CHAPTER I.
JOHNNY’S HOME.
“OH, dear!” exclaimed little Johnny, his full, round face drawn up into a sad scowl, “Oh dear!”
Now I suppose that all the children who read this true story, will imagine that Johnny was sick, or had cut his finger badly, or perhaps had fallen down and bumped his head. But no; he was perfectly well, his fingers were all whole, and he had met with no injury at all.
Perhaps some little Mary or Susy or John, will say, “Johnny must have lived in an old house, with no bed except some straw thrown upon the floor, and no food but a mouldy crust, that was why he kept saying, ‘Oh, dear!’”
No, God had given him parents who owned a large, pleasant house, situated on a hill, with winding avenues leading to the front door. Then there was a beautiful lawn in front. You could not guess in a whole day what was on the lawn, so I must tell you. It was a brown and white goat, whose name was Bessie, and her two little kids. The pretty creatures jumped, and frisked, and danced all over the green grass, and sometimes ran away behind the house, to the great trouble of their mother, who was tied, and couldn’t follow them. Then Bessie would begin to cry, like Johnny, “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” She did not say this in words, but it sounded as if she were complaining of their naughty behavior.
But I must leave telling you about Bessie, for the present, and finish describing Johnny’s home. The green lawns extended on each side of the house, but behind the great barn was a kitchen garden, where peas and beans, and sweet corn and tomatoes grew in abundance for the table. Then there were long rows of currant-bushes, and raspberry-bushes, and high blackberries, and beyond these a thriving orchard of apple, pear and peach trees.
Johnny was very fond of all these things, and as he was well, his mother allowed him to eat what he wished of them.
In the barn behind the house, there was a horse, named Billy, and two cows, Sally and Hatty; Sally was mother to Hatty, and nice cows they were, coming home every night with their great bags of rich milk.
Billy was a very kind horse, and though he would sometimes be a little frisky (he was five years old, too, just as Johnny was), yet whenever he felt his young master’s light form on his back he would not paw his feet, nor dance at all. He would stand still till all was ready, and then trot gently round the walks.
Johnny’s father and mother often went to ride, and almost always the little boy went, too; and then he and his mother had a school as they rode along. She gave him words to spell, and he would laugh when he said them right, and give her words. Sometimes she would spell cat c-p-t, cat. Oh, how the little fellow laughed to think he could spell better than his mother!
Now when God had been so good to Johnny, and given him such kind parents, and such a pleasant home, when he was well, and had not hurt himself at all, what could be the reason that when he woke up in the morning, and a great many times every day he said, “Oh, dear! oh, dear!” in that complaining tone.
I am sorry to tell you he had a naughty, wicked habit of fretting.
“Oh, dear! I can’t untie the reins to my horse.” “Oh, dear! my marbles keep rolling away under the bed.” “Oh, dear! I’m too tired to work, I want to play.” “Oh, dear! need I study, mother? I’m so warm.”
This was what Johnny kept saying over and over again every day, and it troubled his father and mother more and more that their boy, whom God had surrounded with so many blessings, should be so unthankful and complaining.
When Johnny was good-natured his face was very pleasant to look upon. His skin was clear and smooth, his eyes looked out from behind their brown lashes with a merry glance, his mouth was small and well-shaped. But no child can fret a great deal without spoiling the face God has given him, and Johnny’s mother was really afraid that his little features would be so drawn up by his saying “Oh, dear,” that they never would come straight again.
Beside his parents there were others who were greatly troubled at this habit of Johnny’s. He was the youngest of six sons, and the pet of them all. But now one of his older brothers, who was in size almost a man, said, one day,—
“What makes Johnny fret so much? I’m tired of hearing him talk in that whining voice.”
A few days after this his brother was going to ride, and Johnny ran out to the carriage, crying, in an eager voice, “Charlie, may I go with you?”
“I’m going to make a call, and I’m afraid you’ll fret,” his brother answered.
Johnny hung his head, looking very much ashamed, but presently he said, softly, “I’m going to be a good boy now, and not fret any more.”
Charlie smiled. “Well, then, you may go,” he said.
They had scarcely gone half a mile before the little boy forgot his promise, and in a complaining tone, began,—
“I can’t take the whip.”
“How do you know you can’t?” asked his brother.
“Because I know you won’t let me.”
“You may be sure I sha’n’t, when you whine so. But if you had asked pleasantly, May I take the whip, Charlie? I would have let you. You must remember you never will gain anything from me by whining.”
CHAPTER II.
JOHNNY’S RESOLUTIONS.
JOHNNY looked very sober a few moments; but then his face brightened up, and a pretty smile danced around his mouth. “I’m sure, now,” he said, “I sha’n’t fret any more.”
“I’m afraid you will,” answered his brother, “because you don’t ask God to help you break off this bad habit. No one can cure himself of doing wrong by his own strength. When you say your prayers you must ask God to help you.”
“I want to ask Him now,” said Johnny.
“Well, shut your eyes, and you may.”
“I want to be a good boy,” began the child, clasping his little hands. “Will you please, God, to help me, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.”
“Now,” said Charlie, “when you feel like fretting, just stop a minute and think. God will put cheerful thoughts in your mind, so you’ll forget what you were complaining about.”
“He didn’t say He would,” murmured Johnny. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“No; but in the Bible He has promised that if we ask for anything we shall receive it; that is, if it is best for us to have it. Now we know it would please Him better to have you the pleasant, good-tempered little fellow you used to be, rather than the whining boy you are now. So if you really ask Him from your heart, I’m sure He will help you to break it off.”
When they had made the call, and were returning home, Charlie handed the long whip to his brother.
“Would you like to hold it?” he asked. “I like to please good boys.”
Oh, what a happy feeling swelled up in Johnny’s heart. Smiles broke out all over his face, and his voice was as cheerful as a canary’s. He chattered away about a donkey he expected to have, and a barn he meant to make for it, and a buggy for the donkey to draw him to school.
Charlie laughed heartily at his wonderful plans, and remembered, with a little flush, that once he had done just so.
“I like to be good best,” said Johnny, with a smile; “and I’m never going to be naughty again.”
The next day his mother was sitting at her work, when she heard Johnny cry out, “Oh, dear! oh, dear! the stones keep rolling out of my wheelbarrow. Oh, dear, I don’t want to work any more!”
She sat still, but for some time she could hear his voice fretting and complaining. Then she opened the window and called him in.
“I can’t have any dinner, then,” he whined out.
“Why, Johnny?”
“Father said I must pick up all these stones, and it makes my head ache. I don’t like to work so hard,” he cried, looking in his mother’s face.
“Where are the stones?” she asked, walking into the yard.
“There,—all those.”
“One, two, three, four, five, six,” counted his mother, laughing. “Oh, what a great job! Six little stones. There, run and pick them up quick, and then come into my room. I want to tell you something.”
“Will you wait, mother?”
“Yes, if you wont be long.”
“Oh, I can do it in a minute!” he said, forgetting all his trouble.
His mother took off his hat and wiped his head, which was quite wet with perspiration. Then she washed his hands and face with cool water, and told him to draw his little chair to her side. “We’ll have some talk together,” she said.
“Do you remember about that kitty you found?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, mother! It was Mrs. Muzzey’s. I carried it home in my arms, and I didn’t cry when it scratched me a little; but she didn’t thank me at all. She just said, ‘Well, put her down.’”
The lady smiled at Johnny’s indignant tone. “I remember,” she went on, “how long it took you to catch the kitty, and how bravely you held her when she tried to jump from your arms and run away. Now suppose Mrs. Muzzey had said, ‘I wish you wouldn’t trouble me to come to the door—I can’t be running round to wait on children all the time,’ do you think that would have been a good way to show her gratitude to you?”
“Oh, no indeed!”
“But,” added the lady, more seriously, “I know a little boy having a pleasant home, and kind parents, who wish to do all things for his good. Every morning his heavenly Father supplies him with a nice breakfast; every noon, with a good dinner; and every night, with a plentiful supper. He has warm clothes, and a great many other favors. He ought to be very grateful and happy. He ought to keep lifting up his heart to God, and saying, ‘thank you, God, for all this.’ If he has any little troubles, he ought to remember how many children there are who have no home nor kind parents nor any pretty toys. He ought to say, I wont complain, for I have a great many blessings left. But I am sorry to tell you he does not always do this; he does a great deal worse than Mrs. Muzzey, who did not thank you for carrying her kitty home, for he often forgets his mercies, and—”
Johnny’s lip began to quiver. “I didn’t want to hear about that,” he began. “I wanted to hear a story about the rag pickers.”
“Wait awhile; I’ll tell you a story some other time. Now I’m afraid that if that little boy does not break himself of this dreadful habit of fretting, that God will take away some of his good things, and give them to another child who will be more thankful. You know you said you wouldn’t carry the kitty home again, because she didn’t thank you; so God may say, This little Johnny don’t remember how many good things I give him. I hear his voice fretting and complaining that he cannot have everything just as he wishes. I will take away his blessings until he can be more thankful for them.”
Johnny’s face grew very red, while his mother was talking, and presently great tears filled his eyes. “I will be good, mother,” he faltered, for his lip was quivering so he could scarcely speak. “I don’t want God to take you to heaven. I want us to go together. I will be thankful to Him.”
The lady drew her boy to her side, and then they kneeled down together, and asked their Father in heaven to help Johnny to become good and holy and obedient like the dear Jesus. They prayed that he might be thankful that he was not born a heathen child, and taught to bow down to the idols of wood and stone; but that, as he had early been told about the true God and the Saviour of sinners, he might begin at once to love and serve Him.
Johnny listened eagerly to every word of his mother’s prayer. When she had concluded he sprung to his feet, and gazing in her face, asked, quickly, “Will He do it? Will He help me to be a good boy?
