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_ Mrs. Moss woke Ben with a kiss next morning, for
her heart yearned over the fatherless lad as if he
had been her own, and she had no other way of showing
her sympathy. Ben had forgotten his troubles in sleep;
but the memory of them returned as soon as he opened
his eyes, heavy with the tears they had shed. He
did not cry any more, but felt strange and lonely
till he called Sancho and told him all about it, for
he was shy even with kind Mrs. Moss, and glad
when she went away.
Sancho seemed to understand that his master was
in trouble, and listened to the sad little story with
gurgles of interest, whines of condolence, and intelligent
barks whenever the word "daddy " was uttered. He was only
a brute, but his dumb affection comforted the boy more
than any words; for Sanch had known and loved "father"
almost as long and well as his son, and that seemed to
draw them closely together, now they were left alone.
"We must put on mourning, old feller. It's the
proper thing, and there's nobody else to do it now,"
said Ben, as he dressed, remembering how all the
company wore bits of crape somewhere about them
at 'Melia's funeral.
It was a real sacrifice of boyish vanity to take the
blue ribbon with its silver anchors off the new hat,
and replace it with the dingy black band from the
old one; but Ben was quite sincere in doing this,
though doubtless his theatrical life made him think
of the effect more than other lads would have done.
He could find nothing in his limited wardrobe with
which to decorate Sanch except a black cambric
pocket. It was already half torn out of his trousers
with the weight of nails, pebbles, and other light
trifles; so he gave it a final wrench and tied it
into the dog's collar, saying to himself, as he put
away his treasures, with a sigh,--
"One pocket is enough; I sha'n't want anything
but a han'k'chi'f to-day."
Fortunately, that article of dress was clean, for he
had but one; and, with this somewhat ostentatiously
drooping from the solitary pocket, the serious hat
upon his head, the new shoes creaking mournfully,
and Sanch gravely following, much impressed with
his black bow, the chief mourner descended, feeling
that he had done his best to show respect to the
dead.
Mrs. Moss's eyes filled as she saw the rusty band,
and guessed why it was there; but she found it difficult
to repress a smile when she beheld the cambric
symbol of woe on the dog's neck. Not a word was
said to disturb the boy's comfort in these poor attempts,
however; and he went out to do his chores, conscious that
he was an object of interest to his friends, especially so
to Bab and Betty, who, havinq been told of Ben's loss, now
regarded him with a sort of pitying awe very grateful to his
feelings.
"I want you to drive me to church by-and-by.
It is going to be pretty warm, and Thorny is hardly
strong enough to venture yet," said Miss Celia, when
Ben ran over after breakfast to see if she had any
thing for him to do; for he considered her his mistress
now, though he was not to take possession of
his new quarters till the morrow.
"Yes, 'm, I'd like to, if I look well enough,"
answered Ben, pleased to be asked, but impressed
with the idea that people had to be very fine on
such occasions.
"You will do very well when I have given you a
touch. God doesn't mind our clothes, Ben, and the
poor are as welcome as the rich to him. You have
not been much, have you?" asked Miss Celia, anxious
to help the boy, and not quite sure how to begin.
"No, 'm; our folks didn't hardly ever go, and
father was so tired he used to rest Sundays, or go
off in the woods with me."
A little quaver came into Ben's voice as he spoke,
and a sudden motion made his hat-brim hide his eyes,
for the thought of the happy times that would never
come any more was almost too much for him.
"That was a pleasant way to rest. I often do so,
and we will go to the grove this afternoon and try it.
But I have to go to church in the morning,; it seems to
start me right for the week; and if one has a sorrow
that is the place where one can always find comfort.
Will you come and try it, Ben, dear?"
"I'd do any thing to please you," muttered Ben,
without looking up; for, though he felt her kindness
to the bottom of his heart, he did wish that no one
would talk about father for a little while; it was so
hard to keep from crying, and he hated to be a
baby.
Miss Celia seemed to understand, for the next thing
she said, in a very cheerful tone, was, "See what a
pretty sight that is. When I was a little girl I used
to think spiders spun cloth for the fairies, and spread
it on the grass to bleach."
Ben stopped digging a hole in the ground with his
toe, and looked up, to see a lovely cobweb like a
wheel, circle within circle, spun across a corner of
the arch over the gate. Tiny drops glittered on every
thread as the light shone through the gossamer curtain,
and a soft breath of air made it tremble as if
about to blow it away.
"It's mighty pretty, but it will fly off. just as the
others did. I never saw such a chap as that spider
is. He keeps on spinning a new one every day, for
they always get broke. and he don't seem to be
discouraged a mite," said Ben, glad to change the
subject, as she knew he would be.
"That is the way he gets his living. he spins his
web and waits for his daily bread, -- or fly, rather;
and it always comes, I fancy. By-and-by you will
see that pretty trap full of insects, and Mr. Spider
will lay up his provisions for the day. After that he
doesn't care how soon his fine web blows away."
"I know him; he's a handsome feller, all black
and yellow, and lives up in that corner where the
shiny sort of hole is. He dives down the minute I
touch the gate, but comes up after I've kept still a
minute. I like to watch him. But he must hate me,
for I took away a nice green fly and some little
millers one day."
"Did you ever hear the story of Bruce and his
spider? Most children know and like that," said
Miss Celia, seeing that he seemed interested.
"No, 'm ; I don't know ever so many things most
children do," answered Ben, soberly; for, since he
had been among his new friends, he had often felt
his own deficiencies.
"Ah, but you also know many things which they
do not. Half the boys in town would give a great
deal to be able to ride and run and leap as you do;
and even the oldest are not as capable of taking care
of themselves as you are. Your active life has done
much in some ways to make a man of you; but in
other ways it was bad, as I think you begin to see.
Now, suppose you try to forget the harmful part, and
remember only the good, while learning to be more
like our boys, who go to school and church, and fit
themselves to become industrious, honest men."
Ben had been looking straight up in Miss Celia's
face as she spoke, feeling that every word was true,
though he could not have expressed it if he had
tried; and, when she paused, with her bright eyes
inquiringly fixed on his, he answered heartily,--
"I'd like to stay here and be respectable; for,
since I came, I've found out that folks don't think
much of circus riders, though they like to go and see
'em. I didn't use to care about school and such
things, but I do now; and I guess he'd like it better
than to have me knockin' round that way without him
to look after me."
"I know he would; so we will try, Benny. I dare
say it will seem dull and hard at first, after the gay
sort of life you have led, and you will miss the excitement.
But it was not good for you, and we will do our best to find
something safer. Don't be discouraged; and, when things trouble
you, come to me as Thorny does, and I'll try to straighten them
out for you. I've got two boys now, and I want to
do my duty by both."
Before Ben had time for more than a grateful look,
a tumbled head appeared at an upper window, and a
sleepy voice drawled out, --
"Celia! I can't find a bit of a shoe-string, and I
wish you'd come and do my neck-tie."
"Lazy boy, come down here, and bring one of
your black ties with you. Shoe-strings are in the
little brown bag on my bureau," called back Miss
Celia; adding, with a laugh, as the tumbled head
disappeared mumbling something about "bothering
old bags, "Thorny has been half spoiled since he
was ill. You mustn't mind his fidgets and dawdling ways.
He'll get over them soon, and then I know you two
will be good friends."
Ben had his doubts about that, but resolved to
do his best for her sake; so, when Master Thorny
presently appeared, with a careless "How are you,
Ben?" that young person answered respectfully, --
"Very well, thank you," though his nod was as
condescending as his new master's; because he felt
that a boy who could ride bareback and turn a
double somersault in the air ought not to "knuckle
under" to a fellow who had not the strength of a
pussy-cat.
"Sailor's knot, please; keeps better so," said
Thorny, holding up his chin to have a blue-silk scarf
tied to suit him, for he was already beginning to be
something of a dandy.
"You ought to wear red till you get more color,
dear;" and his sister rubbed her blooming cheek
against his pale one, as if to lend him some of her
own roses.
"Men don't care how they look," said Thorny,
squirming out of her hold, for he hated to be
"cuddled" before people.
"Oh, don't they? Here 's a vain boy who brushes
his hair a dozen times a day, and quiddles over his
collar till he is so tired he can hardly stand," laughed
Miss Celia, with a little tweak of his ear.
"I should like to know what this is for? " demanded
Thorny, in a dignified tone, presenting a black tie.
"For my other boy. He is going to church with
me," and Miss Celia tied a second knot for this young
gentleman, with a smile that seemed to brighten up
even the rusty hat-band.
"Well, I like that--" began Thorny, in a tone
that contradicted his words.
A look from his sister reminded him of what she
had told him half an hour ago, and he stopped short,
understanding now why she was "extra good to the
little tramp."
"So do I, for you are of no use as a driver yet,
and I don't like to fasten Lita when I have my best
gloves on," said Miss Celia, in a tone that rather
nettled Master Thorny.
"Is Ben going to black my boots before he goes?
with a glance at the new shoes which caused them to
creak uneasily.
"No; he is going to black mine, if he will be so kind.
You won't need boots for a week yet, so we
won't waste any time over them. You will find
every thing in the shed, Ben; and at ten you may go
for Lita."
With that, Miss Celia walked her brother off to the
diningroom, and Ben retired to vent his ire in such
energetic demonstrations with the blacking-brush that
the little boots shone splendidly.
He thought he had never seen any thing as pretty
as his mistress when, an hour later, she came out of
the house in her white shawl and bonnet, holding a
book and a late lily-of-the-valley in the pearl-colored
gloves, which he hardly dared to touch as he helped
her into the carriage. He had seen a good many fine
ladies in his life; and those he had known had been
very gay in the colors of their hats and gowns, very
fond of cheap jewelry, and much given to feathers,
lace, and furbelows; so it rather puzzled him to discover
why Miss Celia looked so sweet and elegant in
such a simple suit. He did not then know that the
charm was in the woman, not the clothes; or that
merely living near such a person would do more to
give him gentle manners, good principles, and pure
thoughts, than almost any other training he could
have had. But he was conscious that it was pleasant
to be there, neatly dressed, in good company, and
going to church like a respectable boy. Somehow,
the lonely feeling got better as be rolled along
between green fields, with the June sunshine brightening
every thing, a restful quiet in the air, and a friend
beside him who sat silently looking out at the lovely
world with what he afterward learned to call her
"Sunday face," -- a soft, happy look, as if all the
work and weariness of the past week were forgotten,
and she was ready to begin afresh when this blessed
day was over.
"Well, child, what is it?" she asked, catching his
eye as he stole a shy glance at her, one of many which
she had not seen.
"I was only thinking, you looked as if --"
"As if what? Don't be afraid," she said, for Ben
paused and fumbled at the reins, feeling half ashamed
to tell his fancy.
"You were saying prayers," he added, wishing
she had not caught him.
"So I was. Don't you, when you are happy?
"No,'m. I'm glad, but I don't say any thing."
"Words are not needed; but they help, sometimes,
if they are sincere and sweet. Did you never learn
any prayers, Ben?"
"Only 'Now I lay me.' Grandma taught me that
when I was a little mite of a boy."
"I will teach you another, the best that was ever
made, because it says all we need ask."
"Our folks wasn't very pious; they didn't have
time, I s'pose."
"I wonder if you know just what it means to be
pious?"
"Goin' to church, and readin' the Bible, and sayin'
prayers and hymns, ain't it?"
"Those things are a part of it; but being kind and
cheerful, doing one's duty, helping others, and loving
God, is the best way to show that we are pious in the
true sense of the word."
"Then you are! " and Ben looked as if her acts had
been a better definition than her words.
"I try to be, but I very often fail; so every Sunday
I make new resolutions, and work hard to keep them
through the week. That is a great help, as you will
find when you begin to try it."
"Do you think if I said in meetin', ' I won't ever
swear any more,' that I wouldn't do it again?" asked
Ben, soberly; for that was his besetting sin just now.
"I'm afraid we can't get rid of our faults quite so
easily; I wish we could: but I do believe that if you
keep saying that, and trying to stop, you will cure the
habit sooner than you think."
"I never did swear very bad, and I didn't mind
much till I came here; but Bab and Betty looked so
scared when I said 'damn,' and Mrs. Moss scolded
me so, I tried to leave off. It's dreadful hard, though,
when I get mad. 'Hang it!' don't seem half so good
if I want to let off steam."
"Thorny used to 'confound!' every thing, so I
proposed that he should whistle instead; and now he
sometimes pipes up so suddenly and shrilly that it
makes me jump. How would that do, instead of
swearing?" proposed Miss Celia, not the least surprised
at the habit of profanity, which the boy could
hardly help learning among his former associates.
Ben laughed, and promised to try it, feeling a mischievous
satisfaction at the prospect of out-whistling
Master Thorny, as he knew he should; for the objectionable
words rose to his lips a dozen times a day.
The Ben was ringing as they drove into town; and,
by the time Lita was comfortably settled in her shed,
people were coming up from all quarters to cluster
around the steps of the old meeting-house like bees
about a hive. Accustomed to a tent, where people
kept their hats on, Ben forgot all about his, and was
going down the aisle covered, when a gentle hand
took it off, and Miss Celia whispered, as she gave it
to him, --
"This is a holy place; remember that, and uncover
at the door."
Much abashed, Ben followed to the pew, where the
Squire and his wife soon joined them.
"Glad to see him here," said the old gentleman
with an appioving nod, as he recognized the boy and
remembered his loss.
"Hope he won't nestle round in meeting-time,"
whispered Mrs. Allen, composing herself in the corner
with much rustling of black silk.
"I'll take care that he doesn't disturb you," answered
Miss Celia, pushing a stool under the short
legs, and drawing a palm-leaf fan within reach.
Ben gave an inward sigh at the prospect before
him; for an hour's captivity to an active lad is hard
to bear, and he really did want to behave well. So
he folded his arms and sat like a statue, with nothing
moving but his eyes. They rolled to and fro, up and
down, from the high red pulpit to the worn hymnbooks
in the rack, recognizing two little faces under
blue-ribboned hats in a distant pew, and finding it
impossible to restrain a momentary twinkle in return
for the solemn wink Billy Barton bestowed upon him
across the aisle. Ten minutes of this decorous demeanor
made it absolutely necessary for him to stir;
so he unfolded his arms and crossed his legs as
cautiously as a mouse moves in the presence of a
cat; for Mrs. Allen's eye was on him, and he knew by
experience that it was a very sharp one.
The music which presently began was a great relief
to him, for under cover of it he could wag his foot
and no one heard the creak thereof; and when they
stood up to sing, he was so sure that all the boys were
looking at him, he was glad to sit down again. The
good old minister read the sixteenth chapter of Samuel,
and then proceeded to preach a long and somewhat dull
sermon. Ben listened with all his ears, for
he was interested in the young shepherd, " uddy and
of a beautiful countenance," who was chosen to be
Saul's armor-bearer. He wanted to hear more about
him, and how he got on, and whether the evil spirits
troubled Saul again after David had harped them
out. But nothing more came; and the old gentleman
droned on about other things till poor Ben felt that
he must either go to sleep like the Squire, or tip the
stool over by accident, since "nestling" was forbidden,
and relief of some sort he must have.
Mrs. Allen gave him a peppermint, and he dutifully
ate it, though it was so hot it made his eyes water.
Then she fanned him, to his great annoyance, for it
blew his hair about; and the pride of his life was to
have his head as smooth and shiny as black satin.
An irrepressible sigh of weariness attracted Miss
Celia's attention at last; for, though she seemed to
be listening devoutly, her thoughts had flown over
the sea, with tender prayers for one whom she loved
even more than David did his Jonathan. She guessed
the trouble in a minute, and had provided for it, knowing
by experience that few small boys can keep quiet
through sermon-time. Finding a certain place in the
little book she had brought, she put it into his hands,
with the whisper, "Read if you are tired."
Ben clutched the book and gladly obeyed, though
the title, "Scripture Narratives," did not look very
inviting. Then his eye fell on the picture of a slender
youth cutting a large man's head off, while many
people stood looking on.
"Jack, the giant-killer," thought Ben, and turned
the page to see the words "David and Goliath",
which was enough to set him to reading the story
with great interest; for here was the shepherd boy
turned into a hero. No more fidgets now; the sermon
was no longer heard, the fan flapped unfelt, and
Billy Barton's spirited sketches in the hymnbook
were vainly held up for admiration. Ben was quite
absorbed in the stirring history of King David, told
in a way that fitted it for children's reading, and illustrated
with fine pictures which charmed the boy's eye.
Sermon and story ended at the same time; and,
while he listened to the prayer, Ben felt as if he understood
now what Miss Celia meant by saying that
words helped when they were well chosen and sincere.
Several petitions seemed as if especially intended for
him; and he repeated them to himself that he might
remember them, they sounded so sweet and comfortable
heard for the first time just when he most
needed comfort. Miss Celia saw a new expression
in the boy's face as she glanced down at him, and
heard a little huniming at her side when all stood up
to sing the cheerful hymn with which they were
dismissed.
"How do you like church?" asked the young lady,
as they drove away.
"First-rate!" answered Ben, heartily.
"Especially the sermon?"
Ben laughed, and said, with an affectionate glance
at the little book in her lap,--
"I couldn't understand it; but that story was just
elegant. There's more; and I'd admire to read 'em,
if I could."
"I'm glad you like them; and we will keep the
rest for another sermon-time. Thorny used to do
so, and always called this his 'pew book.' I don't
expect you to understand much that you hear yet
awhile; but it is good to be there, and after reading
these stories you will be more interested when you
hear the names of the people mentioned here."
"Yes, 'm. Wasn't David a fine feller? I liked all
about the kid and the corn and the ten cheeses, and
killin' the lion and bear, and slingin' old Goliath dead
first shot. I want to know about Joseph next time,
for I saw a gang of robbers puttin' him in a hole, and
it looked real interesting."
Miss Celia could not help smiling at Ben's way of
telling things; but she was pleased to see that he was
attracted by the music and the stories, and resolved
to make church-going so pleasant that he would learn
to love it for its own sake.
"Now, you have tried my way this morning, and
we will try yours this afternoon. Come over about
four and help me roll Thorny down to the grove. I
am going to put one of the hanmmocks there, because
the smell of the pines is good for him, and you can
talk or read or amuse yourselves in any quiet way
you like."
"Can I take Sanch along? He doesn't like to be
left, and felt real bad because I shut him up, for fear
he'd follow and come walkin' into meetin' to find me."
"Yes, indeed; let the clever Bow-wow have a good
time and enjoy Sunday as much as I want my boys to."
Quite content with this arrangement, Ben went home
to dinner, which he made very lively by recounting
Billy Barton's ingenious devices to beguile the tedium
of sermon time. He said nothing of his conversation
with Miss Celia, because he had not quite made up
his mind whether he liked it or not; it was so new
and serious, he felt as if he had better lay it by, to
think over a good deal before he could understand all
about it. But he had time to get dismal again, and
long for four o'clock; because he had nothing to do
except whittle. Mrs. Moss went to take a nap; Bab
and Betty sat demurely on their bench reading Sunday
books; no boys were allowed to come and play;
even the hens retired under the currant-bushes, and
the cock stood among them, clucking drowsily, as if
reading them a sermon.
"Dreadful slow day!" thought Ben; and, retiring
to the recesses of his own room, he read over the two
letters which seemed already old to him. Now that
the first shock was over, he could not make it true
that his father was dead, and he gave up trying; for
he was an honest boy, and felt that it was foolish to
pretend to be more unhappy than he really was. So
he put away his letters, took the black pocket off
Sanch's neck, and allowed himself to whistle softly as
he packed up his possessions, ready to move next
day, with few regrets and many bright anticipations
for the future.
"Thorny, I want you to be good to Ben, and
amuse him in some quiet way this afternoon. I
must stay and see the Morrises, who are coming
over; but you can go to the grove and have a
pleasant time," said Miss Celia to her brother.
"Not much fun in talking to that horsey fellow.
I'm sorry for him, but I can't do anything to amuse
him," objected Thorny, pulling himself up from the
sofa with a great yawn.
You can be very agreeable when you like; and
Ben has had enough of me for this time. To-morrow
he will have his work, and do very well; but we
must try to help him through to-day, because he
doesn't know what to do with himself. Besides, it
is just the time to make a good impression on him,
while grief for his father softens him, and gives us a
chance. I like him, and I'm sure he wants to do
well; so it is our duty to help him, as there seems
to be no one else."
"Here goes, then! Where is he?" and Thorny
stood up, won by his sister's sweet earnestness, but
very doubtful of his own success with the "horsey
fellow."
"Waiting with the chair. Randa has gone on
with the hammock. Be a dear boy, and I'll do as
much for you some day."
"Don't see how you can be a dear boy. You're
the best sister that ever was; so I'lllove all the
scallywags you ask me to."
With a laugh and a kiss, Thorny shambled off
to ascend his chariot, good-humoredly saluting his
pusher, whom he found sitting on the high rail
behind, with his feet on Sanch.
"Drive on, Benjamin. I don't know the way, so I
can't direct. Don't spill me out, -- that's all I've
got to say."
:All right, sir," -- and away Ben trundled down
the long walk that led through the orchard to a little
grove of seven pines.
A pleasant spot; for a soft rustle filled the air,
a brown carpet of pine needles, with fallen cones
for a pattern, lay under foot; and over the tops
of the tall brakes that fringed the knoll one had
glimpses of hill and valley, farm-houses and winding
river, like a silver ribbon through the low, green
meadows.
"A regular summer house!" said Thorny, surveying
it with approval. "What's the matter, Randa?
Won't it do?" he asked, as the stout maid dropped
her arms with a puff, after vainly trying to throw the
hammock rope over a branch.
"That end went up beautiful, but this one won't;
the branches is so high, I can't reach 'em; and I'm
no hand at flinging ropes round."
"I'll fix it;" and Ben went up the pine like a
squirrel, tied a stout knot, and swung himself down
again before Thorny could get out of the chair.
"My patience, what a spry boy!" exclaimed
Randa, admiringly.
"That 's nothing; you ought to see me shin up a
smooth tent-pole," said Ben, rubbing the pitch off
his hands, with a boastful wag of the head.
"You can go, Randa. just hand me my cushion
and books, Ben; then you can sit in the chair while
I talk to you," commanded Thorny, tumbling into
the hammock.
"What's he goin' to say to me?" wondered Ben
to himself, as he sat down with Sanch sprawling
among the wheels.
"Now, Ben, I think you'd better learn a hymn; I
always used to when I was a little chap, and it is a
good thing to do Sundays," began the new teacher,
with a patronizing air, which ruffled his pupil as
much as the opprobrious term "little chap."
"I'll be -- whew -- if I do! " whistled Ben, stopping
an oath just in time.
"It is not polite to whistle in company," said
Thorny, with great dignity.
"Miss Celia told me to. I'll say 'confound it,' if
you like that better," answered Ben, as a sly smile
twinkled in his eyes.
"Oh, I see! She 's told you about it? Well,
then, if you want to please her, you'll learn a hymn
right off. Come, now, she wants me to be clever to
you, and I'd like to do it; but if you get peppery,
how can I?"
Thorny spoke in a hearty, blunt way, which suited
Ben much better than the other, and he responded
pleasantly, --
"If you won't be grand I won't be peppery.
Nobody is going to boss me but Miss Celia; so I'll
learn hymns if she wants me to."
"'In the soft season of thy youth' is a good one
to begin with. I learned it when I was six. Nice
thing; better have it." And Thorny offered the
book like a patriarch addressing an infant.
Ben surveyed the yellow page with small favor, for
the long s in the old-fashioned printing bewildered
him; and when he came to the last two lines, he
could not resist reading them wrong, --
"The earth affords no lovelier fight
Than a religious youth."
"I don't believe I could ever get that into my
head straight. Haven't you got a plain one any
where round?" he asked, turning over the leaves
with some anxiety.
"Look at the end, and see if there isn't a piece of
poetry pasted in. You learn that, and see how funny
Celia will look when you say it to her. She wrote it
when she was a girl, and somebody had it printed for
other children. I like it best, myself."
Pleased by the prospect of a little fun to cheer his
virtuous task, Ben whisked over the leaves, and read
with interest the lines Miss Celia had written in her
girlhood:
"MY KINGDOM
A little kingdom I possess,
Where thoughts and feelings dwell;
And very hard I find the task
Of governing it well.
For passion tempts and troubles me,
A wayward will misleads,
And selfishness its shadow casts
On all my words and deeds.
"How can I learn to rule myself,
To be the child I should, --
Honest and brave, -- nor ever tire
Of trying to be good?
How can I keep a sunny soul
To shine along life's way?
How can I tune my little heart
To sweetly sing all day?
"Dear Father, help me With the love
That casteth out my fear!
Teach me to lean on thee, and feel
That thou art very near;
That no temptation is unseen,
No childish grief too small,
Since Thou, with patience infinite,
Doth soothe and comfort all.
"I do not ask for any crown,
But that which all may will
Nor seek to conquer any world
Except the one within.
Be then my guide until I find,
Led by a tender hand,
Thy happy kingdom in myself,
And dare to take command."
"I like that!" said Ben, emphatically, when he had
read the little hymn. "I understand it, and I'll learn
it right away. Don't see how she could make it all
come out so nice and pretty."
"Celia can do any thing!" and Thorny gave an
all-embracing wave of the hand, which forcibly
expressed his firm belief in his sister's boundless
powers.
"I made some poetry once. Bab and Betty thought
it was first-rate, I didn't," said Ben, moved to confidence
by the discovery of Miss Celia's poetic skill.
"Say it," commanded Thorny, adding with tact,
I can't make any to save my life, -- never could
but I'm fond of it."
"Chevalita,
Pretty cretr,
I do love her
Like a brother;
Just to ride
Is my delight,
For she does not
Kick or bite,"
recited Ben, with modest pride, for his first attempt
had been inspired by sincere affection, and pronounced
"lovely" by the admiring girls.
"Very good! You must say them to Celia, too.
She likes to hear Lita praised. You and she and that
little Barlow boy ought to try for a prize, as the poets
did in Athens. I'II tell you all about it some time.
Now, yao peg away at your hymn."
Cheered by Thorny's commendation, Ben fell to
work at his new task, squirming about in the chair as
if the process of getting words into his memory was a
very painful one. But he had quick wits, and had
often learned comic songs; so he soon was able to
repeat the four verses without mistake, much to his
own and Thorny's satisfaction.
"Now we'll talk," said the well-pleased preceptor;
and talk they did, one swinging in the hammock, the
other rolling about on the pine-needles, as they related
their experiences boy fashion. Ben's were the most
exciting; but Thorny's were not without interest,
for he had lived abroad for several years, and could
tell all sorts of droll stories of the countries he had
seen.
Busied with friends, Miss Celia could not help wondering
how the lads got on; and, when the tea-Ben
rang, waited a little anxiously for their return, knowing
that she could tell at a glance if they had enjoyed
thernselves.
"All goes well so far," she thought, as she watched
their approach with a smile; for Sancho sat bolt upright
in the chair which Ben pushed, while Thorny
strolled beside him, leaning on a stout cane newly
cut. Both boys were talking busily, and Thorny
laughed from time to time, as if his comrade's chat
was very amusing.
"See what a jolly cane Ben cut for me! He's
great fun if you don't stroke him the wrong way",
said the elder lad, flourishing his staff as they
came up.
"What have you been doing down there? You
look so merry, I suspect mischief," asked Miss Celia,
surveying them front the steps.
"We've been as good as gold. I talked, and Ben
learned a hymn to please you. Come, young man,
say your piece," said Thorny, with an expression of
virtuous content.
Taking off his hat, Ben soberly obeyed, much enjoying
the quick color that came up in Miss Celia's
face as she listened, and feeling as if well repaid for
the labor of learning by the pleased look with which
She said, as he ended with a bow, --
"I feel very proud to think you chose that, and to
hear you say it as if it meant something to you. I
was only fourteen when I wrote it; but it came right
out of my heart, and did me good. I hope it may
help you a little."
Ben murmured that he guessed it would; but felt
too shy to talk about such things before Thorny, so
hastily retired to put the chair away, and the others
went in to tea. But later in the evening, when Miss
Celia was singing like a nightingale, the boy slipped
away from sleepy Bab and Betty to stand by the
syringa bush and listen, with his heart full of new
thoughts and happy feelings; for never before had he
spent a Sunday like this. And when he went to bed,
instead of saying "Now I lay me," he repeated the
third verse of Miss Celia's hymn; for that was his
favorite, because his longing for the father whom he
had seen made it seem sweet and natural now to love
and lean, without fear upon the Father whom he had
not seen. _
Read next: CHAPTER XII. GOOD TIMES
Read previous: CHAPTER X. A HEAVY TROUBLE
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