Part 2

“You will be, forever and forever,” said the fairy, with a radiant smile.

And Seekpeace most faithfully kept his promise, and was happy to the end of his journey.’

* * * * *

“Now, how do you like my story, children?” asked Mr. Lee.

“Very much, father,” replied Flora. “I think I know what it means too. Goldenhand wasn’t a real giant, like those in Jack and the Beanstalk.”

“You are right, my child. What do you think of Pureheart?”

“She was a very nice fairy.”

“What do you think of her, Mary? Did you like her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I hope you will love her as Seekpeace did. But, Mary, you did not say ‘no’ to the giant when he asked you to take the thimble, as Goldenhand asked Seekpeace to take the widow’s gold. If you had said ‘no,’ Pureheart would at once have come to help you resist temptation, and make you happy.”

“I never will do so again,” exclaimed Mary, bursting into tears.

“I hope you never will,” added Mr. Lee. “The giant often tempts boys and girls to take what does not belong to them. Resist him, as Seekpeace did, and Pureheart will be your friend to the end of your journey.”

Mr. Lee did not tell the children that he had found the gold thimble in Mary’s basket; but he hoped that his story would do her good. And I hope my little readers will understand and profit by it.

WHIP-POOR-WILL.

A SAD STORY OF A NAUGHTY BOY.

There was a little fellow, And his name was Willie Brown; His mother was a widow, In a little country town. One day he was so naughty That his mother told him not To leave the house a moment Till a whipping he had got.

If you wish to know how naughty This Willie Brown had been, Let me tell you that the wash tub He had thrown poor kitty in; And the pretty little creature— Old pussy’s joy and pride— Had struggled in the soap-suds Till in agony she died.

Don’t you think ’twas very wicked For Willie, in his wrath, To give the darling kitty Such a soap and water bath? Don’t you think he needed something To teach him better—that Soap-suds was not the element To drown a pussy-cat?

Willie did not want a whipping, And the stick he dreaded so, That he minded not his mother, Who had told him not to go; But in terror and in silence He departed from the house, Creeping out the door on tiptoe, Like a thieving little mouse.

Behind his mother’s cottage Was the forest deep and wide; And the naughty boy kept running Till he reached its gloomy side; Then he took the beaten pathway, Which the cows and sheep had made, And hour after hour there Within the forest staid.

Willie wandered in the forest Till the sun went down at last, And the darkness, deep and dreary, Gloomy shadows round him cast; Far more than any whipping Did he fear the long dark night; So his steps he home directed, Guided by the cottage light.

But a little way he travelled When a scream from overhead Almost froze his blood with terror As he homeward swiftly fled. And the cry above him sounded, “Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!” And again it was repeated, “Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!”

“Don’t whip me; O, don’t whip me!” Cried the trembling little lad; “And I’ll never drown a kitty, And I never will be bad.” But the voice above kept screaming, “Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!” Though poor Willie begged for mercy, It kept crying, “Whip-poor-will!”

“Don’t let them whip me, mother!” Cried poor trembling Willie Brown, As he rushed into the cottage, Where poor kitty he did drown.

“The monsters in the forest Want to whip me, mother, still; And they chased me, ever crying, ‘Whip-poor-will! whip-poor-will!’”

“You are foolish, boy, as naughty; It was nothing but a bird; Of the whip-poor-will that says so, Pray, have you never heard? It was your conscience, Willie, Made you feel so very bad, For you did not mind your mother, And you are a wicked lad.

“And boys who are so naughty, Must always cowards be, Who sometimes in their shadows Can such awful monsters see. But since you were so wicked As the kitty dear to kill, And the bird did only scare you, Why, then, I must whip poor Will!”