Lost Nellie and Other Stories │ Project Gutenberg

   POOR little Nellie!
   Sweet little Nellie!
Why are you here now, my dear?
   What does it mean?
   Pray where have you been?
And where is mamma? Can't she hear?

   Under the oak tree!
   Giant old oak tree!
Far from your home, never fear,—
   The dear Father sees,
   Little Nell on her knees,
And "loves" her; yes, loves her "so" dear!

   Strayed from dear mamma,
   Strayed from dear papa,—
She prays to "Our Father" above;
   In Heaven he hears,
   And quiets her fears;
For you know, He's a father of "love!"

   The moon rises high,
   As she rides in the sky,
But the prayer rises faster, on high!
   The moon sheds her light,
   To gladden the night:
But a brighter light shines in the sky.

   An angel was sent,
   And speedily went,
And whispered to papa the way;
   And here on the ground,
   His Nellie was found!
Though she'd wandered so far, "far" away!

AN OLD STORY.

ONCE there was a storm; it rained, and rained, and rained, for forty days and nights, without stopping. Think of that! There was a great boat built for all the people who were afraid of the rain, and would go in it and be shut up, before the rain began to come; for a good man told them it was coming, and begged them to get ready; but they wouldn't, so the good man took his family and went in alone.

After it had rained so long, and the water covered over everything, and all the people were drowned, then the rain stopped; but the good man could not come out of his boat, because there was no place for him to step—all the ground was covered with water.

Months went by, and still this good man and his family were shut into the boat. At last, he saw the water was drying off so fast that he opened a window of his boat, and sent a raven out to see about it.

Did I tell you that he had every kind of bird and animal in his boat with him? They had sense enough to want to be saved, though the people didn't. But the raven didn't come back to tell him anything about it. And he sent a little gentle dove to see what she would find; but the poor dove flew up and down the world, and couldn't find any place to rest her tired feet, for everything was covered with water, so she said to herself: "I will go back to that nice safe boat; there is no place here for me." So she came and tapped at the window of the boat, and the good man opened the window, and put out his hand, and took her in.

Then he waited seven days, and he thought: "Perhaps the water is dried off now; I will send my dovie out to see." So he let her go, and she stayed away all day. I guess he almost thought she wasn't coming back; but when it began to grow dusk, she came tapping at the window, and in her mouth she brought a leaf from an olive tree.

"Ah!" said the good man. "Dovie found an olive tree, to rest on; the water is drying off; but it isn't very dry yet, for my dovie couldn't find any place to make a home; she had to come back to me."

So he waited seven days more, then he opened the window, and sent out the dove to take another journey; at night he watched for her, but she did not come; in the morning he looked for her, but she did not come; days passed by, and dovie came back no more.

"Ah!" said the good man. "My dovie has found a place to make her a home; the earth is getting dry."

Did he go on? No, not yet; he waited for the One who told him about this rain, and told him how to build his boat, and shut the door after him when he went in, to come and tell him when to go out. Whom do you think it was? Let me tell you: It was the great God! Would you like to hear the rest of this story? How the good man, and his family went out, and what they did, and what happened to them after that? Let me tell you where to find it; open the big Bible to the first book in it, and you will find the wonderful story.

OUR JESSIE.

PEEKING through the tall grain,—
  Don't you see my posies?
Guess they're sweet as pansies;
  Beautiful as roses.
Found them all myself, so;
  Picked them "all" for you!
Won't you please to have some?
  Don't you think they'll do?

Thought that was my mamma!
  Sakes! it's just a stump!
Looked like it was someone,
  Standing like a pump!
Where'd you s'pose the house is?
  Wonder if mamma is lost?
My! I've tored my dress so!
  Wonder what it cost?

Guess I ain't afraid, though;
  Jesus—"He" can see,—
Jesus knows about me,
  Knows just where I be;
Jesus made these flowers,
  All so sweet and bright;
He'll take care of Jessie,—
  An' bring me home all right.

I'll ask Him—'cause he hears me;
  I ask Him every day,—
"Dear Jesus, please to lead me,
  Show Jessie the right way;"
And tell me where mamma is,
  Before my flowers are dead?
Hark! there she comes! He heard me!
  It's "just" as mamma said.

TRYING TO AMUSE WILLIE.

PERHAPS you think it was an easy thing to do. I can tell you his sister Fanny did not think so; every bone in her body ached before the afternoon was over. You see the way of it was: Willie had been sick, now he was well enough to be down in the sitting room, and not well enough to be out doors; and he "wanted" to be out doors, and had made up his mind that nothing else could possibly please him; that is what made it such hard work. Mamma, the one who knew how to please everybody, had gone down town on errands that must be done, and Fanny had stayed from school on purpose to amuse Willie.

She tried everything; playing ball, playing marbles, reading stories; nothing suited. Willie said it was no fun to play ball on a carpet, and that she played marbles just like a girl, though how else he could have expected his sister to play them, I am sure I don't know. He said the stories were silly, and that Fanny was a little goose, and, for the matter of that, all girls were geese.

After that, Fanny concluded to try music, and see if that would soothe his savage breast. You see the result: Master Willie seated himself on the foot-rest, turned his back to the nice little musician, and pressed both hands over his ears, determined not to hear a note if he could help it. As for Fanny, not knowing what else to do, she played away, as loud as she possibly could, in the hope that a touch of sweetness would coax its way behind those naughty hands, and steal into the naughty heart. He did get tired of his silliness after a while, and settled down with a sigh, on the sofa, and let Fanny read to him; but he didn't enjoy it very well, because, you see, he had made up his mind that he "wouldn't" enjoy anything, and when a boy makes up his mind to that, it is very hard indeed to amuse him.

"Have you had a pleasant time?" was the very first question that mamma asked, when she came home; and before either of them could answer, she said:

"I was a little worried about you, and walked quite fast. How came you not to let Albert Miller in?"

"Yes, he has, dear; I stopped into Mrs. Miller's and asked her to let Albert come down and stay till I got back; then she asked me to get a spool of silk for her, and when I stopped to give it to her, she said Albert had been around here, and knocked and couldn't get in; I should have felt real frightened, only he said the piano was going; so I suppose you didn't hear. But, Willie, I should have thought you would have heard the knock; you were not playing, were you?"

"Pshaw!" said Willie. "Now isn't that mean? I wanted to see Albert, dreadfully; if you hadn't been playing that old piano, you would have heard him."

"And if you hadn't been poking both hands into your ears, you would have heard him," said Fanny, and she could not help laughing.

Now let me tell you something nice about Willie; he had the good sense to laugh too.

"It's all my own fault," he said; "I needn't have been so hateful. Mamma, she tried real hard to please me, but I was awful."

TROUBLE.

DREADFUL trouble, too! Poor Harry Stuart all alone at the north end of the big city, and accused of stealing the largest and handsomest book in the great book store. No wonder he buried his face in his hands and let the big tears trickle through them! How was he going to prove that he did no such thing? He had no father to help him, and his mother was only a poor sewing woman whom nobody knew.

What made them think that he took the book? Why, he came there yesterday, on an errand for his mother's mistress, and the beautiful book in its elegant brown and gold binding, lay on the counter, and there wasn't another customer in sight, and when Harry left, the book was gone! They hadn't found it, to be sure, but of course he had hidden it somewhere, and meant to sell it at a secondhand book store.

"Which would be a very silly thing to do," said the junior partner, sternly; "he might much better confess to us where the book is, and bring it back; you can never sell it, my boy; it is too elegant and expensive a book to be taken without questions. Your safest way will be to confess to us all about it."

But Harry had no answer to make to this: he could only sit still, and let the big tears fall; how was "he" to tell where a book was, that he had never seen in his life? He did not even remember seeing it on the counter. He had said so, as earnestly as he could, but of course they didn't believe him.

Just then came Mr. Henderson, the great man in the great book store. "What's the matter here?" he asked, and then they told him the whole story, and Harry had to sit still and hear it told, how "he" had stolen a book. "Look here," said Mr. Henderson, interrupting, "there is some mistake; did you say his name was Harry Stuart? My boy, where do you go to Sunday-school?"

"I thought so; I thought I knew the boy; Mr. Wilson, whoever has the book, it is not this lad, and if he 'says' he knows nothing about it, you can take my word for it, that he doesn't. Last Sabbath I was visiting at his Sunday-school, and he was pointed out to me as the boy who was always there, always had his lesson, and always attentive and respectful, always went from the Sunday-school to the church, and always went to the Thursday evening prayer meeting. Such a boy neither steals nor lies; the same things don't go together. Look up here, my son; do you know anything about that book?"

"No, sir," said Harry, lifting his head, and his voice was firm now, and as clear as a bell.

"All right. We beg your pardon for being unjust to you; go home and tell your mother to be glad that she has a son whose character can speak for him, when things look against him."

BEING GOOD.

IT is little Gracie Marks; she was curled, and slippered, and ribboned, and set up in a chair in Aunt Laura's room, away from all mischief, to "be good" while mamma and Aunt Laura dressed. Then they were going out.

"Now, Gracie, I am going down stairs a minute," Aunt Laura said; "you will be a very good girl till I come back, won't you?"

"Oh, yes indeed," said Gracie; she always said that, and meant it, too, I do believe.

So Aunt Laura went. She was gone longer than she meant to be; Gracie grew lonesome; she looked about for something to do. A bottle of cologne stood on the table; she leaned forward to see if she could reach it; on no account would she get down from her chair; yes she could reach it; what fun it would be to pour it into the tumbler; that wouldn't be naughty. She had the misfortune to spill a good deal of it; that wasn't part of her plan; she was afraid it might be called "naughty." Perhaps it would take the color all out of the marble. She heard mamma say that morning, that the drops of tea had taken the color out of her dress; the cologne must be wiped up. She looked about for something to do it with. There was a towel, and a handkerchief; in fact the rack was full of towels, but all out of reach, unless she got down from her chair; and that was not to be thought of.

"My sakes!" she said. "This must be wiped up, before the color goes out of that marble. I might take a piece of the curtain, if I could get it; that is too awful long; see how it drags on the floor; I know it wouldn't do any hurt to cut that off, if I only had the scissors!"

What a lucky thing Gracie thought it was that just then she spied the scissors, on the floor, under the edge of her footstool! By means of very careful reaching, and a narrow escape from a pitch over, head first, she got hold of the scissors without getting down from the chair; then she dived after the curtain, and gouged a nice large piece out of the heavy damask; it was so awful long, you know!

Then with a satisfied face she mopped up the cologne, and had everything in order before Aunt Laura came back.

"Um," said Gracie; "I didn't get down at all; I didn't put a single foot down; I poured the cologne into the tumbler, to amuse me, and it spilled over a big puddle, and I was afraid it would take the color out of the marble, so I wiped it up."

"With what?" asked Auntie, looking around her quickly, and feeling a good deal startled.

"Why, with that too long part, to the curtain, where it drags on the floor, and doesn't look nice. I cut it off, and now it's just right."

LULIE'S TROUBLES.

HERE she sits, all curled up in a heap in the arm-chair; her dollie, dressed in its best, sits on the floor at her feet. Lulie doesn't care anything about her dollie; she is in trouble. Her pretty face is all snarled up. Brother Will has advised her this very morning to let him take the large flat iron and iron it out.

What do you suppose is the matter? You could never guess. Yesterday she went to Grandpa Knowelson's to spend the day. Grandpa Knowelson is an old man, over eighty; his hair is as white as snow, but it is long, and soft, and beautiful. Lulie thinks it is the prettiest hair she ever saw in her life. She has wished, a great many times, that her hair was white, like grandpa's, and she has tried flour and salt, and sugar, and every other white thing she can get hold of, to make her hair look like grandpa's, but they all slip off, and leave it as brown as ever.

Yesterday she discovered something new about grandpa, which is the cause of all her grief. She found that he could take his hair off; he just slipped a string, and off it came, as smooth and nice, without any bleed, or anything, and he hung it on the bedpost, and brushed it till it looked like white silk. Now Lulie's hair is curly, and long, and it snarls dreadfully, and mamma, when she combs it, be as careful as she can, sometimes pulls most horribly. Lulie dreads the time for the hair combing and curling. But yesterday she was glad and happy.

"Why, grandpa," she said, "I didn't know people's hairs comed off! How funny. It doesn't pull a bit now, does it? I wonder mamma doesn't take mine off; does it hurt to do it, grandpa?"

"Not a bit," said grandpa, but then he went off into a great laugh, and didn't explain any more.

Lulie thought about it a great many times. This morning she had been trying it; she has been up on a chair, hunting before the glass for the string under the hair, that grandpa takes hold of, but she couldn't find it. Then she pulled at her brown curls, till it almost seemed as if they would come out by the roots, they hurt her so horribly; but the hair stuck fast.

Pretty soon she went to her mamma, and learned to her great grief and dismay, that "her" hair wasn't made like grandpa's at all, but was fastened on, so it would be impossible ever to get it off, as he did his.

Poor Lulie! After all her pulling and snarling. She is dreadfully disappointed. It seems to her that she cannot get over it. She thinks she is an ill-used person; why "couldn't" her hair have been made like grandpa's when she would have liked it so much?

"Poor child, I am sorry for her; her trouble looks as big to her, as some of mine do to me, I dare say."

WHO'LL SETTLE IT.

"THIS makes the sixth time I've caught it, without missing," Jessie Knowlton said, as she spread her pretty sticks to catch the bright colored hoop.

The red on Jessie's cheeks began to grow brighter. "I'll leave it to Nettie," she said, turning to the girl who was looking on; "haven't I caught the hoop five times?"

"Ned," said Laura, turning to her brother, who sat on the grass, "isn't it just four times that she has caught this hoop?"

Ned laughed and glanced towards Nettie, with a mischievous wink in his handsome eyes. "I guess so," he said. "I've been looking the other way most of the time; but then, I've no doubt you are both right; I am willing to agree, first with one, and then with the other."

"Oh, well," said Jessie, "there is no use in leaving it to anybody! Of course 'I' know for myself how many times I have caught a hoop, without being watched by anybody. I wouldn't cheat, about such a silly thing as that, at least."

"Who supposed you would cheat? What is the use in being so foolish? I say you are mistaken, and that you haven't caught this hoop but four times."

How fast they were getting on! The cheeks of both were like glowing roses. How was it going to end? They had stopped playing, and were looking crossly at each other; and the boy on the grass, and the girl behind them were both beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"Pshaw!" Ned said. "What difference does it make, Laura, how many times she has caught it?"

"It makes no difference to me, of course;" Laura said, stiffly—"I just happened to speak of it, and she took me up so suddenly. I 'know' it is but four times, but I don't see why she cares."

"Bow! wow! wow!" said Towzer, getting up, and shaking his coat, and looking fiercely at Laura; he was Jessie's dog, and he began to think it was time to interfere. He looked so funny that Laura, as she turned to see what was the matter with him, could not help laughing. No sooner did she begin to laugh, than Jessie joined in with all her might; the others helped, and before they knew it, they were all down on the grass, in a perfect tumult of fun.

"Perhaps I am mistaken," Jessie said, at last, as soon as she could speak; "I'm sure I thought I had caught it five times."

"Well, 'I' thought it wasn't but four; but, then, of course it may be I that is mistaken; what difference does it make anyhow? Oh, Jessie, how funny Towzer 'did' look!"

And then they all laughed again. So Towzer was the one, at last, who settled the dispute; and I think he did it in a very ingenious way.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST NELLIE ***

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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lost Nellie

LOST NELLIE

LOST NELLIE.