OSCAR'S STRUGGLES.
NO little girl or boy will suppose that Oscar, after all the years he
had been sullen, disobedient, and revengeful, could become good in a
day, or even a week. To be sure, by the kindness of Mrs. Monson, he had
learned something of what his Saviour had done for him, and what he
must himself do in order to please God; but there were still many ugly
weeds which needed rooting out of his heart.
His new friends were greatly interested in him; but they were not
always at hand to remind him how wrong it was to speak disrespectfully
to his parents, or to be cruel to animals.
One morning, soon after Oscar's visit to Charley, Mrs. Russel was
startled by hearing a great noise from the barn-yard; and, rushing
to the door, she saw her son chasing the cat among a brood of young
chickens, while the poor, frightened hen screeched and ran about trying
to protect her little ones under her wings.
Oscar stood laughing at the distress, when his mother screamed out,—
"You good-for-nothing boy! Aren't you ashamed of yourself to act so?
Here, kitty, kitty, come away. There, she knows enough to let the
chickens alone, if you would behave yourself. Come out of that yard, or
I'll start right off and tell Mrs. Monson you're a worse boy than ever."
"No you wont tell her any such thing!" yelled Oscar, his face flaming
with passion. "You just mind your own business. The chickens are mine;
father gave 'em to me."
Mrs. Russel started forward to strike the boy, who stood defiantly
before her; but, suddenly remembering her resolution to command her own
temper, she let her hand fall to her side. Without another word she
went into the house.
"Whew!" exclaimed Oscar, beginning to come to his senses. "I wonder why
she didn't give me a cuff."
He sat down on the step of the barn door. If you had seen him, you
would have thought he was counting the pretty yellow chicks, he gazed
so intently at them, as they picked up the dough from the board. But
he was not. He had forgotten they were before him. The poor boy was
thinking about himself; and presently one, two big tears came rolling
down his brown cheeks, and he looked very sad.
"I wish she had licked me. How could I forget so soon? I might just as
well give up. It's no use for me to try and be good, like Charley. Oh,
dear! I wish I hadn't forgot. I wish old Tom had been in the pond, and
then I wouldn't have chased her in here. I wonder whether ma will tell
of me. If Mrs. Monson knows it, she wont let Charley play with me any
more."
All at once he stopped crying, and his face brightened. What do you
think made him look pleased?
He remembered something that Mrs. Monson had said, the last time she
talked with him. Charley was holding his hand all the time and gazing
lovingly in his face. It was this,—
"Oscar, you may find it hard to conquer your temper. Perhaps sometimes
you will forget. But God is watching you every moment, and when he sees
that you try to be a good boy; that you keep from lying, and endeavor
to honor your parents, he will help you. If ever you are discouraged,
you must put up a little prayer to him; and, though he lives in the
sky, and has thousands of angels bowing before him, he will certainly
hear and answer you."
Oscar sat very still, thinking of all this; and the chickens had made a
hearty meal, and were taking a nap under their mother's wings, when he
said, aloud,—
"I mean to pray, now."
He did not kneel down. You know he had never been taught, as you have
been, to kneel at his mother's side and pray; but he covered his face
in both his hands, and began to repeat, as well as he could remember,
Charley's prayer,—
"O God! I know I've been awful wicked. I'm real sorry, God, that I
forgot. I do want to be a good boy. I don't like being ugly and cross
and naughty all the time, as I used to be. Will you help me be like
Charley, who is good and happy all the time? Will you help mother be
good, too? For I know she's trying real hard."