Children’s Story

Children’s Story – Pennies from Heaven

by

In the early 1990s, soon after I came into the truth about God’s law, the Sabbath, and the eight laws of health, my wife and I were visiting our daughter in a small town in South Carolina. I had already decided to become a vegan vegetarian, and I was going to fix some Mexican food for lunch that day.

The town where my daughter lived didn’t have a grocery store with a lot of selections; so I drove over to another town seven miles east of there. Being so new in the faith, I was still a little unsure that I could trust God completely. While I was shopping for the meal I was going to fix, I thought as I looked in my shopping cart, “Everything that is in there is good for me.”

As I was checking out, the clerk observed what I was getting and asked me, “Having Mexican today?” Then as she commented about all the things I could put on the food that were contrary to my recent decision to “go vegan,” I thought to myself, “I’m not putting those things on there.”

She was cheerful and friendly, and as I looked at the digital readout of my purchase, I noticed that my change should be $10.22. Then she handed me $10.20. I remember thinking, “I wonder why she didn’t give me the other two cents?” Then I erroneously thought that maybe they don’t mess with such a small amount in South Carolina.

As I was leaving the store I was musing in my mind, “I wonder why she didn’t give me all my change?”

Just as I got out of the store, I looked down and saw a penny on the ground. I picked it up, and then noticed another penny nearby. As I picked it up, this thought came into my mind, “Jim, you can trust Me, even in the little things. Here’s your change.”

At the time this experience gave me courage, and over the years, just when I need it, I will sometimes find another two cents.

Shortly after this experience, I was walking around town to give the book, The Great Controversy, to the couples that my wife and I had played cards with in a local card club which I had decided to stop attending. As I walked about town distributing books, I ran out and returned home to get one more book, as I only had one more couple to visit.

After I picked up the book I walked out of my driveway, and there lying in the gravel at the edge of the road lay two cents.

Another time some friends were coming to town for a visit, on either Friday or Sabbath evening. I remember asking myself, “How am I going to keep the Sabbath while they are here?” I decided to go for a walk before they arrived.

As I walked past the junior high school, it was already dark, but as I went toward a street light on the other side of the parking lot, I saw two shiny objects there on the ground. I was too far away to tell what they were, but I didn’t need to, because I knew it was two cents—confirmation to me that God would guide me through my friends’ visit.

Once a brother in Christ and I had traveled to another town in northeastern Kansas to visit a family on the Sabbath to give them some encouragement. After the other brother had led out with the Sabbath message and we had eaten lunch, we all went for a walk. As we were walking I told my two cents story. Shortly after I finished the story, the man in the family found some money on the street. It wasn’t two cents, but it seemed an appropriate postscript to the story I had just told.

There have been other times when I have found just a penny. I’ll always look around for the other one. Sometimes I find it; sometimes I don’t.

Once another brother and I went out after fellowship dinner at the church to pass out some literature. I told him my two cents story. I finished just as we arrived at the parking lot across from where we intended to pass out the material. We got out of the car and went to the trunk. Just behind the car directly beneath the center of the trunk lay two cents. I get encouraged every time this happens.

Once I was back in South Carolina on the Sabbath. As I have done in the past, I find other Adventist believers in that area and arrange to meet them for fellowship. On one such occasion a brother and sister met me at a park somewhere north of the Citadel in Charleston. We had arranged to meet, have worship, then share a picnic lunch in the afternoon. I gave a short message about the truth, and as part of my presentation, I told them my two cents story. We had sat on a park bench together, and after we finished worship and had prayer we got up to walk back to where our cars were. There on the ground just by the park bench lay two cents that we had not noticed before.

There are some Bible and Spirit of Prophecy quotes that I claim quite often. “Lord, I believe. Please help my unbelief.” Mark 9:24. “Lord, take my heart; for I cannot give it. It is Thy property. Keep it pure, for I cannot keep it for Thee. Save me in spite of myself, my weak, unchristlike self. Mold me, fashion me, raise me into a pure and holy atmosphere, where the rich current of Thy love can flow through my soul.” Christ’s Object Lessons, 159.

My hope is that as we go on to perfection, we can help each other along the way. Please, Lord, don’t let us die in our sins. May your page and my page in heaven be clean. Amen.

Children’s Story – “Willie’s Drowned!”

by

Children Story – “Willie’s Drowned!”
By

These spring nights are chilly. I hope our guests bring blankets with them.” Clarissa was speaking to Jenny as they set up cots in the bedrooms and the living room of the White home. There was to be an important meeting, and The Review had printed notices that the friends in Battle Creek, Michigan, would entertain all who came. The Whites were expecting a houseful of guests.

The publishing office had been moved from Rochester, and the Whites now lived at Battle Creek. The Adventists in Michigan had invited Elder White to bring the publishing work to their state, and they had promised to build a printing office. So the publishing business had moved to Battle Creek.

James and Ellen White lived in a small house with their three little boys and their two faithful helpers, Clarissa Bonfoey and Jenny Fraser.

On this particular afternoon everyone was bustling around getting ready to entertain the guests who were expected the next day. The women were cleaning house, Henry and Edson were raking the yard, and baby Willie, now twenty-two months old, was playing about, getting in everybody’s way and enjoying the excitement as much as his older brothers.

The rough board kitchen floor had been scrubbed, and a tub of dirty suds was left sitting in the middle of the room. As Jenny passed by on her way to gather chips for starting the cookstove fire, she noticed the baby standing beside the tub.

“What are you doing, Willie?” she asked.

“Sticky boaty! Sticky boaty!” chirruped the little fellow, pushing a small wooden pail around in the water with a stick.

Coming back up the steps a few minutes later, Jenny thought of the baby. Where was he? She hurried into the kitchen, where she heard a gurgling sound.

A tiny foot was sticking out of the water! She snatched it, pulled the baby out, and ran screaming to find his mother.

“Willie’s drowned! He’s drowned! He’s drowned!” she shrieked.

Mrs. White came running from the front room and met her in the doorway. “Jenny, was the water hot or cold?”

“He’s drowned! He’s drowned! He’s dead! He’s dead!” the girl kept screaming.

Mrs. White seized Jenny by the shoulders and, shaking her vigorously, asked, “Jenny Fraser, tell me, was the water hot or cold?”

“Cold,” gasped the terrified Jenny.

“Then give the child to me. You send for the doctor and call James.”

“Run for the doctor! Run for the doctor!” the girl shouted to a young man standing nearby. He began to run. Jenny followed, slapping him on the back and shoulders and shouting, “Run! Run! Run!”

By this time Mrs. White was in the front yard with Willie. Using a pair of scissors she had snatched up as she ran, she cut away his clothes. As she rolled him over and over on the grass, quantities of dirty water poured from his nose and mouth. She continued rolling the little body. James White arrived and stood silently praying and watching as the minutes ticked by. Ellen lifted Willie and looked for signs of life. There were none. She laid him down and rolled him again. More water trickled from his mouth.

Neighbors gathered and stood with sad, pitying faces, watching the mother’s efforts. Fifteen minutes passed, and still Willie’s condition was apparently hopeless.

“How dreadful to see her handling that dead child!” said one woman. “Somebody take that dead baby away from her.”

“You let her have her baby!” retorted James White with unusual emphasis. “She knows what she’s about.”

Twenty agonizing minutes passed, during which Mrs. White saw no signs of life. She lifted the limp form and held his cheek against hers. She kissed the cold lips. What did she see? The flicker of an eyelid, a slight pucker of the lips?

“I believe he’s trying to return my kiss!” she cried. “There must be life! There is life! There is life!”

She carried the limp form into the house. “Jenny, quick! Bring some cloths and heat them.” Ellen wrapped the hot cloths around Willie’s cold body, changing them frequently. She held him up again, close to her face. “He’s breathing! He’s breathing! My baby’s alive!” And she hugged him to her. “Thank God! Thank God!” she said over and over. Tears of joy ran down her cheeks.

Preparations for the visitors continued the rest of the day without my grandmother’s help. Not once did she let Willie out of her arms, for although he was now breathing naturally, she knew he was not entirely out of danger.

If Grandma White were here today I know what I’d do. I’d put my arms around her neck and whisper in her ear, “Dear Grandma, I’m so glad you didn’t get discouraged working over that little drowned baby.” You see, when he grew up he had a baby girl of his own, and I was that baby girl. And I think the children and grandchildren of my six brothers and sisters would say, “We’re glad too!”

Stories of My Grandmother, page 100, by Ella Robinson, 2000, Review and Herald Publishing Association.

Children’s Story – The Plant in the Prison

by

“One time a Frenchman named Charney was put into prison because he was supposed to be an enemy of the emperor Napoleon,” began mother, as the children gathered for a story. “Charney was a wise man about many things, but he did not know God, and he had never read the Bible. In fact, he did not believe there was a God. On the wall of his prison cell he had scribbled these words, ‘All things come by chance.’

“Charney was lonely, since no one ever visited him. He had nothing interesting to do. All his books and papers had been taken away from him, so he could neither read nor write. He had nothing interesting to look at, for he could not see beyond the high prison walls.

“One day as Charney was walking in the yard adjoining his cell he saw a small green plant pushing up between the stones. Every day he watched this tiny living thing. One morning he saw some buds. They grew larger and larger, and, to his delight, opened into flowers. Charney thought that he had never before seen such beautifully colored blossoms. They were white, purple, and rose-colored, with a delicate silver fringe around the edge. And how sweet they smelled!—sweeter, he thought, than any other flowers he had ever known.

“Charney guarded his plant with great care. He made a framework around it from some bits of material he begged from the prison guards. One day there was a hailstorm. As long as the storm lasted, Charney bent over his plant to protect it from the pelting hailstones. At one time the plant began to wither and look as if it were going to die. Charney sought permission to take up the stones around it to give it more room to grow.

“In the same prison was an Italian whose daughter came to visit. She watched Charney carefully tending his plant. She went to Empress Josephine, Napoleon’s wife, and asked permission for Charney to take up the stones as he wished to do. Josephine loved flowers. She often said that she admired the purple of her cacti more than the purple of her robes, and that the fragrance of her magnolias was sweeter than the flattery of her attendants. She thought that a man who would take such care of a plant could not be a very bad man. She inquired about him, and learned that he did not mean any harm to the emperor or to the government. At last she persuaded Napoleon to set him free.

“When Charney came out of prison, he was a different man. The little plant had taught him that there is a God. He knew that if he should try all his lifetime he could never make one thing grow. Only God could give life. Only God can put something into a seed that will cause it to send out roots and leaves and fragrant blossoms.

“The man did not know how the tiny seed that grew into his plant had fallen between the rocks of the prison yard. Perhaps a bird had dropped it there. Perhaps the wind had blown it over the wall. But he knew God had sent it to say to him, ‘Charney, I love you, even though you are only a lonely prisoner, with no thoughts for Me. I love you, and I want you to love Me.’ When he left the prison he took the plant with him—the plant that had taught him the power and love of the Creator.”

Happy Home Stories, Ella M. Robinson, TEACH Services, Inc., pages 77–80.

Children’s Story – Seeds and Johnny Appleseed

by

Betty Lou had her own garden patch, in which she could plant anything she liked.

“Look!” she exclaimed one morning, “The bean seeds are crawling out of the ground!” The beans had made cracks in the earth and were popping through. On top of every stem was one of the beans that had been planted. Betty Lou pushed her trowel into the soft earth and brought up a tiny plant. “See, mother, see! This bean is growing a tail.”

There was a little stem with a bean on top and a tiny white root below. “The stem will keep on growing higher and higher, gathering light and air,” mother explained, “while the root will go farther and farther down into the earth searching for something to eat. The bean on top of the stem supplies the growing plant with food until the roots are strong enough to gather nourishment from the earth.

“Soon this plant will grow into a strong vine, twining around a pole, with pods growing on it. In the pods beans like the ones we planted will grow. The roots will become larger and stronger, each one having tiny mouths through which it will suck up food and water for the fast-growing plant.”

“What makes the seed grow?” asked Linda.

“It’s the life in the seed,” Harold answered.

“What is life?” mother asked.

“It’s what makes things grow,” said Linda, looking very wise.

“You have told me what life does, but you haven’t told me what life is. Only God, Who puts the life into the seeds and Who makes every living thing grow, knows what life really is.

“Here in this saucer are some beet seeds which I am going to soak in water overnight to soften their tight coverings so they will come up quickly. In this other saucer is some Grape-Nuts cereal. Betty Lou, how would you like to plant this cereal in your garden, so you could have all you want to eat?”

There was a question in Betty Lou’s eyes, but only for an instant, and then she said, “Grape-Nuts cereal won’t grow.”

“Because it is not seed.”

“That’s right. We’ll plant the seeds that are alive. Isn’t it wonderful that God has shut up a bit of life in each tiny seed—life which will spring up and grow into a plant, and bear many other seeds exactly like itself?

“Would you like to hear a story about a man who was named after a certain kind of seed?” The children looked puzzled, and mother added, “His first name was Johnny.”

“Is it Johnny Appleseed?”

“A good guess, Harold. So you’ve heard the story.”

“Yes, but I would like to hear it again,” said Harold.

Mother began: “His real name was John Chapman. When he was young he built himself a house out of stone and logs on the banks of the Ohio River, near the place where the city of Pittsburgh stands today.

“There were many apple orchards on the farms around his home, and the farmers used to send their apples to the cider mills. The apple skins and seeds were thrown away after the juice had been squeezed out. Johnny went around gathering up the seeds. He took them home and washed them. He planted some of them, and what he could not plant he laid away. It wasn’t many years until he had the best apple orchard in the country. He also had a fine nursery of young trees to supply other orchards.

“At that time thousands of people were moving west to start new homes. The journey was tiresome for there were no railroads or automobiles in those days. The trip was usually made in covered wagons pulled by oxen or horses.

“Some of the settlers were glad to stop for a day or two at Johnny’s house. He encouraged them on their way, often reading God’s promises from the Bible. When the pioneers continued their journey, he gave them provisions and apples. He gave to each guest a small bag of apple seeds, asking him to plant the seeds when he reached his home. Johnny knew that the shady apple trees would make the children happy and help their mothers forget their homesickness.

“Returning travelers who stopped at John Chapman’s home told him of the troubles the settlers were meeting. They were having a hard time to keep from starving while clearing new land and making farms. There was much sickness, and sometimes there were Indian raids. Even the apple trees that grew from the seeds he had given them were not doing well. Many of the people were homesick and discouraged. Johnny decided that he would have to go and show these pioneers how to plant the seeds and how to care for the trees.

“He left his comfortable home, giving his orchard and farm to a widow who had three children. He sewed his apple seeds into watertight bags, loaded them into two Indian canoes, and started down the river.

“For nearly forty years Johnny Appleseed traveled through the wilderness and over the plains, sometimes with his bags of apple seeds loaded on the back of a horse, but more often by foot. He carried his blanket roll, a sack of seeds and his food pouch over his shoulders. He also carried his Bible and some leaflets to give away.

“Day after day he tramped through the forest, hunting for settlers’ homes, bringing them the two kinds of seeds that he carried. Often in summer he had to wade through mud, and in winter through snows that hid the trail. The settlers’ cabins were far apart, and sometimes he would lose the trail and wander for days. He slept in hollow logs or under the open sky, with his Bible under his head.

“He learned the language of the Indians, and they welcomed him to their wigwams and gave him food and shelter. He nursed their sick children and talked to them about God, whom they called the Great Spirit.

“At every home Johnny left some of his apple seeds. He often helped the men prepare the soil and plant the seeds. He told them how to care for the trees when they came up, and how to transplant them.

“At mealtime they would draw up their rough stools to the pine-board table, and Johnny would ask God’s blessing on the food. Then, as they ate, he would give them the news and talk about the people they knew back home.

“After supper the children and older folk would listen to his stories. He would tell them about the heavenly Father Who loved them and Who was preparing a home for all who love Him.

“Then the family would make a bed for him on the floor. When the time came to leave, Johnny would hand them one of the leaflets in exchange for a few handfuls of corn meal or other food.

“Johnny had to be nurse as well as orchardist. Sometimes he would find entire families sick with chills and fever, or perhaps with the dreaded cholera. He cared for them, nursed them back to health, and cheered them with promises from the Bible. He did so many kind deeds and helped so many people that he was known and loved throughout the country. He spent his time and money trying to make other people happy.”

At the story’s end mother paused, and Linda looked up as if waiting for mother to say something. “What was the other kind of seed that John Chapman carried with him?” asked Linda.

Mother picked up her Bible. “The parable of the sower found in Matthew 13 tells us about the other seed,” she said. Before they had finished the chapter, Linda had guessed the answer. I wonder how many of you have done the same.

Excerpts from Happy Home Stories, by Ella M. Robinson, pp. 35–45.

Children Story – A Hard Question

by

Why do we always kneel when we pray?” asked Tommy as he was visiting the Reeds one evening.

“We kneel because the Bible tells us to. It says, ‘O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the Lord our Maker’ (Psalm 95:6),” said Harold.

“That’s right,” said Mother. “You see, children, prayer is a form of worship. When we pray, we talk to the Creator of all the worlds in the universe. By kneeling we show that we appreciate His greatness and majesty. Do you remember what Daniel did when he prayed?”

“He prayed three times a day with his window open,” answered Linda.

“And the bad men put him into the den of lions,” Betty Lou volunteered.

“Did the lions eat him up?” asked Tommy.

“Oh, no! God sent an angel to shut the lions’ mouths so tight that they couldn’t hurt him.”

Then Mother asked, “Do you remember what the wise men did when they looked upon baby Jesus in His mother’s arms?”

“They gave Him precious gifts,” the children answered.

“That’s right, but they did something even better—they recognized Him as their King, and they worshiped Him.”

“Why don’t we always kneel when we pray?” Harold asked. “We didn’t kneel in the big tent at the camp meeting.”

Mother hesitated. When she was sure she had thought of the right answer, she said, “Sometimes the floor may not be very clean. The Bible tells us that the people stood during the dedication of the temple, while King Solomon knelt to pray.

“It makes a difference where we are and what we are doing,” continued Mother. “One day Nehemiah was standing before the king of Persia. The king asked, ‘Why are you sad, seeing you are not sick? What favor would you like to ask?’ Before saying a word, Nehemiah prayed that he might know how to answer the king. This story shows how quickly God can answer a prayer that is made in faith.”

Mother continued, “One day, while Jesus was standing with His friends at the grave of Lazarus, the Saviour lifted His eyes and thanked God aloud because God always heard Him when He prayed.

“Abraham’s servant prayed that God would help him find the right wife for Isaac. His prayer was answered quickly and he simply bowed his head and thanked the Lord right there where he stood. It is right for us to send up a silent prayer wherever we are, even when we are going about our work.”

“I can understand that,” Linda remarked. “Of course we can’t kneel down and pray while we are walking down the street or playing in the park; people would think us queer.”

“That’s right,” Mother answered. “But we can lift our hearts in silent prayer for God’s blessing. As we go to Sabbath school and church we should have a prayer in our heart that we may be reverent and remember that we are in a holy place.”

“How wonderful it is that morning and evening we can kneel here together and talk to God and call Him our Father!” continued Mother. “The first thing we can do each morning is to open our heart’s door to Jesus and ask Him to come in and stay with us. Talk to Jesus during the day. Tell Him how much you love Him, and how thankful you are that He loves you.”

Happy Home Stories, by Ella M. Robinson, (Teach Services, Inc.)

Children’s Story – Who Made the Bad Bugs?

by

There’s something making me itch,” Betty Lou complained as she came in from play one afternoon.

“Where is the itch?” Mother asked.

“Right here, back of my ear.”

Mother looked back of the girl’s ear and found a tick. “It’s a tick,” Mother exclaimed. “Don’t touch it. I’ll get it out right away.” She found a piece of cotton, dipped it in kerosene and sopped the itchy place several times until she was sure the tick was dead. Then she pulled it out carefully and threw it into the fire.

“You see,” explained Mother, “the tick burrows its head under the skin so it can get some of the blood from your body. I told you not to touch it because if you try to pull a tick off while it is alive it will only cling the tighter; and while you are pulling, it may leave some of its poison in your body. Although they are only tiny creatures, ticks are dangerous, for they sometimes carry disease germs that make people very sick.”

“He’s a bad bug, isn’t he, Mother? Why did God make bad bugs?” asked Betty Lou.

It was a question that gave the family plenty to talk about that evening. Linda, thought she answered the question by saying, “God made everything, didn’t He? So He must have made good bugs and bad bugs.”

“I don’t see how that can be,” Harold objected. “Didn’t God say that everything He made was good?”

“That’s right, Harold. God never made anything bad,” said Mother. “He never made an ugly or useless thing. Even the serpent was beautiful before it told the lies that Satan put into its mouth. After man sinned, some of the animals became wild and ferocious; and, not satisfied with the grass and other plants God had given them for food, they began to eat one another. Some of the birds, too, began to fight and destroy one another, instead of living on the fruits and nuts and grains. Satan has tried to spoil everything that God has made, because he hates God and because he hates us.”

Daddy went into the library and brought out a big book he had been reading. It told about huge animals and reptiles that lived before the Flood. Their bones have been found in the earth, where they were buried when the mountains were thrown up by the raging wind and water.

“What animals!” Linda exclaimed. “Are there any such animals living anywhere on the earth now?”

“No,” Daddy answered, “not one of them is left. God must have allowed these huge animals to die in order to protect man from harm that they might do him. Undoubtedly they were wonderful creatures when God made them, but sin changed them into beasts that brought terror to man.”

“Betty, there will be no bad bugs in heaven to carry poison and disease, as ticks and mosquitoes so often do now.”

Daddy read the wonderful description of the new earth from the Bible. Harold asked, “Will there be lions in the new earth? In one chapter it says that there will be no lions there, and in the other chapter it says that the lion and the lamb will lie down together.”

“It’s this way, son,” came Daddy’s answer; “there’ll be no wild, ravenous lions as we know them now; but there will be friendly, harmless lions, the kind God made in the beginning.”

Happy Home Stories, by Ella M. Robinson, Teach Services, Inc., pages 49–51.

Children’s Story – Esther’s Victory

by

Dear!” and Esther sighed wearily as she bent over the tiresome figures on her slate. The long afternoon sun shot slanting in at the window of the little red school-house, where thirty restless children were thumbing the leaves of their well-worn books. The last class in spelling was on the floor, and Esther had not finished her problem. It wasn’t such a very hard example, but Esther was a little girl, and didn’t like arithmetic. Yet she kept at it; for there was to be a prize given at the end of the term to the one who had the most perfect lessons. The prize was a copy of Robinson Crusoe, handsomely bound in blue and gold, and full of pictures. Books were scarce in Esther’s home, and she wanted this one so much.

But now the spelling class was dismissed, and all the scholars were putting away their books for the night. Esther looked ruefully at the long columns of figures on her slate and the answer that, try as hard as she pleased, she couldn’t prove to be right, and something very much like tears shone in a pair of great hazel eyes as she straightened up her desk.

After the supper dishes were washed that evening, Esther sat down again to the puzzling example. The arithmetic class came the first thing in the morning, and she must get her answer ready tonight. But it was as bad as ever, and she couldn’t get it right. By and by mamma called her to go to bed, and the problem had to rest.

There was no time in the morning, for in this busy household, everyone had their appointed tasks, which they were expected to do. So Esther took her broom and went to sweep and straighten up brother Jack’s room. When she was whisking her duster around the books on the corner shelf, a little one on the end fell off to the floor.

Esther stooped to pick it up, and paused. What chance had placed that book in her way? She did not know Jack had such a book. It was arithmetic just like hers, and beside each problem was plainly written in black ink the correct answer.

Esther turned over the leaves till she came to the place where her lesson was. Her answer was nearly the same; there was only one figure in the tens that was wrong. What hurt would it do if she should copy the answer and hand it in for hers? She was sure she had worked long enough on it to have it right, and nobody would know. It was but the work of an instant, and the book was put back in its place.

With a smiling face, Esther went to school, and when the arithmetic class recited, was marked perfect in her lesson; but her conscience was not quite at ease. Everything said that day seemed to have something in it about honesty. The reading lesson was about an honest boy that would not tell a lie to save himself from punishment; and Miss Lewis said she hoped they would all strive to be strictly honest in their lessons, for that would be better than any prize they might win.

Esther knew she had not done right and that she ought to tell Miss Lewis about it; but she put it off that day and on the morrow, the warning voice of conscience grew more faint, till it ceased to trouble Esther. “It will not matter much,” she said, “if I don’t do it again.”

At length the last day came. There was to be speaking and singing at the school-house, and the children’s parents and friends were to be present, and the prizes presented. The little room had been gaily decked for the occasion with wreaths and flowers, and through the open door and windows came sweet scents of lilacs and clover and blossoming orchard trees.

When the exercises were over, Miss Lewis rose to give the prizes. “There are two scholars,” she said, “who stand so nearly equal in their studies that it has been a difficult matter to decide which one to award with the prize. They are Jennie Feverel and Esther Hallern. However, as Esther has had one more perfect mark than Jennie, she may come forward and receive the prize.”

With beating heart and triumphant face, Esther felt the coveted book in her hands, and heard Miss Lewis’s kind words as she handed it to her. But as she turned to go to her seat, she saw over in the corner, her dear friend Jennie, sobbing as if her heart would break over the disappointment.

With a sudden twinge of conscience, Esther remembered how unfairly the prize had been won and paused half way down the isle.

“What is the matter, Esther,” said Miss Lewis kindly, as she saw her stand there, her face flushing and paling by turns, as every moment her action looked meaner.

“O Miss Lewis,” said Esther, her voice growing so husky she could hardly speak above a whisper, and her eyes filling with tears of shame, “The prize is no more mine than Jennie’s. I copied one lesson out of Jack’s arithmetic; and the book belongs to her because she didn’t cheat,” and with a new sense of honor, Esther laid the beautiful book on Jennie’s desk.

Miss Lewis said a few words in reply, though what they were Esther could not have told, for her shame and disappointment crowded out everything else. Then school was dismissed.

Esther took her books and hurried home alone, not waiting even for her mother to come with her, and flung herself down in the grass under a pear tree, where the soft wind sent down showers of petals over a very miserable little girl. Here her mamma found her. Then there followed a quiet talk that Esther will never forget. Jennie kindly came over most every afternoon with her book, and by the last of vacation they had finished the story together.

When Esther gathered up her books, on the morning school began again, she was very much delighted to find a new history book and a slate laid beside them—presents from her mamma for her generosity and truthfulness about the prize.

  1. E. L.

The Youth Instructor, April 28, 1886

Children’s Story – The Errand Boy Martin

by

Little Martin was a poor boy, who earned his bread by doing errands. One day he was returning from a village, which was quite distant from his home, and feeling tired, he sat down under a large tree, near an inn, to rest. While he sat there, eating a piece of bread which he had taken for his dinner, he saw a handsome carriage driving up, in which sat a young gentleman and his teacher.

Martin looked at them very attentively, and then looked at his crust of bread and at his ragged clothes and old cap; and he could not help sighing as he said, half aloud, “Oh, dear! If I were but that young gentleman, instead of being poor Martin the errand boy! How I wish I could change places with him!”

The teacher chanced to overhear what Martin said, and he told it to his pupil, who, leaning out of the coach window, beckoned Martin to come near.

“So, little boy,” said he, “you would like to change places with me, would you?”

“I beg pardon, sir,” replied Martin; “I meant no harm by what I said.”

“I am not angry with you,” said the young gentleman; “on the contrary, I am quite willing to change places with you.”

“Oh, now you are joking!” cried Martin; “no one would wish to change places with me, and least of all, a gentleman like yourself. I am obliged to walk many miles every day and seldom have anything but dry bread or potatoes to eat, while you may ride in your nice carriage, and have whatever you desire.”

“Well,” said the young gentleman, “if you will give me all you have that I have not, I will in turn give you everything that belongs to me.”

Martin started, for he did not know what to say; but the teacher desired him to answer.

“Do you agree to change?” said he.

“Oh, yes,” said Martin, “I do indeed, if you are in earnest. How the people in the village will wonder to see me coming back in this grand coach.” And Martin laughed at the idea.

The young gentleman then called his servants, and they opened the coach door, and helped him to get out. But what was Martin’s surprise on seeing that both his legs were quite crooked, and of no use to him!

He was obliged to lean upon crutches for support; and on looking at him more closely, Martin saw that his face was pale and thin, like that of a person who is often ill. The young gentleman smiled kindly on Martin, and said, “Well, my lad, do you still wish to change situations with me? Would you, if you could, give up your rosy cheeks for the sake of driving in a carriage, and wearing a handsome coat?”

“Oh, no, not for the world!” said Martin.

“And I,” said the young gentleman, “would gladly be poor, if I only had the use of my limbs; but as it is God’s will that I should be lame and sickly, I try to be patient and cheerful, and to be thankful for the blessings He has left me.

“And you, my young friend, must do the same, and remember that if you have poor clothes and hard fare, you have health and strength, which are far better than a coach and horses, and what money can buy.” Selected.

The Youth’s Instructor, April 14, 1886.

Children’s Story – The Blind Poet

by

Have you found out the name of the blind poet who wrote so many hymns?” asked Mother.

“Tell Mother who she was,” said Linda.

“Fanny Crosby,” answered Betty Lou, pronouncing the words slowly and carefully.

“How did you find out?” Mother asked.

“Linda told me.”

“How did you find out, Linda?”

“I looked through our hymnbook to find the names of the women who wrote hymns. I found more hymns by Fanny Crosby than by any other woman. There were several by Frances Ridley Havergal, too. I didn’t know which one was blind, so I asked Harold, and he got down the encyclopedia. We read what it said about Fanny Crosby.”

“Well done! Here is the poem which she wrote when she was only eight years old:

“Oh, what a happy soul am I: although I cannot see,

I am resolved that in this world contented I will be.

How many blessings I enjoy that other people don’t.

To weep and sigh because I’m blind, I cannot and I won’t.

“Fanny was two years old when her mother told her very tenderly that she would never be able to see. In spite of her blindness, Fanny learned to dress herself and comb her hair. She could feel her way around the house and wait on herself. She could eat at the table as well as almost anyone.

“When Fanny’s grandmother heard of her blindness, she came to live with Fanny and her mother. Grandma spent much of her time with Fanny. The girl would sit for hours curled up in Grandma’s lap, listening to Bible stories or to descriptions of the clouds and the sunsets and the stars. She especially loved stories about Jesus, and the heavenly Father Who sent His own Son to save us.

“As Fanny and her grandmother walked together through gardens and woods, Grandma would pick a flower and tell the blind girl to feel it and to smell it. In this way Fanny learned to know each flower by name. She also learned to know the birds by their songs. She played with other children, climbed trees, and rode horseback. Her favorite pet was a lamb that went almost everywhere with her, like Mary’s little lamb.

“In the evenings Grandma would read to Fanny from the Bible and from her favorite poets. Fanny memorized many of the poems, as well as some of the psalms and other chapters from the Bible. But she longed to go to school to learn to read out of books. Yet how could a little blind girl ever read books?

“One night she knelt by her bed and prayed, ‘Dear Lord, please show me how I can learn as other children do.’ From that time on, Fanny was sure that God would help her receive what she had asked of Him. One day, not long after this, Fanny’s mother received some good news. A school for the blind had been opened in New York.

“ ‘Thank God!’ Fanny exclaimed; ‘He has answered my prayers, as I knew He would.’

“Fanny was fifteen years old when she entered the school. The books from which the students studied were printed in Braille, a system of raised dots, which a blind person feels with his or her fingers.

“Fanny was the school favorite because she was so cheerful and full of fun. She was also the school poet, and she wrote poems for special occasions. One day Dr. Jones, the school superintendent, called her into his office.

“Among other things, he said this: ‘Do not allow the words of praise from others to make you feel that you are better than they are. Remember, Fanny, whatever talent you possess belongs wholly to God, and you ought to give Him the credit for all that you do.’ He asked Fanny if he had been too blunt.

“ ‘No, sir,’ she replied. ‘You have talked to me as a father, and I thank you very much for it.’

“Fanny never forgot that her ability and talents had been given to her by God.”

Happy Home Stories, by Ella M. Robinson, p. 61–64, (TEACH Services, Inc., 2005).

Children’s Story – Send Food to John

by

On top of Washington Mountain, overlooking a deep valley stood a simple hut. This hut was the home of John Barry, a poor charcoal burner. During the past summer, John had felt sick and was not able to work as much as usual.

In December, several heavy snowfalls came. The road up the mountain from the village below was completely drifted shut. Before the road could be cleared, another storm raged, and John and his wife were stranded with only one day’s supply of food left.

In the village of Sheffield, ten miles away, lived Deacon Brown. Mr. Brown was a well-to-do farmer, known for his Christian life and practice. The deacon and his wife, Margaret had gone to bed, and, in spite of the storm, both were sleeping soundly. Toward morning, the deacon suddenly awoke. He had a strong impression he needed to bring food to someone named John. He awoke his wife and told her.

“Nonsense!” replied Mrs. Brown. “Go back to sleep. You must have been dreaming.” The deacon laid down again, and in a few minutes he was asleep. When he awoke, the impression was as strong as ever.

“Well!” said Mrs. Brown, “You must be ill. I wonder if you have a fever. Lie down and try to sleep.”

“Listen, Margaret,” he said, “Do you know anyone named John who might need food?”

“No one that I can think of,” replied Mrs. Brown, “unless it could be John Barry, the old charcoal burner on the mountain.”

“That’s it!” exclaimed the deacon. “Now I remember. When I was at the store in town the other day, Mr. Clark said, ‘I wonder if old John Barry is alive, for it is six weeks since I saw him. He has not come in for his winter stock of groceries yet.’ It must be that old John is sick and needs food.”

Quickly, the deacon and his wife got dressed. Mr. Brown woke his helper, Willie, and the men ate a hurried breakfast while Mrs. Brown packed a good supply of food in the two largest baskets she could find.

After breakfast, Mr. Brown and Willie hitched up the horses to the double sleigh. With a month’s supply of food, they began their journey just as the first streaks of light appeared on the horizon. It would be a dangerous trip. The wind was still blowing and the snow kept falling and drifting. Yet the team of horses continued on their trip of mercy. While the people on the sleigh, wrapped up in blankets and extra buffalo robes, urged the horses through the drifts in the face of the storm, that ten-mile ride, which normally took less than an hour, was not completed until nearly five hours had passed.

At last they drew up in front of the hut where the poor, trusting Christian man and his wife had been praying for help to Him Who is the hearer of prayers. As the deacon reached the door, he heard the voice of prayer. He knocked at the door; it was opened, and we can scarcely imagine the joy of the old couple! The generous supply of food was carried in, and thanksgivings were raised to God by John Barry and his wife in their mountain hut.

How God Sent a Dog to Save a Family and other Devotional Stories, 59–61, by Joel R. Beeke and Diana Kleyn, Reformation Heritage Books.