nice bowl of milk and a piece of bread.
This made Hans happy for two whole days. And sometimes people bought
his mats and praised them as they put a piece of money in his honest
brown hands.
This made Hans so very happy that he forgot about his poverty and his
sore, bare feet, and he would run all the way home to give the money to
his mother.
But one weary day, Hans wandered into a strange village to sell his
mats, where the people were so poor that they could not afford a
smile; so selfish that they would not give a hungry boy a drink of
milk, and so mean that they would not look at his mats, although they
were rich and lived in grand houses.
Poor little Hans turned homeward after a day of disappointments. He did
not feel at all happy, and his poor, bare feet were very sore.
Just outside the village he met an old man carrying a heavy basket, who
was so feeble that he had to stop every now and then to rest.
When Hans saw the old man he forgot all about himself and his sore bare
feet.
“Let me help you, sir,” said Hans, and the old man was very thankful.
Hans carried the basket for the feeble man until they reached a great
castle.
The old man stopped at its gate and said:
“Thank you, boy, and here is a piece of gold for your trouble.”
Hans touched his faded cap and thanked the old man. Full of joy, he put
the piece of gold in his pocket. It was more than he could earn in a
whole year selling his mats.
“You see Hans had the little box of good manners very near his heart,
and it brought him good fortune.
“Here is another story of the wonderful little box.”--
Once upon a time in a magnificent castle lived a princess. She was
so beautiful that many kings and rich lords had sought her hand in
marriage, but she had refused them all.
One day the Princess had a grand birthday party, and everybody, rich
and poor, was invited. Many kings and rich lords came to do honor to
the beautiful Princess.
There was beautiful music in the castle garden, and after a while the
people took hands and began a merry dance.
The beautiful Princess, surrounded by lords and ladies, looked on, much
pleased, while the good people enjoyed themselves.
All at once an old woman, who had been standing alone, watching the
dancers, loosened the red handkerchief that she wore on her head. In an
instant the wind blew it off and wafted it about till it fell at the
very feet of the Princess.
Many lords and ladies had seen the old handkerchief, but not one of
them attempted to pick it up. The beautiful Princess was just going
to reach for it herself, when a certain great king saw the action and
tossed the old woman’s handkerchief aside with his foot.
Just then a young man emerged from the crowd, and going straight to the
place where the red handkerchief was hidden, said:
“Pardon me, Princess,” as he brushed aside her skirt. Taking up the
old woman’s handkerchief as carefully as if it were made of the finest
silk, he carried it to the owner. Bowing before the old woman, he said
gently: “Allow me, madame, it is yours, I think.”
Many who had laughed in scorn at the poor woman’s loss now looked on in
amazement.
When she thanked the young man, he bowed as politely as if it were the
Princess, instead of a poor old woman.
The Princess (whose face flushed with pleasure when she saw the kindly
act), inquired the name of the gallant young man.
“He has traveled from a distant country and is called the Prince of the
Golden Heart,” said one.
“He is Prince of my heart,” said the Princess, and they were both happy
ever after.
“The Prince, my boy, was a true gentleman, and he carried the magic box
of good manners inside his skin.”
“O please tell me how I can earn it,” cried Ray, when the little blue
man had finished.
“Well, let me think a minute,” said the little man.
“By the way, have you said or done anything to-day to hurt anybody’s
feelings?”
Ray’s conscience began to pinch a little as he answered: “I’m afraid I
was very rude to Aunt Polly. I wanted another piece of plum-cake, and
when she refused I scuffled my feet and said ‘stingy.’”
“Dear, good, kind Aunt Polly,” said the little man in a wee voice, and
then Ray knew who had whispered in his ear in the blue garden.
“Do you like blue roses?” asked the storekeeper.
“No, sir, I do not care for them,” replied Ray.
“Why?” asked the blue man.
“In the first place,” said Ray, “because they have no sweet perfume.”
“Ah!” said the little man, “that is also true of little children, who
are rude and sell their good manners. They are like blue roses and have
no perfume.”
“Now, Ray,” continued the queer little storekeeper, “who is it that
always has a pleasant smile and a kind word for everybody?”
“Aunt Polly,” said Ray.
“Who is it that knits nice, warm mittens for a little boy called Ray.”
“Aunt Polly,” was the answer.
“Who is it makes the nicest plum-cake in the world and always gives
some to a little boy called Ray.”
“Aunt Polly,” cried the boy.
“Who is it tells such delightful stories and has a heart so big that
there is a little corner in it for every child in the wide world?”
“My Aunt Polly,” shouted Ray, jumping to his feet, “and I’m going to
tell her how rude I’ve been and how sorry I am for behaving badly to
the best auntie in the world.”
He started to run, but the little blue man cried out, “Wait a minute.”
The queer little storekeeper put the charming little box inside Ray’s
pocket, who never stopped running until he reached Aunt Polly’s
sitting-room.
He knocked gently and her cheery voice said, “Come in.”
Like a little gentleman Ray walked over to Aunt Polly and said: “I’m
sorry, auntie, for having had such bad manners this morning. Will you
forgive me for being so impolite?”
“Yes, dear,” said Aunt Polly with a kiss. And just then Ray felt so
happy that he knew the little box had settled close to his heart.