"Please, mother, do sit down and let me try my hand," said Fred
Liscom, a bright active boy, twelve years old. Mrs. Liscom,
looking pale and worn, was moving languidly about, trying to
clear away the breakfast she had scarcely tasted.
She smiled, and said, "You, Fred, you wash dishes?" "Yes, indeed,
mother," answered Fred; "I should be a poor scholar if I
couldn't, when I've seen you do it so many times. Just try me."
A look of relief came over his mother's face as she seated
herself in her low rocking-chair. Fred washed the dishes and put
them in the closet. He swept the kitchen, brought up the potatoes
from the cellar for the dinner and washed them, and then set out
for school.
Fred's father was away from home, and as there was some cold meat
in the pantry, Mrs. Liscom found it an easy task to prepare
dinner. Fred hurried home from school, set the table, and again
washed the dishes.
He kept on in this way for two or three days, till his mother was
able to resume her usual work, and he felt amply rewarded when
the doctor, who happened in one day, said, "Well, madam, it's my
opinion that you would have been very sick if you had not kept
quiet."
The doctor did not know how the "quiet" had been secured, nor how
the boy's heart bounded at his words. Fred had given up a great
deal of what boys hold dear, for the purpose of helping his
mother, coasting and skating being just at this time in
perfection.
Besides this, his temper and his patience had been severely.
tried. He had been in the habit of going early to school, and
staying to play after it was dismissed.
The boys missed him, and their curiosity was excited when he
would give no other reason for not coming to school earlier, or
staying after school, than that he was "wanted at home."
"I'll tell you," said Tom Barton, "I'll find him out, boys--see
if I don't!"
So, one morning on his way to school, he called for Fred. As he
went around to the side door he walked lightly. and somewhat
nearer the kitchen window than was absolutely needful. Looking
in, he saw Fred standing at the table with a dishcloth in his
hand.
Of course he reported this at school, and various were the
greetings poor Fred received at recess. "Well, you're a brave one
to stay at home washing dishes!" "Girl boy!" "Pretty Bessie!"
"Lost your apron, haven't you, Polly!"
Fred was not wanting either in spirit or in courage, and he was
strongly tempted to resent these insults, and to fight some of
his tormentors. But his consciousness of right and his love for
his mother helped him.
While he was struggling for self mastery, his teacher appeared at
the door of the schoolhouse. Fred caught his eye, and it seemed
to look, if it did not say, "Don't give up! Be really brave!" He
knew the teacher had heard the insulting taunts of his
thoughtless schoolmates.
The boys received notice during the day that Fred must not be
taunted or teased in any manner. They knew that the teacher meant
what he said; and so the brave little boy had no further trouble.