THE DO GOOD SOCIETY.
Meanwhile the girls at Miss Eunice's tea-party had been busily
discussing the funeral and its sad cause.
"What an awful thing intemperance is!" said one of the elder girls.
"Even women sometimes drink to excess; and how many others suffer from
its effects in their husbands and fathers. I wish we girls could do
something to put it down."
"You can," said Etta. "If every girl in the land were to set her foot
down against having anything to do with young men who drink, there would
soon be a change. I am resolved," she said, in her old impetuous way,
"never to associate with any young man, no matter how good or elegant he
may be, who even tastes wine occasionally."
"That is a rash resolve, Etta," said her sister, "and one that I fear
you will find it hard to carry out. Yet, what you say is right, in the
main. Girls do not enough realize the great responsibility of their
influence over young men."
"No," said Agnes Burchard, with a sigh. And several remembered how much
she had been seen with poor Harry and what jokes had been made about
their intimacy. "I always knew that Harry Pemberton drank occasionally;
but I thought it manly, and like--like Mr. James."
No one answered this rather unfortunate remark; but presently Katie
Robertson said:--
"Don't you think, Miss Etta, people ought to begin with the boys--before
they have learned to drink, I mean."
"A good suggestion, Katie, since an ounce of prevention is said to be
better than a pound of cure. How would you set about doing it?"
But Katie, having thus drawn all eyes upon herself, blushed, and did not
feel like speaking. So Miss Eunice came to her rescue:--
"We might organize some kind of a society, of which the boys and younger
girls could be members. It would be some trouble to keep it up, but it
would be directly in the line of that service to which you pledged
yourselves, girls, that bright first Sunday in September."
"Delightful!" said Etta, to whom every new thing always seemed so. "A
boys' and girls' temperance society, with a pledge that they shall never
in their lives taste anything that can intoxicate. Then they will grow
up temperance boys and girls from the start."
"There are two objections to pledging children--that is, very young
ones," said Eunice. "The first is, from the unwillingness often felt by
their parents; and the other, that many of them do not fully understand
what they are about, and as they grow older often break their pledge, on
the ground that they are not bound by a promise made when they were too
young to understand it."
"Well, some of them keep it, and that's so much gained."
"Yes; for them. But to break solemnly made vows is always an injury to
one's character. Besides, if we make a total-abstinence pledge the
condition of joining our society, we shall not get the Irish boys, who
most need our work. Their parents will not let them come. Why not word
our pledge in such a way as to secure everybody's influence on the side
of temperance, without making it a personal thing? It will be sure to
react upon the individual."
"I think there are some things that boys do besides drinking that are
just as bad--smoking and swearing, for instance," said one of the girls.
"And I think it's just as bad for girls to be hateful and unkind," said
Bertie, to the surprise of some who knew her, but did not know what a
brave fight she was making to overcome her long-indulged faults.
"Let's make it a pledge to be kind and thoughtful," said one of the
girls.
"Not to be vain," said another.
"And let's all belong," said a third. "So the boys won't think we're
just preaching to them."
So the result of all the talk was that a meeting for all the children in
the place was held the first bright Saturday afternoon, Etta presiding,
assisted by such of her girls as had finished their day's work at the
mill. It happened to be a bright afternoon, warm for the season, and no
one felt any inconvenience in staying out of doors, where they sat in
groups around the lawn, while their young hostess explained the purpose
for which she had called them together.
"We know you all want to be good men and women," she said; "brave,
noble, and helpful. Our idea is not primarily to amuse you or make you
happy, but to help you to learn to be helpful and useful to others. We
want to form among ourselves a society, whose object is to do all the
good that its members possibly can--not trying to have a good time, but
to make somebody else happier and better every day. Who wants to join
us?"
Instantly every hand in the little group went up.
"Yes, I thought so," said the young lady. "But now I wonder who are
willing to take a good deal of trouble about it, and really put
themselves out of the way to make other people happy. Those who are
willing and mean to persevere not getting tired and giving up the whole
thing after a little while, may have the privilege of joining our
society by signing their names to our pledge."
She then read the following pledge slowly, pausing to explain every word
which might seem hard to be understood by the younger children:--
"We, the undersigned, pledge ourselves to be truthful, unselfish,
cheerful, and helpful; to use our influence always for the right, and
never to fear to show our colors. We will always use our influence
against intemperance, the use of profane language or tobacco, disrespect
to the old, ill treatment of the young or unfortunate, and cruelty to
animals."[3]
Nearly all present were eager to sign it; those who could write their
names doing so, and the others looking on with great satisfaction while
theirs were written by some one else. Thus a society was formed which,
for want of a better name, was called the "Do Good Society."
Etta was unanimously elected president; four girls of her class were
the officers. Meetings were to be held the first Saturday in every month
in the Sunday-school room, on which occasions those present were to
report attempts at carrying out the principles of the society as well as
all successes in doing so.
To this society and its welfare Etta Mountjoy devoted herself, throwing
into its concerns the whole activity of her versatile nature; making its
meetings so interesting, and imparting to it so much bright life and
activity, that it soon became the most popular institution in Squantown.
The society's first meeting was held one week after its organization. It
was raining softly, and the grass was damp and the air chilly; so the
children, nearly a hundred of whom were present, were glad to come into
the shelter of the pretty Sunday-school room, and while swelling with
the importance of being "a society," wait to see what "Miss Etta" would
do when she came. The girls were getting a little restless, and the boys
had begun to drum rather impatiently upon the floor, when the young lady
appeared, carrying in her hand a curious-looking box with a slit in the
top and a basket mysteriously covered down, which she deposited on the
desk, not as yet answering the questions which were spoken by the many
pairs of bright eyes before her.
The first thing the president did was to tell the children that they
might sing "Hold the Fort," which they did with such extraordinary force
and enthusiasm that they exhausted the excitement which was seething
within them, and sat quite still while the basket was unpacked and Etta
took from it a bottle of whitish-looking fluid, a clear glass goblet,
and a pure white egg. Then she gave them a little temperance talk,
reminding them of the sad death of poor Harry, which was known to them
all, and telling them that even when people did not drink enough liquor
to make them either stupid or quarrelsome, _any_ quantity of it taken
into the stomach injures it very much.
To make them understand this she broke the egg-shell and dropped the
white of the egg into the goblet, holding it up and showing them how
soft and clear it was. Then, uncorking the bottle, she told them it
contained alcohol, the substance that is found in all intoxicating
drinks, even the weaker ones, such as wine and beer.
"Now, watch," she said; and as she poured two or three drops of the
liquid into the glass the interested eyes saw the egg grow white and
hard, and at last become tough and leathery. "This," she said, "is just
what happens when people drink anything that contains alcohol. The brain
is a substance like the white of an egg. The alcohol acts upon it in the
same way it has acted upon the white of this egg--it _cooks_ it! The
brain of a drunkard becomes _cooked_--tough and leathery. The man cannot
think as clearly as other men. His mind becomes degraded." The children
all expressed their astonishment, and after they had talked a little
while, their teacher said:--
"I am sure you don't want people to injure their brains in this way, and
so you will be ready to keep that part of your pledge which says we will
'use our influence against intemperance,' of course."
"Yes, yes!" was shouted out by dozens of voices, and many hands went
up. One boy said:--
"How about tobacco?"
"Oh, we'll talk about that next time. Now I want you to sing again, and
then we will investigate the contents of this box," proceeding to unlock
it as she spoke.
When the second hymn was over Miss Etta drew out several folded papers,
and handing; them to the secretary, who had come in since the beginning,
asked her to read them aloud.
"Remember, children, that neither you nor I know who wrote them. They
have no signatures. Perhaps some of the children wrote them themselves,
perhaps they got their parents to do so. All we want to know is that
they are accounts of how some of our members have tried to be unselfish
and helpful to other people during the week that has past. I hope every
meeting we shall have a number of such papers to read. You can any of
you write them, and slip them into this box, and our secretary will read
them to us. But be sure that you don't put any names to them and that
what you write is true."
PAPER I.
Last Friday I was going home from school when I saw two big boys hit
against an old woman, who was carrying along a heavy basket. I don't
know whether they did it on purpose, but they both began to laugh as the
basket upset, and the apples which were in it rolled all over the road.
I was just going to laugh too, the old woman looked so funny and
helpless, but I thought of our society, and I stooped down and picked up
all the apples and helped carry home the basket. The other boys laughed
at me and called me a baby. I wanted to swear at them dreadfully, but I
remembered what our pledge said about "profane swearing," and I just
held my tongue.
PAPER II.
Mother wanted me to take care of the baby while she got supper the other
afternoon, but I wanted to go in the woods with Allie and get nuts. I'd
promised her ever so long, and this was the last chance, it's so near
winter. I was just going to say "No" to mother, and tell her babies were
a nuisance, when I noticed how tired she looked, and thought how she was
always doing things for all of us. Then I remembered our pledge, and I
took the baby and tried to be "cheerful and helpful" in amusing her,
setting the table between whiles. And in the evening, mother said she
did not know how she could have got along without me, she had such a
headache all the afternoon, but now she felt quite rested.
PAPER III.
Five of us girls are going to form a bee. We haven't much time, but we
can take one evening each week, and we're going to make skating-bags for
our brothers and some of the other boys, so that they can keep their
skates clean and bright. We mean to hurry, so as to get them ready by
the first frosty weather.
There were several other papers, but these specimens are enough to show
the kind of work the Do Good Society was engaged in, and the nature of
the reports brought in from time to time. They were sometimes very
funny, and Miss Etta felt a little inclined to laugh as they were read,
but little by little they were educating the children to be unselfish
and helpful, and that, next to being godly, is the best thing in the
world.
-----
[Footnote 3: Condensed from the pledge of the Lookout Legion.]