THINKING AND THINKEPHONES.
It is a great pity that little boys’ legs are so short; they have to
hurry so much, and a pair of good long legs, like those of the stately
giraffe, for instance, would be such a convenience to a small boy, who
wished to run home from school—half a mile—ask his mother something, and
be back again, inside of five minutes.
It is difficult to think and run both at once, but something like this
was passing through Johnny’s mind, as he tore home to ask if he might
spend his shiny new half dollar in going to the circus with “the other
boys.”
[Illustration]
Flaming posters on all the available fences and walls, had been
announcing for some days that Barnum was coming, and that there would
be two afternoon and two evening performances, “presenting in every
respect the same attractions.” Mr. Leslie had an engagement for the first
afternoon, but he had promised to take Tiny and Johnny, and as many
neighbor children as chose to join the party—with mothers’ and fathers’
consent, of course—on the second afternoon, and with this promise Johnny
had been well content.
But when he went to school, on the morning of the first day, he found
that several of his schoolmates had arranged to go that afternoon, and
they soon succeeded in talking him into a belief that life would not be
worth living unless he could join them.
“You see, Johnny,” said Ned Grafton, solemnly, “some of the ‘feats of
strength and agility’ are about as hard to do as it would be for you or
me to turn ourselves inside out and back again, and it stands to reason
that they’ll not do them so well the second day as they will the first,
when they’ve just had a rest; and the beasts and things always roar and
fight more the first day, because they’re mad at having been shut up in
their boxes and jolted about so; and then, forty things may happen to
hinder your father from taking you to-morrow, and just think how you’d
feel, if you were the only fellow at school who hadn’t been! You couldn’t
stand it at all! So just cut home, and explain it to your mother, and ask
her to let you come with us to-day, and we’ll wait for you here.”
“I’ll tell you what I can do,” said Johnny, eagerly, “I’ve half a dollar,
all my own, left from my apple money, so I’ll take that, and then I can
go with papa to-morrow, too,—I wouldn’t like to hurt his feelings, nor
Tiny’s either.”
“Well, I should think your mother’d have to say yes to that,” said Ned,
“and you’ll be luckier than the rest of us, if you go twice; but hurry
up—you know it begins at three, and it’s after two, now.”
So Johnny hurried up, and was so perfectly breathless when he reached
home, that he gasped for several minutes before he could begin to shout
through the house for his mother.
His very first shout was enough; it was given at the foot of the front
stairs, and, as his mother was in the dining-room, it reached her
instantly, and without losing anything by the way. She came out at once,
and boxed his ears lightly with the feather-duster, saying,—
“Johnny Leslie! This is _not_ a deaf and dumb asylum. Did you imagine,
when you came in that it was?”
“I didn’t know you were so near, mammy dear,” panted Johnny, “and I’m in
the worst kind—I mean, a dreadful hurry, I don’t see why there couldn’t
be a thinkephone, so that we could just think things at each other, it
would save so much time. The boys are all waiting for me, and they want
me to go to the circus with them this afternoon, because Ned Grafton
says the first performance is always the best, before the beasts get the
roar out of them, and before the people are tired, so mayn’t I take my
own half dollar, and go with them, and then I can go with papa and Tiny
to-morrow, too—it isn’t that I don’t want to go with him, but I want to
have the best of it!”
“Is any grown person going with the ‘boys’?” asked Mrs. Leslie.
“N-o, mamma,” replied Johnny, hesitatingly, “at least, they didn’t say
there was, and I don’t believe there is, but some of the boys are quite
old, you know—Charley Graham is ’most fifteen—and there isn’t any danger;
all the things are in cages, except the Tattooed Man.”
“I’m ever so sorry, dear,” said his mother, putting her arm around him,
“but indeed I don’t feel willing to have you go without some grown
person. There will be a very great crowd, and I don’t know all the boys
with whom you want to go, and you might be led into all sorts of dangers.
And it is all nonsense about the beasts getting the roar out of them
by to-morrow; poor things! they’ll keep on roaring as long as they are
caged. So you must be patient. I really think you’ll enjoy it more with
papa to explain things, and Tiny to help you.”
“But they’re all waiting for me!” said Johnny, choking down a sob, “and
something may happen between now and to-morrow—it’s a great while! Oh,
_please_, dear mammy! I’ll be just as careful as if papa were there, and
come right straight home when it’s out!”
Johnny’s mother looked nearly as sorry as he did.
“Dear little boy,” she said, “I know just how hard it is, and how foolish
it seems to you that I am afraid to trust you there without papa, or some
other grown person, and _you_ know how dearly I love you, and now you
have a chance to wear my sleeve in earnest; you must run back and tell
the boys that you cannot go till to-morrow, and then come home to me, and
I’ll comfort you.”
Johnny turned away without a word; he did not quite shake off his
mother’s arm, but he drew away from under it, and ran, not to keep the
boys waiting, back to the schoolhouse. But it was not the light-footed
running which had brought him home, and although, before he reached the
playground, he had conquered his tears, because he was ashamed for the
boys to see them, his voice trembled as he said,—
“Mother says I can’t go to-day,—that I must wait till to-morrow, and go
with papa.”
The boys all knew Johnny’s mother, more or less; those who knew her more
adored her, and those who knew her less admired her profoundly, so there
were no jeers or tauntings upon this announcement, but they all looked
sorry, and Ned Grafton said,—
“We’re awfully sorry, old fellow, but we can’t wait—it wants only five
minutes of three now; good by.”
There was a general rush, and the boys were gone. Johnny walked home very
slowly, thinking bitter thoughts.
[Illustration]
“I just believe it is because mamma never was a boy!” he thought. “If
papa had been at home, and I’d asked him first, he’d have let me go!
Ladies don’t know about boys—they can’t. Mamma knows more than most
ladies, but even she doesn’t know everything.”
The circus tent was in plain sight all the way home; it stood on a vacant
lot about half way between the school and Mr. Leslie’s house, and, just
as Johnny entered the gate, a burst of gay music came to his ears. His
mother stood on the porch with a little basket in her hands. It was very
full, and covered with a pretty red doily. Tiny and little Pep Warren,
from next door, were jumping up and down on the porch, and the baby was
tottering from one to the other, chuckling, and talking in what they
called “Polly-talk.”
“Johnny,” said his mother, eagerly, as he came heavily up the walk, “Tiny
says there are lots of blackberries in our field, and I want you and Pep
to go with her and get some for tea. You’ll have to eat up what is in the
basket first, and then you can fill it with blackberries. And I’m going
to lend you Polly!”
Johnny’s dull face brightened a little; he and Pep were great friends; he
liked picking blackberries when he did not have to pick many, and to have
Polly lent to them for even so short and safe an expedition as this was
an honor which he appreciated.
[Illustration]
“Oh, thank you, mamma!” he said, almost heartily, as he took the basket,
and they started down the lane together, he and Pep holding Polly between
them, with one of her chubby hands in a hand of each, and Tiny marching
on in front. Pep sympathized deeply upon hearing of Johnny’s woe, but
added, at the same time:—
“I can’t help being sort of glad, Johnny, that you’ll not see it before I
do. You know mamma is going to let me go with all of you to-morrow.”
Johnny thought this was a little selfish in Pep, but he did not say so,
and the party reached the blackberry bushes in harmony. Polly was even
funnier than usual. She was just at that interesting age when babies
begin trying to say all the words they hear, and the children were never
tired of hearing her repeat their words in “Polly-talk.”
[Illustration]
It was necessary to empty the basket first, of course, so they chose a
nice grassy spot at the edge of the field, where the woods kept off the
afternoon sun, spread the little red shawl which Tiny had brought, seated
Polly on it, and themselves around it, and opened the basket. There
were two or three “lady-fingers,” labelled “For Polly,” three dainty
sandwiches, three generous slices of loaf cake, and three oranges.
“I think your mother is the very nicest lady I know, except _my_ mother!”
said Pep, through a mouthful of loaf-cake, and Johnny, who had just
bitten deeply into his sandwich, nodded approvingly.
The lunch was soon finished, and then they began, not very vigorously,
to fill the basket with blackberries, laughing at Polly as she tangled
herself in a stray branch, and then scolded it.
Johnny put his hand in his pocket for his knife to cut the branch, and
drew it out again, as if something had stung it—there was his half
dollar! Then he remembered that he had taken it when he went to school in
the morning, because he had half made up his mind to buy a monster kite.
At that moment the music struck up once more in the distant tent. Johnny
stopped his ears desperately.
“If I keep on hearing that, I shall go!” he said to himself.
He could not pick blackberries and stop his ears at the same time. The
music swelled louder and louder. Then came a cheer from the audience.
Johnny looked round for the other children. They were all standing
together; Pep was holding down a branch for Polly, and he and Tiny were
laughing as the little lady stained her pretty fingers and lips with the
ripe berries.
“She’s all safe with them; they’ll take her home,” he whispered to
himself, as he slipped into the wood, unseen by the other children.
“Suppose you had your thinkephone _now_, Johnny Leslie!” somebody seemed
to say inside of his head, “you’d like your mother to know what you’re
thinking _now_, wouldn’t you?”
[Illustration]
“Papa would have let me go—mamma’s never been a boy, and she don’t know
anything about it!” said Johnny, stubbornly, and speaking quite aloud. He
ran fast as soon as he was through the wood, and, never stopping, handed
his half dollar to the doorkeeper, and went in. The vast crowd bewildered
him; he could not see a vacant seat anywhere, nor a single boy that he
knew, but a good-natured countryman pushed him forward, saying:—
“Here, little fellow, there’s a seat on the front bench for a boy of your
size.”
[Illustration]
He struggled past the people into the place pointed out to him, and
leaned eagerly over the rope. The clown was in the ring performing with
the “trick donkey,” and everybody was roaring with laughter.
The donkey wheeled around suddenly, and flashed out his heels, just as
Johnny, recognizing a boy on the other side of the tent, leaned still
farther forward and nodded.
[Illustration]
Johnny had a dim impression that he had been struck by lightning; the
roaring of the crowd sounded like thunder; he did not remember what came
next.
It was some minutes before the other children missed him; then they
called him several times at the top of their voices, and, when he neither
came nor answered, Tiny began to cry. Pep wished to explore the wood, but
Tiny fairly howled at the idea of being left alone with Polly.
“I just believe,” she sobbed, “that some of the elephants and tigers and
things have broken out of the circus, and got into the wood, and eaten my
Johnny all up, and if we stay here they’ll eat us up, too!”
And, taking Polly’s hand, she set off up the lane toward the house. Pep
followed her, greatly troubled. If the “elephants and tigers and things”
really were in the wood, he was missing a glorious opportunity! His
heart swelled at the thought of throwing a big stone at the elephant,
demolishing the tiger with a club, and leading the rescued Johnny home
to his glad and grateful mother! But Tiny was only a girl, and a badly
frightened one at that; they had been trusted with baby Polly, and
something seemed to tell him that it was his duty to see his charge
safely home, and lay the case before Mrs. Leslie, rather than to rush
into the wood and leave them frightened and alone.
[Illustration]
Mrs. Leslie was sitting in the back porch, peacefully sewing, when
the three children came up the garden walk, and she saw at once that
something was the matter.
“Why, where’s Johnny, Pep?” she asked, anxiously, “and what has
happened?” and she sprang up, dropping her sewing.
“We don’t know, ma’am,” said Pep, looking scared, “Tiny and I were
holding down the branches for Polly to pick, and when we looked ’round,
Johnny was gone, and I’m afraid he went into the wood, and that some of
the circus beasts have carried him off!”
“Have any of them broken loose? Did anybody tell you?” gasped Mrs.
Leslie.
“No ma’am,” said Pep, “but I don’t see what else could have gone with
him.”
“Run home, dear,” said Mrs. Leslie, “I’m sorry to send you away, but I
must go look for Johnny. Take Polly to the nursery, Tiny, and I’ll send
Ann up to you.”
And, only stopping to speak to the servant, Mrs. Leslie sped down the
lane and into the wood, calling “Johnny! Johnny!”
It was a very small wood, and she soon satisfied herself that her boy was
not there. She ran up the lane, intending to go to Mr. Leslie’s office,
and see what he thought had better be done next, when the front gate
opened, and the man who had shown Johnny to a seat, came in with the poor
little boy in his arms.
[Illustration]
Johnny was still insensible, and at the first glance, his mother thought
that he was dead. Her face grew as white as his, and it was with great
difficulty that she kept herself from falling.
“Don’t be scared, ma’am,” said the farmer, kindly, “the little feller’s
only fainted, and his hurt ain’t but a trifle—the donkey’s hoof just
grazed him kind of sideways. If it had struck him square, it would have
finished him, but a miss is as good as a mile.”
While he was speaking, the farmer had laid Johnny on the bench in the
porch, and now he went hastily to the pump, and brought a dipperful of
water to Mrs. Leslie.
“A little of that will bring him to,” he said, and as she gently bathed
Johnny’s face and head, his new friend fanned him gently with his own
large straw hat, and in two or three minutes the little boy “came to,”
and sat up, feeling strangely dizzy, and wondering where he was, and what
had happened.
“There!” said the farmer, putting on his hat, and then making a bow,
“Good afternoon, ma’am—he’ll do now,” and he was gone before Mrs. Leslie
could even thank him.
“I went to the circus, mammy!” said Johnny, feebly, and throwing his arms
around his mother’s neck as he spoke, “and the donkey was quite right to
break my head, only I don’t see how he knew, or how _you_ knew, and if
I’d really had the thinkephone, then you could have stopped me. But I’m
not good enough to wear your sleeve any more—you’ll have to take it back!”
Johnny had been very much interested about knights, a few weeks before,
when his mother had told him some stories of the Knights of the Round
Table, and how each one chose a lady whom he might especially honor, and
for whom he was always ready to do battle, and wore her token, a glove,
or a silken sleeve, or something of the kind that she had given him, and
how Launcelot wore the sleeve of the fair Elaine. They were ripping up a
silk gown of Mrs. Leslie’s, which was to be made over for Tiny, at the
time of one of these talks; it was a summer silk, soft, and of a pretty
light gray color, and he had begged one of the sleeves. His mother had
humored him, and twisted the sleeve around his straw hat.
“Be my own true knight,” she had said, as she gave him his decorated hat,
and Johnny had fully intended to render her all knightly service and
homage. So that now, when he had so flagrantly deceived and disobeyed
her, he felt that he was degraded, and had no longer any right to wear
her token.
“We will not talk about that now, dear,” said his mother, very gently and
gravely, “You must go to bed at once, and have a mustard plaster on the
back of your neck. Does your head ache much?”
“I should think it did!” said Johnny, feebly, “it feels as big as the
house, with an ache in every room!” and he closed his eyes.
He was feverish at bedtime, and his mother, too anxious to go to bed, put
on a soft wrapper, and drew the easy-chair to his bedside. She had sent
for the doctor, but he was not at home, and she could not hope to see him
now, until morning.
Johnny moaned and muttered a good deal in his sleep, through the night,
but toward morning he grew quiet, and when he woke, the pain was nearly
gone, but he felt very weak and forlorn. The doctor came, and said he had
better stay in bed until the next day, and against this advice he felt no
desire to rebel.
“Mamma,” he said, earnestly, when the doctor had gone, “I wish I felt
well enough to want to go with papa and Tiny and Pep and the rest of
them, right badly. I don’t feel punished enough.”
His mother stooped to kiss him.
“The punishing will not help you for next time,” she said, “unless you
see just where the fault was. When did the going wrong begin?”
Johnny was silent for a few moments; then he said,—
“I think it began when I said to myself that you didn’t know about boys
because you were a lady. Then, when I found I had my half dollar in my
pocket, and heard the music, that seemed to make it all right,—I made
myself believe that if papa had been at home, he would have let me
go,—only I didn’t really and truly believe it, for he never does let me
do things that you don’t.
“But, mamma, don’t you think it would be a splendid thing if there really
were thinkephones? Something like telephones, you know, only for thinks
instead of words? You see, if you and I had one, you would always be able
to stop me when I was going to do anything bad! I had such a queer dream
last night, when my head hurt so; I thought somebody had really and truly
invented thinkephones, and I was hearing everybody think, and some of
the people that I had liked ever so much were thinking such disagreeable
things that I did not like them any more, and they heard me think that,
and then _they_ didn’t like _me_ any more, and things were getting into a
most dreadful mess when you came in and cut the wires, and then the dream
stopped, and I went into a nice quiet sleep.”
“So you see,” said his mother, smiling at this remarkable dream, “that
if anybody ever should invent the thinkephone, it will make more trouble
than pleasure, for no one, not even the best people, would be ready to
have all their thoughts known to any other human being. But, dear Johnny,
Who is it to whom all our thoughts lie bare, Who hears them just as if we
spoke, Who, if we ask Him, can take away the wicked ones, and put good
and holy ones in their place?”
“It is the Saviour, mamma,” said Johnny, reverently, “and if I had just
asked Him yesterday, when I heard the music, and found the half dollar
in my pocket, that would have been better than stopping my ears. But it
seems to me that just when I am most bad and need Him the most, I forget
all about Him.”
“We can teach our minds, as well as our bodies, to have habits,” said his
mother, “and the habit of sending up a quick, earnest prayer, whenever
we are especially tempted, will often save us from yielding to the
temptation, when there is nothing else to do it. Even if I could read
your thoughts, I cannot always be with you, and I could not always help
you, but the Saviour is always near, and always ‘mighty to save,’ from
small things as well as great, and you can _think_ to Him, and know that
it will be just the same as if you had spoken.”
Johnny was obliged to keep rather quiet for several days, but he was much
more patient and gentle than he had ever been before during a slight
illness, and he seemed sincerely pleased when he heard what a good time
Tiny and Pep and the rest of his small friends had had at the circus.
Tiny had been much impressed by seeing the identical donkey that had come
so near to breaking Johnny’s head.
“I didn’t half like that part,” she said. “I wanted that donkey punished
for kicking you, Johnny.”
“He didn’t do it on purpose, Tiny,” said Johnny, indulgently. “You see,
I stuck my head out over the rope, and, though I couldn’t help thinking
at first that he knew and did it to punish me, I know now that that
was foolish. And I’m really very much obliged to him! If nothing ever
happened to folks, I don’t believe they’d think of anything!”
Mrs. Leslie left Johnny to decide for himself whether or not he should
give her back her sleeve, and, very sorrowfully, he brought her his hat
to have the “token” ripped off.
“It wouldn’t be fair for me to keep it on, mamma,” he said, “when I
deserted Polly and Tiny and you all at once. But please don’t cut it
up, or anything,—just put it away safely, and the very first time I’ve
been tempted right hard, and remembered what you said, and been helped
through, then I’ll ask you to put it on my hat again!”