THE PRESENT.
Arthur left home early Monday morning. It was a cold, dreary day
without, and a dreary one within to Mrs. Hamilton. She had no unoccupied
moments in which to sit down, and pore over her troubles; but amid all
her cares and labors, the pleading, sorrowful face of her boy would rise
before her, like an accusing angel. She feared she had shown him too
little sympathy in his sufferings, and had too much repressed the
manifestation of his feelings. She seemed to herself, as her
imagination followed her weeping boy, a cruel, heartless mother; and
again only in prayer could she find relief and peace, and even then, a
weight still rested upon her spirits.
A few days after Arthur's departure, an idea occurred to Mrs. Hamilton
which she was sure would give him pleasure. This was to send him Rover,
to keep as his own. But would the children be willing to part with their
pet and playfellow? And if they were, would Mr. Martin give his consent?
That very evening she proposed it to the children, and she was pleased
to find how willing they were to make some sacrifice for their little
brother's sake. Even Emma, who loved so dearly to play with him, and
ride on the sled after him, seemed ready to part with him when she found
it would make Arthur happy. Yet it was with a mournful voice, she told
him, as she patted him and stroked his long ears,
"You must be a good doggie, Rover, and make my brother Arthur happy. He
be good brother, and you must be good doggie too. Won't you, Rover, good
fellow?"
Mrs. Hamilton wrote to Mr. Martin stating Arthur's fondness for the dog,
and that if he had no objections, they should like to give him to Arthur
for his own; but added, that she did not wish to do so unless perfectly
agreeable to him. She was quite surprised to see Mr. Martin coming in at
the door on the second morning after the letter was sent. He said he had
come within three miles on business, and thought he would just ride
round, and take the dog.
"I fear you may find him troublesome, sir," said Mrs. H., "for my
children have allowed him to take great liberties with them."
"Not a bit! Not a bit!" said the old gentleman; "to be sure my wife
don't take to dogs overmuch, but you see, the boy is a little home-sick,
and we want him to feel more contented, if we can; so I was very glad to
take the dog. He is a noble fellow, on my word. How old is he?"
"Two next Spring," said Mrs. H., "and he is a very kind, faithful
creature, I assure you. We all love him very much."
Emma and Charlie, who had just comprehended that the stranger-gentleman
was going to take away the dog, began to look very grave indeed. Emma
was no martyr, to suffer calmly for conscience' sake, much less little
white-headed Charlie, who obstinately asserted with a most heroic air,
that "nobody should tarry off _his_ doggie."
"But your dear brother Arthur is all alone, and he cries at night when
he goes to bed, because he has no brother nor sister there, not even a
pussie or a dog. He won't cry if Rover is with him. Don't you want Rover
to go?"
"Esmaam I do; but I want Rover to stay here with me too."
"But he can't make Arthur happy then. Arthur, poor, dear Arthur, will
have nobody to comfort him."
"Rover _must_ go," said Emma, sorrowfully; "but I wish there were
two Rovers, one for Arthur, and one for me."
It was a pretty sight to see these children put their fat, little arms
round Rover's neck, and hug him over and over again, and kiss his rough
face with their rosy mouths, and let their sunny curls lie among his
shaggy locks. Great tears rolled down Emma's cheeks as the dog went out
of the door; but though Emma was no martyr, she was a warm-hearted,
generous little girl, and she did not want to keep the dog away from
Arthur, though so sorry to part with it.
"We have got you and I, and two kitties, haven't we Charlie," said she,
"and sister Mary and brother John."
"And your mother beside, who I hope is worth counting," said Mrs.
Hamilton. "You can spare Rover very well, I think."
After Arthur left home on that dark, cheerless Monday morning, he felt
very sorry indeed that he had made any complaint to his mother; for he
knew that by doing so, he had given her trouble, instead of being a
comfort and help to her, in the midst of her sorrows. Besides, he had
broken his resolution; for he had most firmly resolved not to complain;
he had yielded to the strong impulse of the moment, and now he was
afraid he never should gain self-control. But there was nothing to be
done, but to make stronger efforts to be contented and useful in his new
home. He humbly asked God to enable him to do better, and to pardon the
weakness of the past.
Whenever a little boy desires with his whole soul to do right, and prays
to God for strength, he will certainly find he can, however difficult it
may seem at first. God, our kind heavenly Father, has promised to give
us his Holy Spirit if we ask Him for it in sincerity; and however young
you are, or weak, or ignorant; however far away from earthly friends, or
human sympathy, He will hear the softest word you utter, the faintest
breathing of a silent prayer, and will come into your soul and bless it.
That glorious spirit is infinite. It gives life to the archangel hosts;
it blesses the weakest, and lowliest child.
Arthur found that by making a great effort, a _very_ great one, he
could restrain his tears and turn his thoughts away from his own
troubles, and indeed from himself entirely. He had a few books, and he
became fond of reading them. Sometimes Mrs. Martin would ask him to read
aloud, and though she seldom wished to hear any thing but newspapers,
that was a diversion of his thoughts. Arthur had a clear, pleasant
voice, and read very well for a child of his age; and every time he read
aloud, he was improving himself in this part of education. Another
pleasant change was, going to school. Arthur had dreaded this very much,
because all the scholars would be strangers to him, and he had never
been to school without older brothers and sisters with him. Being so shy
and timid, he did not form acquaintances so readily as some boys; but in
two or three weeks, he had become quite friendly with some, particularly
Theodore Roberts. Theodore was two years older than Arthur, but recited
in the same classes. He passed Mr. Martin's on his way to school, and
usually called for Arthur. They walked about half a mile, partly through
a wood, to reach the school-house; a little brown building, with only
one room in it. Theodore was a bold, generous-hearted boy, and his
influence over Arthur was very good; while Arthur's gentler nature and
more refined manners were of service to Theodore, who was not very
particular about little things.
One night, as Theodore and Arthur were coming home from school, they
stopped to look at a squirrel's nest in a hollow tree, just in the wood.
A pretty striped squirrel was running up and down a tree at a little
distance, whisking his bushy tail, and watching them with his large,
bright eyes. They found a large store of nuts in the hollow tree, and
Theodore proposed they should take them out.
"Oh no, no!" said Arthur, "would you have the poor squirrel starve?"
"Oh, he'll find enough to eat, never fear," said Theodore, "a squirrel
is too cunning to starve."
"But it isn't right to take them, Theodore. Just think how many hours
the little fellow worked, and how hard he tugged to get them all in
here, and they are _his_ now, I'm sure; he has a good right to
them, and I wouldn't any sooner rob him of his nuts, than I would a man
of his money!"
"La, what a fuss you make about it;" said Theodore with a loud laugh,
"but since you feel so bad, I'll let his squirrelship alone, this time."
"Thank you," said Arthur, "and now, Theodore, I must say if you had done
it, I wouldn't have liked to play with you so well as I did before, for
I should think you were a cruel boy, and I couldn't love you."
"You are a curious fellow," said Theodore, with another loud laugh. Such
lessons were not lost on Theodore, for though he had had very little
instruction in morals or manners, he had a heart in the right place
under his rough outside.
"We'll begin our stone house to-night, if you'll come in, Theodore,"
said Arthur, as they reached Mr. Martin's gate.
"No, I can't stop to-night. Sister Susan is coming to see us, and I want
to get home early."
This made Arthur think of _his_ sisters, and it was with rather a
heavy heart he entered the yard. Mr. Martin stood near the door, and as
Arthur passed him, he said,
"I have got a present in the house for you!"
"A present for _me_, sir!" said Arthur,
"Yes, for you; and something you'll like too, I guess. What do you think
it is?" Rover, who knew the sound of Arthur's voice began to bark
loudly, and in a moment the door was opened, and he was in Arthur's
arms. Never was there a more joyful meeting between old friends. Arthur
was so excited that he laughed and cried at once, and said all kinds of
wild things to Rover, who in his turn, kept caressing his young master,
and telling him in his way, how glad he was to see him again. And indeed
the poor dumb animal seemed to express as much affection and delight, as
if he had had a tongue to say in words, how much he loved him.
"How do you like your present, my boy?" said Mr. Martin.
Arthur could hardly speak for emotion, but in a moment he replied, "Very
much, indeed, sir, and you are very good to get him for me. But may he
stay here with me?"
"Yes, he is your dog now, Arthur; they have given him to you at home;
they seem to set a great deal by him too, there."
Arthur well knew how dearly they all loved Rover, and he felt sure it
must have been hard for them to give him up. His heart was touched by
this generosity and he resolved to become worthy of it, and to strive to
do something to make the family happy in return.
Rover seemed to impart new life to Arthur. He had now something to love,
and something that loved him; and though it was only a poor dumb animal,
it filled the vacant place in his heart. Never had Mrs. Martin seen his
dark eyes sparkle so, and his pale cheek look so bright.
And did the children at home regret making this sacrifice for their
little brother's sake? If any little reader asks this question, we fear
they have never tried the experiment of giving up something they loved,
to make another happy. If they had, they would know, what great delight
there was in it; what a warm, delicious feeling it spreads throughout
the heart. "It _is_ more blessed to give than to receive," and
happy as Arthur was in receiving this precious present, they were still
happier in having given it. As Mrs. Hamilton was undressing Emma that
night, the latter said, "Mother, do you think Arthur has got Rover yet?"
"Oh yes, some hours ago, I hope. I dare say he found him there when he
got home from school; and how happy he is to-night! Dear child! I can
see just how bright and happy he looks, as he strokes Rover, and talks
to him!"
"Oh, I am glad he is gone, mother, for this dear brother was all alone."
"So I glad," echoed Charlie, who was snugly tucked into the trundle-bed.
"Yes," said their mother, kissing them both, "it always makes us glad
when we have made another happy; and I am glad you have had an
opportunity of learning early how pleasant it is to make sacrifices for
others."
"The darkest lot is not all gloom," thought she as she sat down by her
little table and began to sew. "Poverty can teach many sweet lessons,
and give us many rich enjoyments." And her eyes filled with tears; but
they were sweet, refreshing tears.