Part 4

The nurse took the children into the garden; they then ran about in the meadow, while she gathered them some nosegays, and after some time they returned towards the house, and again played about in the garden.

While they were there Fanny discovered that she had lost her handkerchief, and instead of asking the cook to fetch her one, she told Charlotte to take care of her brother for a minute or two, while she ran to the nursery to get one.

When Fanny opened her drawer, she found somebody had tumbled her best gown, and her huswife and balls of cotton were all mixed about among her clothes. Now, Fanny liked to see her things neat, and in their proper places, so she could not bear to leave them in disorder, and while she set her drawer to rights, above a quarter of an hour passed away.

All at once she recollected the children, and looking out of the window she saw Charlotte very busy undressing her doll, and called to her, “Where is Charles?”

“Oh, there he is,” said Charlotte, without looking up.

“I do not see him,” cried Fanny, and ran down stairs as fast as possible.

She looked round but he was not in sight.

“He was here just this minute,” said Charlotte; “he was looking at a snail which was crawling by that monkshood.”

Fanny now began to be frightened, and ran to the kitchen window to see if Charles was there. The cook had not seen him; she then ran round the garden, but he was not to be found. The cook now came, and they looked in the yard, and examined the dog kennel, for Charles had once gone and laid himself down along with “Captain;” but now Captain was asleep in his kennel quite alone.

They then thought he might have gone to the kitchen garden, but the door was locked, and Mrs. Sinclair had taken the key. Fanny next examined the shrubbery at the end of the garden, and the gate which opened into the meadow, but that was shut.

You may suppose how anxious Fanny now felt; the sun was just setting, and not a sound was heard except the mill, and the sheep-bells at a distance. At this moment, Mr. Sinclair, who had just returned, met her, and asked what was the matter, and where the children were.

_Fanny, (bursting into tears.)_ O, Sir, Charlotte is up stairs; but--

_Mr. Sinclair._ But what! Where is Charles?

Fanny cried very bitterly, and could not answer.

_Mr. S._ Where is he? What is the matter?

The cook then came, and said, “Sir, Charles is lost.”

_Mr. S._ Lost! What do you mean! lost! when, and how?

_Cook._ We have been looking for him this half hour, Sir; he was just before that time in the broad walk with his sister; but we cannot find what is become of him.

Mr. Sinclair appeared struck; he was silent for a minute, but his lips moved as if he was uttering a short prayer. He then inquired very earnestly, but calmly, where they had looked.

_F._ Oh, every where, every where, Sir; Oh how unhappy I am.

_Ernest._ I dare say you are, but why could not you take care of the child?

_Mr. S._ Ernest, this is not a moment to give way to anger; we must examine how it happened afterwards; but God knows where your brother is, I trust he will enable us to find him; quick, we must lose no time; I dare say he has got into the meadow.

_F._ Sir, the gates are both shut.

_Mr. S._ The smallest gate easily shuts to, and a gust of wind may have closed it after he had gone through.

Ernest and his father then went into the meadow. On one side was a copse, through which there was a path, and on the other side the ground rose till it became a steep hill, and sloped down on the other side rather suddenly towards the lake.

“Cross the meadow, Ernest, and go up the hill,” said his father; “I will go round through the copse, and meet you.”

Ernest made haste, and called out, “Charles, Charles,” as he ran, for he was very fond of his little brother: “Charles, Charles, where are you? Oh, I wish I knew where you are gone.”

He then recollected what his father had said, and as he loved and feared God, he thought, “O Lord, thou knowest where Charles is gone, direct me where to find him.”

He then felt encouraged and ran on. I dare say my readers remember the beautiful text, “The Lord is nigh unto all them that call upon him; to all that call upon him in truth.” It is in the 145th Psalm. Yes, God hears even the youngest child who asks for his help in faith.

Ernest ran up the hill as fast as he could, though it was very steep and covered with furze bushes.

You may imagine his joy when he got near the top, and saw little Charles about two hundred yards before him, running along a very dangerous path, which was full of rough stones; on one side the ground sloped towards the wood, and on the other it was a precipice towards the lake.

Poor little Charles was crying very sadly: he stopped and wiped his eyes with his pinafore, and then ran on again, and then stopped again and cried, and then ran on again.

“Charley, my dear Charley,” said Ernest.

Charley stopped and looked behind him.

“Oh, my dear Charles,” said Ernest, leaping over the bushes and catching him in his arms, “God has preserved you.”

Presently their father came up. “Thank God,” he exclaimed, and taking Charles in his arms he kissed him, and they hastened back to the house.

Mrs. Sinclair had just come in, and was deeply grieved at what had happened; but instead of giving way to grief, or flying into a passion, she inquired what had been done to search for him, and finding that proper measures were taken, she went into her own room, and prayed that her little Charles might be brought back again in safety.

While she was thus employed, she heard Ernest’s voice at a distance: “Here he is; here he is; we have found him!” She opened the window, and exclaimed, “Oh! where, where, let us be thankful!”

Mr. Sinclair was carrying him in his arms.--The poor child had fallen asleep, but he was much agitated, and sobbed deeply. They laid him on his bed, and by degrees he became more calm.

Fanny stood at the further end of the room; she was still weeping, but her tears were tears of joy.

“Fanny,” said her mistress, “come here; I have cause to blame you very much, and should do so, but I know you are not accustomed to be careless, and I see you deeply feel the consequences of your neglect. Learn from what has happened, that a very trifling neglect of our duty may be the cause of a very serious evil. If you had attended to your duty and my orders, what painful feelings would you have saved both yourself and us. You are young; never, never forget this lesson, and entreat the Lord to improve it for your good.”

“We may all learn a lesson from it,” said Mr. Sinclair; “my grief at missing Charles, and my fear lest some accident had befallen him, made me think of the goodness of our heavenly father towards us. I said to myself, God compares his love towards his children, to that which I feel for little Charles; surely, then, I ought not to fear that he will leave me, or forsake me; and if I should be so unhappy as to wander from his paths, surely I may hope that he will seek for me, and lead me back again.”

_Mrs. S._ That reminds me of what our Saviour said, when he compared himself to the good shepherd who goes to seek for the sheep that has wandered from the fold, and having found it, carries it home, rejoicing.

_Ernest._ When I saw how unhappy little Charles was, it made me think how miserable those are who wander from the ways of the Lord; and when I see how glad we all are, that dear little Charles is brought home in safety, it reminds me of the joy there will be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, and is brought back again.

_Mr. S._ Since our Lord has been pleased to try us in this manner for a short time; let us entreat that he would bless this trial to our hearts, and let us not forget the thanks which we owe to him. He is indeed merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. He hath not dealt with us according to our sins, nor rewarded us according to our iniquities. Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.

The hour for family prayer was now come. Mr. Sinclair read the 103d Psalm, and while he endeavoured to bless the Lord for all his benefits, he did not forget the mercy which they had so lately experienced.

Before she went to rest, Mrs. Sinclair looked at little Charles; he just woke, and smiled at his mother, gave her a sweet kiss, and then went comfortably to sleep again.

REAL CHARITY.

The winter had just set in. The weather was severe, and there was every appearance that the poor would have to undergo many hardships. Mr. Halton, a faithful minister of Christ in Switzerland, mentioned in his sermon that it was necessary to make collections for them.

“My dear people,” said he, “let us remember the love wherewith Christ hath loved us; he, who is the only son of the father, and heir of all things ‘for your sakes became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich.’ (2 Corinthians viii. 9.) Remember also the words of the Psalmist, ‘Blessed is he that considereth the poor, the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble.’ My dear friends, there are many poor persons amongst us. Some are too old or too feeble to work; if the weather continues severe, others will not be able to get employment; and there are several whose families are so numerous that they are in difficulties in the most favourable times. You know, that old people and children, in particular suffer much in cold weather. Recollect these persons are our brethren; and I trust that some among them have been brought from darkness to light, to the knowledge and love of Christ. These, especially, we ought not to neglect, (Gal. vi. 10.) and I am glad to find that some of our number have resolved to do as they have done before. They have determined to labour harder than usual, to assist in supporting these feeble brethren, remembering the words of our Lord as mentioned by the apostle, (Acts xx. 35.) ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ I hope many of us are willing to follow this example.”

After the sermon a collection was made; it was larger than usual, and, during the week following, several persons sent money and clothes for the same purpose.

Susan was the daughter of a shoemaker. Both her parents feared God. She had heard the sermon, and as she walked home she thought a good deal of what the minister had said about the old people and children. Her mother had been forced to stay at home to nurse the baby, but she asked her daughter about the sermon.

“It is our duty,” said she, when Susan had related the particulars; “it is our duty to assist the poor. All we possess was given to us by God, and it is our duty to help his children and people.”

Susan sat silent for some time: she then said, “Mother, you know that father pays me a half-penny for every pair of shoes I bind, and he lets me do what I please with the money: suppose I ask him to send it to our minister, for the poor. And you promised to buy me a pair of clogs at Christmas, but these old ones will last me some time longer, and you know I never have chilblains, so if you please, mother, you can send that money also.”

The mother gave her daughter a kiss of affection and pleasure. The father entered, and inquired what they were talking about. His wife told him.

_Father._ It is very right, for there are many amongst us who are much distressed; our minister told me that Old Simon is quite paralytic, and his daughter is ill of a fever and keeps her bed. Suppose we only have meat for our dinner twice a week this winter, we shall be better able to help our neighbours.

This was agreed to, and also that Susan should be allowed to give what she had proposed; her father said he would pay what she earned every week to their minister. “Would not it be better,” said the little girl, “to put it into the poor’s box without saying any thing about it?”

_F._ It is the same in the end, my dear; but I think our minister would be glad to receive it himself. It is, as I may say, the first-fruit you have produced; he has taken much pains in teaching you, and a gardener rejoices to gather the fruit from the trees he has planted.

_Mother._ You are right, Susan, in not wishing that your alms should be seen of men, as our Lord said in his sermon on the mount, “Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your father which is in heaven.” (Matt. vi. 1.) But I think, with your father, that it will be proper in this instance, to show our minister that you desire to obey the will of the Lord.

Susan very wisely thought that her parents knew best what was proper, so she only was anxious to bind as many shoes as she could, that there might be the more money to help the poor children: she had learnt, and she did not forget, the 5th commandment, “Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” The next morning was Monday, she rose early, read a chapter, and prayed as usual, she then set to work and had finished half a shoe before breakfast. She worked that day as hard as she could, and half an hour longer than usual, so she trimmed a pair more than she did in general.

But do not suppose she looked as if she were proud of what she had done, or that she was less active in doing what it was her regular business to perform in the family. She was ready to nurse the baby or to do any thing else her mother directed.

She did this from love to God and therefore did not merely try to get her parents’ praise. She was more attentive than ever to do what they wished, and did not say a word about her having risen earlier or worked harder than usual. Tuesday, Wednesday, and all the rest of the week, passed just like Monday. Mark this, my little reader; for it often happens that young folks determine to do something which is very right and proper, but in a few days they are tired of it.

Now Susan had begun this work in a right manner, she prayed in her mind before she spoke to her mother. She acted as the Bible directs, honouring her father and mother by asking their approval, so we need not be much surprised that she was able to keep firm to her resolution, and that the whole week passed without her feeling tired, because she had been so busy and had played so little.

This week she earned threepence more than usual; and on Sunday morning her father put into the minister’s hand eightpence, which was the whole of her earnings, telling him whence it came, and what was to be done with it. Susan and her mother were going out of church; when she saw her father go up to the minister, she could not refrain from looking to see what passed: the minister appeared pleased.

Christmas day came, it was cold, wet, and dirty. Susan could not help thinking of the new clogs; she was silent for a few minutes, when her mother inquired if she really had made up her mind to do without them?

“Yes dear mother,” at last, said she, sewing away very busily, and without looking up; “I have not to go out much in the wet. To be sure I should like to have them to wear on Sunday;--but then,--perhaps that is because I should like the neighbours to see them, and _that_ I am sure is not a good reason.”

_M._ Then you have made up your mind to go without a new year’s gift, for I do not intend to buy you any thing else?

_Susan._ Mother, I do not want a new year’s gift. I have all I want, and even more than I need provided for me every day, through the blessing of God, by your kindness. There are a great many boys and girls in the village who will not have any new year’s gift; and they have not got thick shoes and warm frocks as I have.

_M._ Then I am not to buy the clogs?

_S._ No, mother; but ask father to give the money they would cost, next Sunday, with the rest.

The new clogs were not bought, and Susan contrived to pass the winter without them. Every week (for she did not miss one) her father gave her earnings to the minister; it was always six-pence or sevenpence, and two weeks it amounted to tenpence! When the snow fell very fast, and the air felt very keen and frosty, Susan was happy to think that her pence were keeping some of the poor little children from the cold.

Now I will relate what was done with Susan’s money. Her father requested the minister to apply it for the use of some one family, and particularly for clothing a poor child. There was a widow who had one little boy, they were very poor, he was bare-footed and almost naked: the mother was a good woman, so the minister bought clothes for her son, and advanced the money till Susan’s contributions were enough to repay him, and when the price of the clogs was added, only about a third remained unpaid.

One day, in the beginning of February, the shoemaker told Susan to accompany him to the minister’s house, as he was going to take home some work. The fields were all covered with snow, she put on her thick shoes, which she had lined with flannel, and followed her father.

When they arrived at the minister’s house, he spoke very kindly to Susan; taking out a little account book he showed her father how he had disposed of his daughter’s earnings. “The jacket and trowsers are now quite paid for, and a nice cap besides;” said he. The shoemaker thanked him, and they returned homewards. “Oh, it is cold, so very cold,” said Susan, shrugging up her shoulders as she run along the path. “Do look, father, at those poor birds pecking about in the road, I am sure they can find very little there.”

_F._ Our heavenly father does not forget them. Remember the words of our Lord, “Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly father feedeth them:” and not a sparrow shall fall on the ground without his knowledge. (Matt. vi. 26. x. 29.)

Just then they passed by the house where the poor widow lived, whose son had been clothed by Susan’s money. School was over, and little Ned came running along the path full of glee. He looked very comfortable; he had on a nice brown jacket and a warm cap; he was swinging his hands and clapping them together, and did not seem at all cold.

“Well, master Ned, you seem very gay;” said the shoemaker. Ned laughed, and ran into his mother’s cottage.

“His mother has taken good care of him;” said Susan.

“And so has my daughter,” added her father; “for, thank God, he put it into your heart to clothe him. Our minister just now told me, he bought those clothes for little Ned with the money you sent him.”

Susan was quite surprised; she could not have supposed that her little earnings would have done so much good. Tears of joy came into her eyes, and when they reached home she went into her own room, and kneeling down blessed God, for having inclined her to do what made her so happy.

Can any boy or girl read this history without thinking, “How much better it is to spend my money in making other people happy, than wasting it in idle toys. How much better it will be for me to rest contented without things which cannot do me any real good, that I may help those who want the necessaries of life.”

PROVIDENCE;

_Or, the Mother and her Child_.

One fine afternoon in autumn, Samuel, a labourer in the village of Ancenis, called his daughter Fanny, and told her to get her hat and cloak, to accompany him on a visit to a friend in the next village, who was ill.

The weather was fine, and the path between the villages was very pleasant. Part of the way was between two hedges full of berries of various colours, it then passed over an open down which commanded a beautiful prospect, and at last, winding through a thick wood, came out into some rich meadows.

Although Samuel was a poor labourer, without much education, and had lived all his life in the country, he was not insensible to the beauty of the works of God in creation. He had been accustomed from childhood to read God’s holy word, and had drawn from thence much that instructed his mind, with regard to the things of this world, as well as the knowledge that made him wise unto salvation.

Thus he could enjoy the beauties of the country, and the lovely objects of nature always appeared new and interesting. As he found much true enjoyment in these contemplations, which directed his thoughts and his love towards God, he endeavoured to induce his children also to take pleasure in them. He used to take them with him into the fields, and often pointed out to them various instances of the power, the wisdom, and the goodness of God, who made all things.

Fanny was only twelve years old, but she already began to perceive that knowledge is precious; and preferred her father’s instructions to idle gossiping with the girls of the village. She was particularly fond of listening to her parents’ friends, and always tried to learn something from their conversation; so that she was very glad to accompany her father in his visit that afternoon.

As the father and his daughter walked together, they conversed about the goodness of the Lord, who forgets none of his creatures, not even the smallest and most insignificant.

“Look round, my dear,” said Samuel, stopping at the highest part of the down, from whence the view was very extensive, “see those villages, the woods, and the river; every place you behold is peopled with an innumerable multitude of creatures of various kinds.

“Some walk upright, others crawl upon the ground; others burrow into the earth, and form their habitation under the surface; others fly aloft, and traverse the air in every direction; others swim in the waters. Throughout the whole of creation, every part is the habitation of some animal, or reptile, or insect. Even in the woods, among the leaves of the trees, in the fruits they bear, in the earth from whence they grow, nay, even among the stones, there are some living things. Now, whether they are great or small, whatever they are, not one of them is forgotten by Him who made it.”

As they walked, Samuel said, “God’s wonderful power is over _all_ his works, from the vast whale which inhabits the seas, to the little insects which are found in every drop of the water of yonder pool, but which cannot be seen without the aid of a glass.”

_Fanny._ Is it possible, father, that God can take all this care of every animal and insect, even of spiders, ants, grasshoppers, and worms?