RUPERT’S SUNDAY RIDE.
“This day belongs to God alone;
He chooses Sunday for his own;
And we must neither work nor play,
Because it is the sabbath-day.”
EVERY morning, at the breakfast-table, each one repeated a text of
Scripture. They selected their texts alphabetically, each text beginning
with the same letter. They began with A, and went on daily with each
letter until they got through the alphabet. Rupert did not like this. He
could not see the use of it, he said. But the truth was, he did not want
the trouble of learning the text.
Mr. Penrose knew that Rupert was to be with them but a short time, and
he was anxious to teach him something good while he had the opportunity.
He felt sorry for the poor boy, who had learned so little of God’s word,
and who had never been taught to make any difference between the sabbath
and other days. Rupert often gave Mr. and Mrs. Penrose trouble; but they
bore it patiently, in hope of doing him some good.
One Sunday the snow lay deep upon the ground, but there was a good path
down the hill. Alfred set off for church with his papa, brothers, and
Rupert. It was too cold for little Flora to go that day. When they got
about half way to church Rupert found that he had left his
pocket-handkerchief. Like most careless boys, Rupert was always losing
his pocket-handkerchief. Instead of putting it back in his pocket, after
using it, he would lay it by him in the chair on which he sat, and leave
it there when he got up. Rupert’s pocket-handkerchief was always to be
picked up.
“So, as I have said, when he was half way to church Rupert had to go
back for his pocket-handkerchief. The family walked slowly toward the
church, thinking that he would overtake them: but he did not; and Mr.
Penrose waited for him upon the step. As he stood there, however, he saw
Rupert riding in a sleigh, through a street which crossed the one on
which the church stood, with John Strong, a boy with whom he had formed
a great intimacy, very much against the wishes of his uncle and aunt.
The sermon had commenced when Master Rupert walked into church, and took
his seat in his uncle’s pew, with rather a sheepish air. As usual, after
he got there he gaped about the church, put his head down as if
composing himself to sleep; then jerked it up suddenly, turned round,
fidgeted on his seat, and made everybody near him uncomfortable.
When the hymn was sung he turned his back to the minister, and looked up
at the choir; a practice, by the by, which shows as much irreverence as
bad breeding. When we sing we should feel as much devotion as when we
pray. How can we do this when we stand gazing at the choir, instead of
feeling the solemn words that we are repeating?
As soon as the benediction was over, Rupert caught his cap, and, leaning
over to Alfred, said,
“By jingo! what a noble pair of horses John Strong drives! I have had
such a capital ride!”
Alfred’s father took hold of his hand, and did not let it go until he
got to the house; and Henry Penrose walked beside Rupert; so that he had
no one to listen to his praises of John Strong’s driving, and John
Strong’s horses, of which his mind was full.
Between the Sunday-school, church in the afternoon, and reading aloud to
Alfred and Flora, from some interesting and profitable book, Rupert had
no time for any conversation with Alfred; and nothing had been said to
him about his conduct in the morning. He seemed, however, even more
restless and tired of Sunday than usual. Mrs. Penrose searched the house
for some book to interest him, but could find none that he would read.
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