Mildred's New Daughter. Finley Martha

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      Mrs. Weston had hardly finished what she was saying to Ethel when Mrs. Coote’s harsh voice was heard summoning her young charges to their dinner. They hastened to obey, quite as much for fear that any delay would anger the woman and bring dire consequences upon themselves, as from a desire to satisfy their appetites.

      The meal, like those that had preceded it, was plain but palatable, and the healthy little folks found it enjoyable.

      “Now go out to your plays again,” was Mrs. Coote’s order when they had finished; “this is Saturday and I’m very busy, a great deal too busy to be tormented with a pack of children; so don’t venture to come in again till you’re called.”

      “Let’s go back to that other house,” proposed Harry, when they had obeyed the order and were out upon the gravel walk leading to the front gate.

      “Oh, no!” said Ethel, “don’t you remember that our mamma used to tell us not to go too often to any of our neighbors’ houses, because we would make them tired of us? There was a Bible text she used to repeat about it: ‘Withdraw thy foot from thy neighbor’s house lest he be weary of thee, and so hate thee.’ We want them to love us and feel glad to see us when we go there; so we won’t go very often when we’re not invited. The grass is dry now on this side of the yard and we can have a nice time playing here together.”

      “Oh, yes,” said Blanche, “we can play ‘Pussy wants a corner.’ That’s good fun and we’ll be careful not to run too hard and do mischief.”

      “And not to make too much noise,” added Ethel; “we mustn’t shout or laugh too loud, lest we vex Mrs. Coote.”

      “Oh, dear!” sighed Harry, “I do like to make a noise. I guess all boys do, and I do wish we didn’t have to live where the folks want us to be quiet all the time.”

      “But we can’t help it, Harry,” sighed Ethel, “we will just have to try to be quiet and good all the time.”

      “Me will,” assented Nannette; “I is doin’ to be very dood.”

      “So’ll I,” said Harry, “but I don’t like it a single bit.”

      They played several games; then Nannette began to cry. She was tired and sleepy. Mrs. Coote heard her, came to the door, and understanding what was the matter, bade Ethel take her little sister up to their own room and lay her on the bed.

      “And when she wakes up,” added Mrs. Coote, “it will be time for you all to have your Saturday bath; for everybody must be particularly clean for Sunday.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” returned Ethel, “our own mamma always had us bathed on Saturday.”

      “In which she showed her sense,” said Mrs. Coote. “Now hurry up to your room every one of you, and see if you can keep quiet there. You may as well all take a nap, for you have nothing better to do.”

      “There, there, don’t cry, Nan dear; we’ll soon get up to the top of these stairs and into our room,” Ethel said in soothing tones, doing her utmost to help her baby sister in the weary task of climbing the rather steep flight of stairs that led to that desired haven.

      “I so tired,” sobbed Nan.

      “Yes, dear; and these stairs are high for your poor little legs. But never mind; we’re most up now. Ah, here we are, and you shall lie down and have oh! such a good sleep, with Blanche on one side and me on the other and Harry on his own bed over there in the corner.”

      Nothing loth, the baby girl cuddled down on the bed; the others climbed into their places, and tired with their play the whole four were presently sleeping soundly.

      The nap was followed by the promised bath, that by their supper, and directly upon leaving the table they were sent to bed.

      They were taken to Sunday-school the next morning, then brought back to the house and ordered to stay within doors until the return of Mr. and Mrs. Coote from church, the latter remarking that she had no intention of being bothered with other people’s children, and directing Ethel to teach some Bible texts to the younger ones and commit to memory several verses herself, all to be recited to Mr. Coote in the afternoon.

      Ethel felt dismayed, for it would be a new thing for Harry and especially so for baby Nan, of whom nothing in the form of lessons had ever yet been required.

      “I’ll try, ma’am,” she said, “but please don’t be hard with them if they can’t say a verse perfectly, for they’ve never had to learn lessons before, except to say their A B Cs.”

      “High time for them to begin then,” was the curt rejoinder. “Now mind what I say and do exactly as you’re told, or you’ll wish you had when Mr. Coote gets hold of you.” With that she walked away, Ethel looking after her with frightened eyes.

      “O Blanche, whatever shall we do?” she exclaimed tearfully. “I’m afraid Nan can’t learn a verse.”

      “Oh, yes, Ethel, she can; so don’t you cry,” returned Blanche, putting her arms round Ethel’s neck and giving her a kiss. “Don’t you remember that little one that’s just two words? ‘Jesus wept.’ Nan can learn that I’m sure; so can Harry.”

      “Course I can,” said Harry, straightening himself proudly. “I’m not a baby, I know that verse now: ‘Jesus wept.’ But, say, why did He do that, Ethel? what was He so sorry about?”

      “Because Lazarus, the man He loved, was dead and his sisters, Mary and Martha, were so full of grief. He loved them, too, and was sorry for them.”

      “Tell us the story ’bout it, Ethel,” requested the little fellow.

      Ethel complied, and then he and Nan repeated over and over the short verse, “Jesus wept.”

      “Now we must learn ours, Blanche,” said Ethel.

      “I’ve thought of one that mamma used to teach us,” returned Blanche: “‘I love them that love me; and those that seek me early shall find me.’”

      “Yes, I remember that mamma taught us that, and that she said they were God’s own words. Let’s all love Him and He will love us and care for us even if nobody in all this world does. I’ve thought of a verse too: ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ Mamma said they were Jesus’ own words and they meant that I might pray to Him, telling Him all my joys and all my troubles, and He would listen even more lovingly than she did when I told them to her, and would give me strength to bear them or help me out of them. Oh, I have often been so glad, since dear mamma and papa went away to heaven, so glad to know that; and I have told my troubles to Jesus and I’m sure He has heard me and helped me to bear them, and that He will help me, and everybody that tries it, to bear every trouble and trial He sends.”

      “But what for does He send troubles and trials?” asked Blanche. “I should think if He loves us so much He wouldn’t let us have any at all.”

      “I remember I asked mamma that once,” replied Ethel thoughtfully, “and she said it was to make us good and to keep us from loving this world too well; just as she sometimes punished us to make us good, because to be good is the only way to be happy; and she taught me this verse, ‘As many as I love I rebuke and chasten; be zealous therefore and repent.’ Oh,” added the little girl, with a burst of tears, “if we only had mamma now to help us to be good!”

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