you suppose it is? It is what they call a _dash_. The reason why I put
the dash there, is that I was going to tell you what the man saw, but
I suddenly stopped, and asked you what you thought it was. When we
suddenly stop in saying any thing, and begin to say something else, we
put in a _dash_. So we use a dash in some other ways. You ought to stop
a little when you come to a dash, thus; “He looked there and saw--what
do you think it was?” Dashes are generally put in, when we want you to
stop a little in your reading. Now for the story again.
He looked, and saw--what do you think it was? Why, it was nothing but
an old, black log!!
Do you see two characters at the end of that sentence? They are notes
of exclamation. When two of them are put together they mean that what
comes before them is very extraordinary and surprising. Should you
not think it was very extraordinary and surprising for a man to think
he saw a bear, and be frightened and shout help, and climb up into a
tree, and find, after all, that it was nothing but a great, black log?
It is surprising, and when you read it, you must read it as if you
thought it was very surprising, so; “What do you think it was? Why it
was nothing but an old, black log!!” You can get your father or mother
to show you how to read it, if you do not know.
It was nothing but an old, black log, lying against the rocks. The
man felt ashamed. He clambered down, and went to look at the log
which had frightened him so. It was as black as a coal.* The man
laughed to think that he should have supposed _that_ to be a bear.
Do you see after the word _coal_, in the last line but one, a little
star? Do you know what that star is for? It is to make you look down to
the bottom of the page, and there you will find something more about
the black wood. When you come to any little star then, when you are
reading, you must look down to the bottom of the page, and there you
will find another little star, with something printed after it. That
which is printed thus at the bottom of a page is called a _note_.
Other characters besides stars are made for notes. These are some of
the characters, § ¶ † ‡. There are not many notes in this book. Perhaps
you will find some by and by.
This is all that I have to tell you now about reading. But now I will
put in the whole story about the man going up the mountain, and you may
see if you can read it all right, and see too, if you remember all that
I have explained.
* It was burnt black by a fire, which somebody had built there a great
while before.
CLIMBING UP A MOUNTAIN.
Once there was a man who thought he would go up upon a mountain; so
he rode along upon his horse till he came as near the mountain as he
could, and then he turned off into the woods and rode on until he came
to the foot of the mountain. He could ride no farther; so he tied his
horse to a tree.
Then he began to walk up. He scrambled through the bushes for some
time, and at last came out into a smooth but muddy path. Here, however,
he was in no little difficulty, for the path was so slippery that,
notwithstanding all he could do, he seemed rather to be sliding _down_,
than climbing _up_.
He at last got over this slippery part of the path, and then came to a
place where it was very rocky. Trees and bushes hung over his head,
and grew thick, all around him, and he began to be afraid that he might
meet with some wild beast. Presently he looked through the bushes, and
saw at a distance among the rocks, some large, black thing, and he
thought it was a bear. He was very much frightened, and began to scream
out as loud as he could, HELP, HELP, HELP.
At the same time that he shouted for help so loud, he grasped hold
of a tree close by, and began to climb it, by the branches, to get
out of the bear’s way. When he got up a little way he could see over
the bushes to the very place where the bear was; he looked there and
saw,--what do you think it was? Why it was nothing but _an old, black
log_! An old, black log, lying against the rocks. The man felt ashamed.
He clambered down and went to look at the log which had frightened
him so. It was as black as a coal.* The man laughed to think that he
should have supposed _that_ to be a bear.
He determined not to be so foolish another time, and then he went
along climbing up the mountain. It was steep and rocky, and there were
bushes and trees each side of the path. He had to stop often to take
breath and rest himself. At last he reached the top, and could see a
great many miles all around. He could see woods and farms and towns and
rivers away down, down, very far below him.
After a while he came down the mountain. He walked very carefully, so
as not to fall. When he came to where the old black log was, he looked
at it and laughed.
* It was burnt black by a fire, which somebody had built there a great
while before.
ROLLO GETTING READY FOR HIS FATHER.
One day little Rollo was sitting by the fire on his green cricket. His
mother was sewing at her work-table.
“Mother,” said Rollo, “when do you think father will come home?”
His mother said, “I think he will come home pretty soon.”
“Then,” said Rollo, “I think I had better get a chair for him.”
So he went and took hold of the great rocking-chair, to pull it to the
fire for his father; but it was so heavy that it would not come. So
Rollo began to cry.
His mother looked up and said, “Rollo, what is the matter?”
Rollo said, “This rocking-chair will not come.”
“Where do you want to carry it?”
“I want it to be by the fire, so that my father can sit in it when he
comes home,” said Rollo.
“Why do you want your father to have it?”
“Because;” said he. He did not know exactly how to tell the reason, and
so he only said “Because.”
“It is because you wish to please him and to save him trouble, is it
not?”
“Yes, mother,” said Rollo.
“Well, do you not think it displeases me and gives me trouble to have
you cry, and make me get up and come and move the chair for you?”
Rollo knew it did, but he did not answer.
Then his mother said, “What good does it do to displease _me_ and
make _me_ trouble, for the sake of pleasing _father_ and saving _him_
trouble?”
Rollo could not answer this question; so he kept swinging and rocking,
back and forth, on the chair. His mother went on with her work.
By and by he said, “Well, I can get my father’s slippers for him.”
So he went to the little closet by the side of the fire, and took out
the slippers, and put them down in the corner, and then when his father
came in, he ran to the door to meet him, and he said,
“Father, father, I could not move up your chair, but there are your
slippers all ready.”
THE WAY TO OBEY.
When Rollo was about five years old, his mother one evening took him up
in her lap, and said,
“Well, Rollo, it is about time for you to go to bed.”
“Oh, mamma,” said Rollo, “_must_ I go now?”
“Did you know,” said his mother, “that it is wrong for you to say that?”
“Why, mother,” said Rollo, surprised.
“When I think it is time for you to go to bed, it is wrong for you to
say or do any thing which shows that you are not willing to go.”
“Why, mother?”
“Because that makes it more unpleasant for you to go, and more
unpleasant for me to send you. Now whenever I think that it is time for
you to go, it is my duty to send you, and it is your duty to go, and we
never ought to do any thing to make our duty unpleasant.”
Rollo then said nothing. He sat still a few minutes thinking.
“Do you understand it?” said his mother.
“Yes, mother,” said Rollo.
“Suppose now any mother should say to her boy, ‘Come, my boy, it is
time for you to go to bed;’ and the boy should say, ‘I won’t go.’ Would
that be right or wrong?”
“Oh, very wrong,” said Rollo.
“Suppose he should begin to cry, and say he did not want to go?”
“That would be very wrong too,” said Rollo.
“Suppose he should begin to beg a little, and say, ‘I don’t want to go
_now_, I should think you might let me sit up a little longer.’ What
should you think of that?”
“It would be wrong.”
“Suppose he should look up into his mother’s face sorrowfully, and say,
‘_Must_ I go now, mother?’”
“Wrong,”--said Rollo, faintly.
“Suppose he should not say a word, but look cross and ill-humored, and
throw away his playthings in a pet, and walk by the side of his mother,
reluctantly and slowly. What should you think of that?”
“I think it would be wrong.”
“Suppose he should look pleasantly, and say, ‘Well mother,’ and come
pleasantly to take her hand, and bid the persons in the room good
night, and walk off cheerfully.”
“That would be right,” said Rollo.
“Yes,” said his mother, “and always when a child is told to do any
thing, whether it is pleasant to do or not, he ought to obey at once,
and cheerfully.”
ROLLO’S BREAKFAST.
Rollo was sitting one morning by the fire-side, before breakfast,
reading in a little blue covered hymn-book. Presently Mary brought in
the breakfast; and Rollo was glad, and jumped up from his little _low_
chair at the fire, and went and brought his _high_ chair, and put it at
his place at the table.
When they were all ready, they stood still, while Rollo’s father said
in a slow and serious manner, “Almighty God, we thank thee that thou
hast again spread this table for us, and prepared this food. Help us
now to receive it thankfully, and may it strengthen us to obey thy
commands this day; we ask it for Christ’s sake.” Then they sat down.
Rollo knew that this was called asking a blessing, and he had always
been taught to be very still, and very attentive, while it was done. He
did not know however, exactly what it was for, and he thought he would
now ask his father.
His father told him it was to thank God for their breakfast.
Rollo asked his father whether God gave them their breakfast.
“Yes,” said his father, “God causes our breakfast to be brought to us
from many distant places.”
“Where do the knives and forks come from?” said Rollo.
“They come from England. The men dig up the iron out of the ground to
make the blades, and take horn and make the handles, and then roll them
up in a paper and put them in a ship. The ship brings them across the
ocean, more than a thousand miles, to Boston. Then the waggoner puts
them in his waggon, and brings them over the hills and valleys away to
this town where we live,--all that little Rollo may have a knife and
fork to eat his breakfast.”
“Where do the plates come from?”
“They come from England. The men find a bank of white clay, and they
mix up some of it with water, until it is like dough. Then they make it
into the shape of plates, and cups, and saucers, and paint them blue;
and put them into a large, hot oven, and bake them hard. When they are
cooled, they pack them up in a sort of a basket, large and square; and
put straw and hay between them, so that they need not break. And so
they bring them over the waves, and over the hills, away to the town
we live in, so that little Rollo may have a plate when he eats his
breakfast.”
“Where does the coffee come from?”
“It comes from Cuba. The negroes plant a tree and take good care of it
while it grows, until there are a great many kernels of coffee upon it.
They gather them when they are ripe, and sew them up in a bag, and send
them all the way over the sea, and over the land, across the rivers and
mountains and rocks. When they come here, Mary burns them brown, and
grinds them in the mill, and heats the water, all that little Rollo may
have some coffee to drink for breakfast.”
“Where does the bread come from?”
“When the summer begins, the little green blades of wheat grow up out
of the ground, in the farmer’s fields. God waters it with showers,
and warms it with the sun, so that it grows and grows and grows, till
it is higher than Rollo’s head. Then the little grains of wheat grow
in the top of it, and when they are ripe, the farmer cuts them down,
and pounds them out with a great heavy flail, and puts them in a bag,
and sends them to mill. At the mill they are ground between two great
stones, into fine, white flour, and the baker mixes the flour and
water; and makes the dough, and bakes it in his great hot oven, all
that little Rollo may have some bread for breakfast.”
“Well, but father,” said Rollo, “how does God give us our breakfast
then?”
His father said, “Why, it is God who made the iron in the ground for
the knives, and the clay for the plates and cups. He brings the summer
and the sun. He makes the wheat sprout up and grow, and brings the
showers of rain. He takes care too, of all the men who shape the cups,
and make the knives, and gather the coffee, and grind the wheat. He
does all this kindly for us,--so that Rollo and all the other boys in
the world may have some breakfast. I think we ought to thank him.”
Rollo did not say any thing, but he thought so too.
FICTITIOUS STORIES.
“Father, will you tell me a story?” said Rollo one day.
Rollo’s father was sitting on the platform, leading out to the
garden-yard.* It was a pleasant summer evening, just before sunset.
“Shall it be a true story, or a _fictitious_ one?” said his father.
“What is fictitious?” asked Rollo.
“A story that is not true.”
“But it would be wrong for you to tell me any thing that was not true,
would it not?” said Rollo.
“Do you think it would be certainly wrong?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Suppose you were coming along the yard, and were riding on my cane,
and should come up to me and say, ‘Papa, this is my horse. See what a
noble horse I have got.’ Would that be wrong?”
“No, sir.”
“Would it be true?”
“No, sir,--It would not be a real horse.”
“Now do you know why it would be right in this case for you to say it
was a horse, when it was not?”
Rollo could not tell.
“I will tell you,” said his father. “Because you would not be trying to
_deceive_ me. I could see your horse, as you call him, and could see
that it was nothing but a cane. You would not be trying to deceive me,
to make me think it was a real horse when it was not.”
“No, sir,” said Rollo.
“If you should say any thing which is not strictly true, and want to
make me think it is true, that would be very wrong. That would be
telling a lie. So it would be very wrong for me to tell you any thing
which is not true, and try to make you think it is true. But it is not
wrong for me to make up a little story to amuse you, if I do not try to
deceive you by it.”
“Would that be a fictitious story?”
“Yes.”
“Well, father, I should like to have you tell me a fictitious story.”
“Well, I will tell you one. The name of it is, The Fly’s Morning Walk.”
So Rollo’s father took his little boy up in his lap, and told him the
following fictitious story.
* They called it the garden-yard, because it led out to the garden.
You can see Jonas in the picture, wheeling out a load of weeds, along
the path from the garden to the barn-yard.
THE FLY’S MORNING WALK.
Once there was a little fly with broad, thin wings and round body
and two great eyes. When he waked up in the morning, he found he was
standing on the wall, and he thought he would go and find something for
breakfast.
He flew down upon the table, and then crept along. First he found a
little grain of sand, and said he, “I wonder if this is good to eat.”
So he reached out his long _proboscis_ to it, and tried to taste of it,
but he found it was dry and rough and hard. “Oh, _no, no, no_,” said
he, “this is not good to eat.”
Then he walked along a little farther, and came to some dust. And he
said, “I wonder whether this is good to eat.” So he reached out his
long proboscis to it, and tried to taste of it; but he found it was dry
and insipid, and it stuck all over the end of his proboscis, and he
said, “Oh, _no, no, no_, this is not good to eat.”
Then he went along until he came to a pin, and he said, “I wonder
whether this is good to eat.” So he reached out his long proboscis,
and tried to taste of it, but it was smooth and hard and round, and he
could not taste of it at all. And he said, “Oh, _no, no, no_, this is
not good to eat.”
Then he went round to the point of the pin, and he said, “I wonder
whether this is good to eat”; but as soon as he touched his long
proboscis to it, it pricked the end of it, and he started back and
said, “Oh, _no, no, no_, this is not good to eat.”
Then he went along a little further, and came to a crack in the table,
and he said, “I wonder whether there is any thing here good to eat.” So
he reached down his long proboscis into it, and got it pinched in, so
he cried out, “Oh, oh, oh, this is not good to eat.”
Then he went along a little further, and by this time he began to be
very hungry, and presently, he saw a very small thing lying on the
table, and he walked up to it, and began to feel of it with his long
proboscis, and found it tasted very sweet and good. It was a little
piece of a sugar-dog, which a boy had dropped there, and he said, “Oh,
_yes, yes, yes_, this is very good to eat.” Thus at last the little fly
found some breakfast.
WAKING UP.
Rollo’s father was a very kind father. He took very good care of his
little boy. He had a little trundle-bed made for him to sleep in, and
good warm clothes for him to wear, and besides he would very often talk
to him very kindly and pleasantly.
Once Rollo’s mother took cold and became sick. Her sickness increased
for several days, until at last it became necessary for her to have a
nurse come and take care of her.
That night Rollo was put to bed in another chamber, and his father came
to hear him say his prayers, and to bid him good night. He put his
cheek down to Rollo’s, and they both prayed, first one and then the
other, that God would take care of them both, and forgive their sins
and give them good and holy hearts, and prepare them for heaven.
Just before his father went away, he said,
“Rollo, I am going to sleep here with you to-night.”
“Are you?” said Rollo.
“Yes; the nurse is going to take care of mother, and in an hour or two,
I shall come here and go to bed. Now when the morning comes, if you
will pull me, and wake me up, I will tell you a little story.”
“Well,” said Rollo, “I will.”
Then his father took up the light to go away.
Rollo did not want to have the light taken away, and he said, “Father,
are you going to carry away the light?”
“Yes,--wouldn’t you?” said his father.
“No, sir, I think I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, yes, I think I must take the light away, and you must shut up your
eyes and go to sleep.”
So Rollo laid his cheek upon the pillow, and shut up his eyes, though
they quivered a little, because he was not sleepy, and pretty soon his
father went away.
The next morning, little Rollo was awakened by some one rubbing him,
and when he opened his eyes he found that it was his father, whose face
was close to his upon the pillow.
“Rollo,” said he, “I told you, last night, that if you would pull me
and wake me up, this morning, I would tell you a little story: but you
kept asleep all this time, so I had to pull you and rub you and wake
_you_ up; was not that funny?”
Rollo smiled faintly, for he was not yet quite awake.
Pretty soon he opened his eyes wide, and looked around the room. He saw
that the window-curtains were very light, and he perceived that it was
morning. His father then put his face to his, and said these words. He
was praying to Almighty God.
“Oh, God, thou hast been in this room all night, watching and taking
care of little Rollo and me while we have been asleep. We thank thee
that thou hast kept us safely. Wilt thou take care of us all the day,
and make us kind to all in the house. Do not let Rollo be disobedient
or obstinate or ungrateful or unkind to little Lucy; and make us all
good and happy, for Christ’s sake, Amen.”
Rollo was still and attentive while his father said these words. He
wanted God to hear and do what his father asked.
“Rollo,” said his father, a few minutes afterwards, “what are you
going to do all day to-day?”
“Oh,” said Rollo, “I am going to play.”
“Where are you going to get your breakfast?”
“Oh, I am going to get it down stairs, in the parlor.”
“But whose breakfast is that down in the parlor? Is it yours?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you buy it with your money?”
“No, sir.”
“Shall you get it ready?”
“No, sir, I do not know how to get the breakfast ready.”
“Then it is not your breakfast; it is all my breakfast; but as you have
not got any breakfast of your own, I believe I will let you have some
of my breakfast. But what are you going to do for a house to live in
all day?”
“Oh,” said Rollo, “I am going to live in this house.”
“But is this your house?”
“No, sir.”
“Isn’t it yours? Did not you build it?”
“No, sir.”
“Did not you buy it?”
“No, sir.”
“And haven’t you got any house to live in?”
“No, sir, not unless you let me live in yours.”
“Well, if you have not any house to live in, I will let you live in
mine to-day.”
Just then Rollo pointed up to the wall, and said,
“See, there is a tiger on the wall;--it looks like a tiger.”
His father looked up at the irregular lines on the wall, which had
attracted his little boy’s attention, but he could not see any thing
that resembled a tiger.
“I don’t see,” said his father; “where is his _head_?”
“He has not got any head; it is not a tiger, it only looks like a
tiger. It has got a tail.”
“Well, where is his tail?”
“I--don’t--know. I see a stag, too, and camel.”
In a minute or two his father turned Rollo’s face over gently towards
himself, so that his attention should not be attracted by what he saw
there. He wanted him to listen to what he was saying to him.
“Well, Rollo,” said he, “whose clothes are you going to wear to-day?”
“Oh, I am going to wear _my_ clothes,” said Rollo; “yours would be a
great deal too big.”
“Have you got any clothes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you get them?”
“I--don’t--know,” said Rollo, hesitating.
“The clothes which you wore yesterday belong to _me_,” said his father.
“Have you got any others?”
“Yes, sir,” said Rollo; “I have got some up stairs in the drawer.”
“Well, those belong to me. I paid for them with my money, and I might
sell them or give them away at any time, if I chose. Have you not got
any others?”
“No, sir,” said Rollo.
“Well,” said his father, “I shall let you wear those clothes of mine
then. I am very glad I have got a house, and some breakfast, and some
clothes for my little Rollo boy since you have not got any of your own.
But I think if I get a house for you to live in, and breakfast for you
to eat, and clothes for you to wear, you ought to be a very careful,
faithful, obedient little boy.”
ROLLO’S PRAYER.
Every night, when Rollo went to bed, he said a prayer which his father
had taught him. It is an excellent plan for a boy or girl to say their
prayers every night. For you have probably done something wrong during
the day, and you ought not to go to sleep until you are forgiven.
Besides, God has taken care of you through the day, and you ought not
to go to sleep till you have sincerely thanked him, and asked him to
take care of you through the night, while you sleep. I will tell you
what Rollo’s prayer was, and I think you had better learn it, and say
it every night before you go to sleep, unless you have already learned
some other one.
The Prayer.
Now that another day is gone, and I lay down my head upon my pillow to
rest, I come to thee, Almighty God, my Heavenly Father, to ask thee to
forgive my sins, and to take care of me this night.
I have done wrong a great many times,--and destroyed my own peace of
mind, and made my father and mother unhappy, and displeased thee. I
pray thee, O God, to forgive me for Jesus Christ my Saviour’s sake; and
wilt thou keep my heart that I may do wrong no more. Help me, every
day, to try to please thee more and more, so that I may be thy dutiful
and obedient child while I live, and my soul be saved when I die.
And now wilt thou come and be near my bed-side while I sleep, keep me
safe until the morning; and always, whether I wake or sleep, whether I
live or die, wilt thou be with me, and love me, and take care of me,
forever, for Jesus’ sake.
Amen.
* * * * *
It will do no good to say this or any other prayer, unless you say it
seriously and sincerely, and are really sorry for having done wrong,
and resolved to do so no more.
BUNNY.
A FICTITIOUS STORY.
Once there was a beautiful wood, and in it many large trees. In one of
these trees was a large hole; the bottom of the hole was covered with
dry leaves and moss. Here lived Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel, with their five
children, named Creep, Peep, Bushy, Grey and Bunny. They were good
little squirrels, and might have been a very happy family, had not
Bunny been discontented. She tried to make the others so too. She would
very often crowd her brothers and sisters, and fret because she had not
room.