The Golden Rule.

BY AUNT HATTIE [MADELINE LESLIE]

AUTHOR OF THE "BROOKSIDE SERIES," ETC.

"All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."—CHRIST.

BOSTON PUBLISHED BY HENRY A. YOUNG & CO.

NO. 24 CORNHILL

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by REV. A. R. BAKER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.

To

NELLIE, ROLAND COTTON, ANNIE, AND FULLER APPLETON,

CHILDREN OF MY BELOVED NEPHEW,

THE REV. JOHN COTTON SMITH, D.D.,

THESE SMALL VOLUMES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, WITH THE EARNEST PRAYER THAT THEIR LIVES MAY PROVE THEM TO BE LAMBS IN THE FOLD OF THE GREAT AND GOOD

Shepherd of Israel.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. CHARLEY'S POLITENESS

CHAPTER II. CHARLEY'S PLAN

CHAPTER III. CHARLEY'S SICKNESS

CHAPTER IV. WICKED OSCAR

CHAPTER V. GOOD FOR EVIL

CHAPTER VI. OSCAR'S SORROW

CHAPTER VII. OSCAR'S STRUGGLES

CHAPTER VIII. CHARLEY'S REWARD

CHAPTER IX. CONCLUSION

THE GOLDEN RULE.

CHAPTER I.

CHARLEY'S POLITENESS.

"LITTLE boy! Can you tell me which is the road to Norwich?" asked Mr. Bryant.

Oscar Russel stood by the side of the road, with his fingers in his mouth. He heard the gentleman's question; but, instead of answering, he only stared at the carriage, the persons seated in it, and at the horse, pawing in his impatience to be gone.

"Are you deaf, child? Is this the direct road?" again inquired Mr. Bryant, feeling annoyed at the boy's obstinacy.

"There's a sign-board on ahead," said a woman, opening the door of the house opposite. "You'll find the way by that."

"That child has never learned politeness," remarked the lady in the carriage, smiling.

They rode on for another mile, when they came to a neat cottage set on the side of a hill. There was a pretty garden in front with cowslips and other flowers, all in bloom. At the side of the house there was a wide gate which stood open, and a cart, loaded with gravel, was rolling toward the barn, while the fat oxen drawing it were steaming from their toiling up the hill.

Mr. Bryant's horse went slowly, and both the lady and gentleman gazed at the rural scene. When they were opposite the front gate, a pleasant face, surrounded by dark auburn curls, peeped out at them from among the flowers.

The little fellow had a tiny cart, which he was filling with pebbles; but he stopped suddenly when he saw the travellers looking at him.

"What is your name?" asked Mr. Bryant, stopping the horse.

"Charley Monson," answered the child, his cheeks growing very rosy.

"Well, Charley, you are very busy, I see. What are you going to do with your stones?"

"I'm going to help Abel make the walks look pretty."

"Who is Abel?—Your brother?"

"Oh, no, sir!" Charley laughed. "He's our hired man. There he is tipping up the load."

"Can you bring me a tumbler of water, Charley?" asked the lady, pleasantly.

"Oh, yes, ma'am!" He ran toward the door; but returned in a minute, asking, "Don't you like milk? We've got plenty of nice, fresh milk."

"If your mother can spare me a glass of milk, it would be very refreshing."

"What a lovely boy!" she said, when he had darted into the house.

"It is easy to tell that he has a good mother," Mr. Bryant said, gazing at the neat orchards and nicely tilled fields.

Charley's Mother teaching him the Golden Rule.

In about five minutes Charley appeared again. In one hand he held a pitcher, and in the other a tumbler.

"Take care and not spill the milk," said a soft voice, just inside the door.

Mr. Bryant threw the reins on Dolly's back (Dolly was the name of the horse), and took the pitcher from the boy.

"Thank you, my fine little fellow," he said, patting Charley's head.

Then he filled the tumbler and passed it to his wife, who said she hadn't tasted such nice milk for many a day.

"Wont you have some, too?" urged Charley.

"Oh, yes, indeed!" And he made a funny bow, at which Charley laughed and blushed.

"Now, how much shall I pay you for the milk, my boy? It's a great treat, I assure you."

"Oh, we don't want any pay, sir!" Charley's cheeks grew rosier than ever, as he drew back his hand, into which the gentleman was trying to put some money. "Mother was very happy to get it for you."

"Then, Charley, we'll accept it with many thanks."

"Tell your mother," said Mrs. Bryant, "that her son has honored her this afternoon by his good conduct."

The little fellow ran in with sparkling eyes. When he had carried the empty pitcher to the kitchen, he sat down by his mother and told her all about his new friends.

"I hope I shall see them again some time," he said; "they're real nice people."

CHAPTER II.

CHARLEY'S PLAN.

THE next day, Mr. Bryant walked into a large bookstore in the city where he lived. There were shelves of books for men and women, and shelves for children, filled with prettily bound volumes.

Mr. Bryant was not a stranger in the store, and he walked at once to this part of the room. The clerk knew him, and asked,—

"What can I sell you, sir?"

"I want a book about animals," the gentleman answered; "something that will be useful and interesting for a child of eight years."

The clerk took down a neat box, saying,—

"There is just the thing for you, sir. There are six volumes full of anecdotes of the dog, cat, horse, sheep, etc., besides a natural history of the animals."

"Capital! Let me see," taking out his watch; "yes, I have fifteen minutes, and I'll examine them."

He sat down on a high stool, and the clerk laughed as he saw him sitting there an hour after. Then the gentleman rose in a great hurry, saying, as he paid for the books,—

"I'm afraid your dog stories have made me lose a valuable customer. I quite forgot how the time was passing."

Mrs. Bryant did not forget Charley. She often told her daughter Ida about the little fellow. She also told her of Oscar Russel, though at that time she did not know his name, and how much better it was to be polite like Charley, than rude like Oscar.

"I want to see Tarley," lisped Ida; "I love dood boys."

In a few weeks, Mr. Bryant told his wife he had ordered a horse for a ride into the country, and should take the opportunity to make a call on their polite friend.

"May I do, too, papa?" eagerly asked Ida.

"Yes, dear. Don't forget to put in the books, wife."

When they came in sight of the house, Abel was at work on the sidewalk. He had finished the avenue, and it looked very nice, indeed; but Charley was nowhere to be seen.

Mr. Bryant gave his wife the reins, got out, and went through the gate to the front door. This was wide open; and, as he put up his hand to ring the bell, he heard the sound of a child's voice crying, up the stairs.

"Is Charley Monson at home?" he asked of the girl who came to answer his ring.

"Yes, sir; but he is in bed. I'll call his mother, sir."

She showed him to the parlor, and presently a lady, with the very brightest of blue eyes, came down the stairs into the room.

Mr. Bryant told her he was Charley's friend, and was very sorry to hear of his illness. "I told my little girl how polite he was, and she is very anxious to see him."

The lady then explained that her boy was not ill; he was in bed, in consequence of a blow he had received on his head from a bad boy, named Oscar Russel; that the doctor had been there and wanted to have them send a constable after Oscar, who was quite a nuisance in the town.

"I remember the boy very well," Mr. Bryant said; "and I hope you will have him punished."

Charley's mother smiled. "We shall try to prevent him from hurting any one again," she said. "My boy and I have a plan; but wont your little girl come in? Charley will be delighted to see her."

Cannot you imagine how pleased our little friend was when his mother ushered Mr. and Mrs. Bryant and Ida into the chamber? His face, to be sure, was very pale; but his eyes sparkled, and he held out his hand cordially to welcome them.

Ida looked very solemn when she saw the bandage around the boy's head. At first she could not be persuaded to go near the couch, but clung to her mother, saying, softly, "I want to go home."

But in less than five minutes she was chatting away as if she had known the sick boy all her life.

Oh, how prettily the color flashed over Charley's thee, when he saw what his friends had brought him!

He looked at the pictures, and kept saying, "Thank you," ever so many times.

Mrs. Monson thanked them, too, and said, "Nothing could have pleased Charley more, because he is so fond of hearing about animals."

By and by Mrs. Bryant said it was time for them to go; but her husband told Charley he wanted to know the plan about Oscar Russel first; for it was very certain that he must be prevented from throwing stones, and doing such things injurious to himself and others.

Charley blushed and glanced at his mother.

She encouraged him by a smile, and then he said, eagerly,—

"Nobody loves Oscar, and that's the reason he does so. His father drinks rum, and his mother scolds him whenever he goes into the house, and so—"

He hesitated, and the gentleman said, "That does not excuse him for hurting you."

"Oh, I don't think he meant to hurt me and, if he did, he didn't know how much I pitied him. He has real bad clothes; and all last winter he didn't wear shoes. When I get well, mother's going to send for him; and we'll fix him up real nice. Mother says he isn't half as much to blame as if he had good parents to teach him."

"And do you really forgive him for making that big bump on your head?"

Charley's eyes were wide open now; but he said, earnestly and very frankly,—

"Of course I forgive him. You know the prayer says, 'Forgive us as we forgive our debtors.' Mother says that means that, if I don't forgive those who injure me, I ask God not to forgive my sins; and that would be awful, you know."

"And you ask God to help you, I suppose?"

"I'm going to when I say my prayers. I know he will, because he loves to have boys grow good."

"Well, Charley, I feel sure you will succeed. But you must not forget to thank God for giving you a good mother."

CHAPTER III.

CHARLEY'S SICKNESS.

AFTER the visitors had a gone, Charley begged his mother to raise his head by pillows, and let him look at the pictures in his new books. He amused himself for an hour in this way, and in spelling out a page or two of reading, when his head began to ache so hard that his mother took the books away.

By the time his father came home, he was a great deal worse. His cheeks were crimson, and his pulse beat very fast.

Mrs. Monson brought some ice and bathed his poor head with the cold water, and gave him a powder to check the fever. He soon fell into a troubled sleep, and talked wildly about Mr. Bryant, Oscar, new boots, and Ida, all mixed up together.

What do you think comforted his mother, as she bent over his couch during that long night? It was that, even in his dreams, Charley did not feel unkindly or unforgiving toward the wicked boy who had injured him.

Once he called out, "Don't, Oscar, don't! I wouldn't hurt you so;" and again he said, "Poor boy! I'm afraid I should grow wicked, too, if I had no kind mother to love me."

Many, many times the lady was obliged to wipe the tears from her eyes when she heard her poor, sick boy talk so kindly of his cruel companion.

Many times, too, she knelt by his low couch, keeping fast hold of his hot hand, and prayed to Jesus to make him well. Even in the midst of her care and sorrow, there was one thing that made her happy.

Can you guess, Susy, or you, George, what could make her happy at such a time? It was this. She felt sure if God called her darling child away from earth, he would go at once to live with his Saviour in heaven. I suppose you will want to know how she could feel sure of this, and I will tell you.

Charley loved Jesus. Now, if I were to tell you that Oscar, the sullen, impolite, cruel child, loved Jesus, you would say at once, "I don't believe it."

Young as you are, you know that little boys and girls who love Jesus, do all they can to please him; that they never tell lies, nor take anything that does not belong to them; that they are gentle and kind and forgiving, as dear Charley was; that they try to do good to others, even to those who have injured them. The Bible says, "He that loveth God, loveth his brother, also."

Ever since Charley was five years old he had tried to please the Saviour. His heart was full of love for him; and this made the sweet child love everybody else.

Toward morning the medicine began to take effect, and he fell into a quiet slumber, and did not wake until it was quite late, and the family had breakfasted.

Mr. Monson tried to persuade his mother to lie down herself, and let him watch by their boy; but she only smiled sweetly as she whispered,—

"I am afraid he would miss me even in his sleep; and I am not at all weary."

So she sat there close to the bed, where she could listen to his low and rather irregular breathing, and thought.

Perhaps you would like to know what she was thinking of that made so pleasant a smile linger about her mouth.

First, her thoughts went back to the time when God gave her a tiny baby. She loved it, oh, so much! Every day she used to wash and dress the little fellow, asking her Father in heaven to keep him from sin. Soon he learned to walk and call her by that sweet name, mamma. Then he began to lisp his infant prayer, and loved more than anything else to listen to the stories of the dear Saviour, who took little children in his arms, and blessed them.

Since that time, he would scarcely do anything without first asking, "Would Jesus be pleased?" or, "Would it make Jesus sorry?"

How well she remembered the time when his cousin, a rude girl, was visiting them, and insisted on having all his toys! Charley gave up one after another of his treasures, until they came to a wooden horse and cart, which he greatly prized. This he held behind him, until she snatched it from his grasp.

For one moment his face looked red and angry; but he left his rude playmate and came to his mother's side. Then, when she asked him about it, he only said,—

"I suppose Carrie didn't know any better."

Do you wonder that, when his mother thought of all this, she felt sure that Jesus had given her darling a new heart, and that, whether he lived or died, he would still be happy?

CHAPTER IV.

WICKED OSCAR.

I MUST now go back a little, and tell you how it happened that Oscar, who lived nearly a mile away, should come to Charley's house, and be so angry with him.

Mr. Russel, Oscar's father, was a brickmaker; that is, he made bricks, such as many houses are built with. The brick-yard, as it was called, was but a short distance from Mr. Monson's house, and the man had to pass it to get to his work.

He toiled very hard for twelve long hours, and of course needed good food to sustain him. He used to ask his wife to send Oscar at noon with some warm dinner; and she would often have cooked it, if she could have persuaded her boy to carry it.

But many times he would say, "I wont," or he would cry and stamp his foot, and complain that no other boy had to walk so far.

Sometimes she would coax him to go, by the promise of candy or cake; but, as he soon found that his mother did not hesitate to tell a lie; that she often promised what she did not intend to perform; he flatly refused to obey her.

But, on the day of Mr. Bryant's visit, Mrs. Russel had some beef soup, of which her husband was very fond; so she told Oscar he must carry a pailful to his father, or he should have none for himself.

After a great deal of trouble and many hard words from both the mother and son, he started away, Mrs. Russel standing in the doorway and telling him to hurry as fast as he could, or the soup would be cold.

But Oscar had no idea of hurrying. He walked on very leisurely for a while, until he saw a squirrel run along the top of the stone wall. Then he set down his pail and chased the poor, frightened creature until it fled for safety into the limb of a large oak-tree.

In his haste to catch the squirrel, he had set the pail on a stone which had tipped over, and nearly half of the soup was spilled.

Instead of being sorry that his father's dinner was spoiled, he only laughed, and said,—

"Now I'm glad, for 'twont be so heavy."

By and by he came to Mr. Monson's neat cottage. Charley was playing with his cart in the yard, and said, pleasantly,—

"Hollo, Oscar!"

"Now, if I had that cart," said Oscar, "it would be easy to drag my pail." He waited till Charley came very near, and then he snatched it, and began to run away.

But Abel had seen him, and soon made him let the handle of the cart drop.

All this time Charley stood still with astonishment. He could not conceive what made Oscar so very naughty.

Abel turned back to his work, when, all at once, he heard a dreadful scream. The wicked boy had thrown a large stone and hit the little fellow in the temple.

Abel was very angry, indeed. He wanted to run after Oscar and punish him as he deserved; but he saw his little pet lying on the ground, and he concluded to attend to him, and let the rascal, as he called him, go till another time.

When Mrs. Monson saw her precious child lying faint and trembling in Abel's arms, she was frightened, indeed. She told the man to saddle the horse and ride as quickly as he could for the doctor.

Then she bathed the great swelling with cold water, until the physician came. He said it was a dangerous place to be hurt, and that it would take a long time to heal.

When Charley felt better, she talked with him about Oscar, pitying the child that he had not been better taught, and then asked her boy if he would like to have Abel catch Oscar and beat him, as he was anxious to do.

"Oh, no, indeed, mother! I wouldn't have him hurt for anything."

He lay on his pillow for a long time without speaking, and then he said,—

"Mother, I've thought of a plan. I wish we could get Oscar here. You might talk with him; and then I'd give him some of my toys. I think he would be a good boy if he knew anybody loved him."

This was what Mrs. Monson meant when she told Mr. Bryant that she and Charley had a plan. In the next chapter, I shall tell you how the plan succeeded. Now I will only say that Oscar was so frightened at what he had done, and so sure he should get the punishment he deserved, that he dared not go home till it was quite dark, and then he crept along past Mr. Monson's house very slyly, like a thief.

CHAPTER V.

GOOD FOR EVIL.

OSCAR was not in the habit of telling his mother what he had done, as good boys and girls always do. I am sorry to say that, when he had reached home, and his mother had scolded him for staying so long, he told her a wicked lie.

"I was going by Mr. Monson's gate," he said, peevishly, "and Charley came out, and knocked me down, and spilled most all the soup."

"Why didn't you kick him?" exclaimed the wicked mother.

Oscar said nothing; but, after eating his supper in silence, he went off to bed.

Two days after this, he was sitting idly in the sun, near a pile of small wood, which his mother had tried to coax him to split, when Mr. Monson's carriage stopped at the door, and Charley jumped out. He had a bandage around his head, and looked very pale.

Oscar trembled. Bad boys are always cowards, because their consciences tell them they have done wrong and deserve punishment.

Then Mrs. Monson followed with a very large and heavy bundle in her arms.

"I'll run off, I wont see 'em," said Oscar to himself.

But Charley had already seen him, and ran pleasantly forward, exclaiming, in a cheerful voice,—

"Hollo, Oscar! Come and see what mother has brought you."

Oscar looked into the bright, happy face and wondered. His thoughts were very much confused; but if he could only have straightened them out, they would have been something very much like this,—

"What does it mean? She bring me something! If anybody had thrown a stone at me, I guess you wouldn't catch mother carrying 'em anything."

Charley could not get at Oscar's thoughts; but he imagined it very strange the boy did not answer. Presently he said again,—

"Come, mother's waiting to see you."