Children’s Story

Children’s Story – Everything for the Best

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Toward the evening of a fine summer’s day, a gentleman, who lived in the country, took his son William with him to the top of a neighboring hill. While they were admiring the beauty of the setting sun, which made everything around them look bright and happy, they saw a shepherd driving his flock and heard the bleating of the playful lambs.

The sides of the road which they were obliged to travel were lined with thorn bushes and thistles, and every sheep in passing, rubbed against the briers and lost some of its wool. This troubled little William very much.

“See, Father,” he said, “see how the naughty thorns steal the wool from the sheep. Why does God, Who is so good to everything, let the thorns grow to do such mischief? Why do not men destroy every one of them? Poor sheep! Tomorrow morning, I will come with my knife and cut down all these bushes. Will you not come and help me, Father?”

“I will see about it,” said his father. “But why are you so angry with the briers and thorns? Do you not know that we ourselves rob the sheep by shearing them? Instead of taking a few pieces of wool, we take the whole coat.”

“True,” replied William, “but we need it to make our clothes; and it grows all the better after being cut off. Besides, I have heard you say, that sheep always shed their wool in summer; and it is surely better that we should cut it off and make some use of it, than that it should be entirely lost.

“But these thorns do not need the wool. They rob the sheep of wool which is of no use to them nor to anybody. Will you, Father, come with me tomorrow morning and help me cut them down?”

“Perhaps I will,” said his father. “We will take a walk at break of day, and then we will see about it.”

William, who thought himself a great hero because he was going to destroy the hurtful bushes, could hardly sleep; so much was his mind occupied with his glorious project. He waked his father as soon as the singing of the birds gave notice that morning was coming.

Both of them enjoyed the clear air and the glorious spectacle of the rising sun, and went along singing merrily until they arrived at the foot of the hill. William was running to the bushes with his knife in his hand to cut them down, when his father called to him to stop.

A great number of birds were flying round the thorns, and his father told William to watch and see what they came there for. He soon saw that each little bird carried away in his bill a piece of the wool which the briers had torn from the sheep. Wrens, linnets, goldfinches, and robins all went away with full loads of wool.

“You now see,” said his father, “that God takes care of everything. The thorns, which you thought did nothing but mischief, furnish these pretty birds with wool to line their nests. The sheep do not miss these few locks of wool, and the birds are made rich and happy by them. And does my boy now wish to cut down the thorn bushes?”

“Oh no!” said William. “I now see I was too hasty. God is wise and good and has made everything for the best.”

The Moore McGuffey Readers, Book 2, 145–148.

Children’s Story – The Davis Indians

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Look on the map of South America and find the place where Venezuela, Guyana, and Brazil meet. Can you find here the name of Mount Roraima? Those who now visit this place stand with bowed heads before a little mound of earth which marks the spot where lies the body of the first white man who carried the gospel to the Indians living there. This man’s name was O. E. Davis. Because he laid down his life in opening the gospel door to these natives, they have ever since been called “The Davis Indians,” but their real name is the “Carib Indians.”

It was in the year 1911 that this missionary started on his long, lonely journey from Georgetown, Guyana, to Mount Roraima. His only companions were two Indians, one to act as guide, the other as interpreter. But the privilege of hunting out other Indians who had never seen a missionary and who had never heard about Jesus filled his heart with hope and joy, for he believed that God would open the way to establish a mission among them.

The journey during the first few weeks was taken up a river in a little rowboat. When the river became too small for the boat, a canoe made of a log hollowed out carried the company seven miles farther. The rest of the three months’ journey had to be traveled on foot. For eleven days they pushed their way through forest and glen, over hill and valley, under the hot tropical sun and through drenching rains, sleeping at times in some wayside hut, and again out under the stars, wherever night overtook them. It was a truly heroic journey, for danger lurked at every turn. Only faith in God and a love for souls could lead even a brave heart over such a path.

At last, they reached the country where the Indians lived. Mr. Davis called the Indians from the surrounding towns and told them of Christ. During the few months that he was among them he started three missions, the last one at Mount Roraima. The Indians and their chief listened with wonder to the story of Jesus, the Son of the only true God, Who loved them and gave His life to save them. They learned of God’s law. They learned how important it is for every child of God to obey his Creator.

With great joy the chief and one hundred thirty of his people accepted Christ and promised to obey God. To those who made this covenant with God, Elder Davis gave Christian names. He named the chief Jeremiah. Gladly these Indians provided a building in which they could come and learn more about God. It was large enough to seat two or three hundred people. Faithfully did Elder Davis teach these people who were hungry for the bread of life.

Elder Davis had been with them but a few short months when he became very ill with blackwater fever. His Indian friends did all they could to help him, but his work was done, and one day out in that lonely place with no white friend near, he breathed his last in the hut of Chief Jeremiah. Loving Indian hands dug a grave and laid the body of this noble missionary gently down to rest. For a long time his friends did not know about his death. His wife was waiting and watching for his return. It was on her birthday that the American consul brought her the sad news.

A short time after this a white man found the grave and learned the story of the sacrifice that Elder Davis had made. While he was taking a picture of the spot, the Indians gathered about the grave of their loved missionary, singing one of the songs he had taught them—“Jesus knows all about our struggles.” Did Jesus really know all about their struggles? Oh, yes, Jesus knows and cares. They had lost their dearest earthly friend, but they had learned about their heavenly Friend.

Chief Jeremiah held meetings with his people and did his best to help them. But after a while, the good chief died. Then the Indians were like orphan children. Poor Indians! They longed to hear more about Jesus, but they had no one to teach them. They were like sheep without a shepherd, and after a time they gave up their religious meetings.

When the people in Georgetown heard of the death of Elder Davis, they wanted to send someone else to teach the Indians. But year after year passed, and there was no one to send. Anxiously the Indians watched and waited. But they waited and watched in vain. Fourteen summers came and went, and still no “Davis men.”

One bright day in autumn, nearly fifteen years after Elder Davis had first visited them, they heard several signal shots fired not far away. Looking in the direction of the sound, they saw two white men with several strange Indians coming toward them. The Indians met these strangers and kindly took them to a shed where they might rest.

“Who are these white men?” they questioned among themselves. “What if they are the ‘Davis men’!”

They determined to find out. One young man went to the shed where the strangers were resting.

“I want to be a good man,” he said in broken English, but very earnestly. Then he began to sing, “There’s not a friend like the lowly Jesus.”

The strangers joined in the singing. Other Indians came. In a few moments the shed was filled with them. Men and women crowded in and surrounded the shed, and all joined in singing. With earnest, hopeful faces, they sang, “Jesus knows all about our struggles.”

The song was finished. There was a short pause. Then an Indian woman began to sing, “Shall we gather at the river?” All joined, “Yes, we’ll gather at the river.” After that, another song, “Jesus is coming again!”

When the strangers joined in singing the songs that Elder Davis had taught the Indians, they exclaimed, “The ‘Davis men’ have come! The ‘Davis men’ have come!”

Their joy knew no bounds. They stroked the faces of the men. They patted their cheeks. They took their faces between their hands. They put their arms around them. They did all they could to express their love and happiness.

They had no telegraphs, no telephones, no post offices, no railway trains, no automobiles, but these Indians knew how to make known such glad tidings to their people. Three runners were quickly sent to the different Indian towns to carry the news.

“The ‘Davis men’ have come! The ‘Davis men’ have come!” they shouted as they reached the towns.

Some of these towns were distant half a day’s journey, but groups of Indians were soon on their way to welcome the “Davis men.” With earnest faces they pleaded that these men come to their town and teach their people more about Jesus.

The visitors remained with the Indians only a few weeks, but every day they were busy teaching and helping them. At last, the time came when it was necessary for them to say good-bye. The Indians could hardly let them go. Some of them went with the visitors on the way. Three times the visitors said good-bye before the Indians turned back. Even then, an hour later, they, with the other Indians, twenty-four in all, caught up with the visitors, this time with their hammocks and food just to go a “piece way.” To show their love and goodwill they went a distance of eight days’ march.

Then sadly they said their last good-bye and with sorrowful hearts returned to their mountain home to pray that God would soon send other “Davis men” to live among them. And God heard the prayers of these humble, earnest Indians who are seeking after Him.

[Emphasis author’s.]

True Education Series, Book 5, 1933, 307–311.

Children’s Story – Lord Cornwallis’ Knee Buckles

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This is a story about the Revolutionary War. This war was fought between England and the United States, when George Washington lived. At the close of the war, the United States became a free country and George Washington was its first President.

At the time of the Revolutionary War, in 1777, a brave little American girl, named Anne Randolph lived on a farm not so far from Philadelphia. Her father and her two brothers had joined the American army under the command of George Washington; so Anne and her mother were left alone to take care of the farm.

Two years before the time of this story, Anne’s father had given her a beautiful calf as a pet, and the two had become great friends. Whenever Anne went into the field, the young cow came to be petted.

At one time during the war, the English army was in Philadelphia. The soldiers, as they marched through the country, took the wheat and the corn of the farmers, and their horses and cattle as well.

One day, the soldiers came to the farm of Mr. Randolph and took Anne’s pet cow. They tied a rope about her horns and drove her away. In great grief Anne begged for her pet, but without success.

It did not take long for Anne to think what to do. She ran to the stable, saddled her pony, and then rode at full speed to see Lord Cornwallis, the general of the English army. It was a very brave thing for a little girl only twelve years old to do.

A soldier was marching back and forth in front of the general’s camp.

“What do you want?” he asked Anne, as she galloped up.

“I wish to see Lord Cornwallis,” she said.

The soldier let her pass, thinking, no doubt, that she had very important news to tell. Lord Cornwallis and some of his friends were at dinner when little Anne rushed into the room.

“What do you want, my child?” asked the general kindly.

“I want my cow, Sir. Your soldiers have taken her away, and I have come to get her. Oh, please, Sir, you must let me have her.”

“And who are you, my little girl?” asked the general kindly.

“I am Anne Randolph, and I live three miles from here with my mother. Have you seen my cow, sir?”

“Have you no father or brothers, Anne?”

“Yes, Sir, but they are in the army.”

“In which army?”

“In the American army, Sir.”

“Oh! So they are rebels, are they?”

“Oh yes, Sir; we are all rebels about here, Sir.”

“And you are a bit of a rebel yourself?”

“Yes, indeed, I was born so.”

The general threw back his head and laughed. “And your cow is a rebel too, I suppose.”

“I think so, Sir. She is the best cow I ever knew.”

“Look here, my little rebel,” said Lord Cornwallis soberly. “Don’t you know that we are here to fight the rebels?”

“Yes, Sir. But oh, Sir, I raised my cow myself. She has always been mine. She can’t belong to you. I would never steal your cow, Sir.”

The general arose. “Come here, my child. You are a brave little girl, and I promise you that you shall have your cow. And here, take these,” he said, unfastening a pair of silver knee buckles. “Keep them to remember that Lord Cornwallis can appreciate courage and truth even in a young rebel. And if the solders trouble your cow again, come to me at once.”

Then, calling a guard, he told him to go with the child through the camp in search of the cow; and when he should find the animal, to send a man to drive her home again. So Miss Anne returned home in triumph with her cow. And those sparkling knee buckles are treasured by her descendants, in memory of Lord Cornwallis and the Revolution.

“Gentlemen,” said Lord Cornwallis to his officers, after Anne had left, “this country is certain to be free, with such brave little rebels in it as this.”

May we all be as brave to stand for what we know to be right and true!

Adventure Stories from History, Harvestime Books, Altamont, Tennessee. Pages 39–41.

Children’s Story – The Record

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A mother wrote a story about her daughter in which she represented her as making some unkind and rude remarks to her sister. Julia was a reader of the newspapers, and it did not escape her notice. The incident was a true one, but it was one she did not care to remember, much less did she like to see it in print.

“Oh! Mother, Mother,” she exclaimed, “I do not think you are kind to write such stories about me. I do not like to have you publish it when I say anything wrong.”

“How do you know it is you? It is not your name.” Julia then read the story aloud.

“It is I. I know it is I, Mother. I shall be afraid of you if you write such stories about me, I shall not dare to speak before you.”

“Remember, my child, that God requireth the past, and nothing which you say, or do, or think, is lost to Him.”

Poor Julia was quite grieved that her mother should record the unpleasant and unsisterly words which fell from her lips. She did not like to have any memorial of her ill-nature preserved. Perhaps she would never have thought of those words again in this life; but had she never read this passage of fearful import, the language of Jesus Christ: “But I say unto you that for every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment” (Matthew 12:36)? Julia thought that the careless words which had passed her lips would be forgotten, but she should have known that every word and act of our lives is to be recorded and brought to our remembrance.

I have known children to be very much interested, and to be influenced to make a great effort to do right, by an account-book which was kept by their mothers. When such a book is kept at school, and every act is recorded, the pupils are much more likely to make an effort to perform the duties required of them. So it is in Sabbath-schools. I recently heard a Sabbath-school superintendent remark that the school could not be well sustained unless accounts were kept of the attendance, etc., of the pupils.

Many years ago a man, brought before a tribunal, was told to relate his story freely without fear, as it should not be used against him. He commenced to do so, but had not proceeded far before he heard the scratching of a pen behind a curtain. In an instant he was on his guard, for by that sound he knew that, notwithstanding their promise, a record was being taken of what he said.

Silently and unseen by us the angel secretaries are taking a faithful record of our words and actions, and even of our thoughts. Do we realize this? And a more solemn question is, What is the record they are making?

Not long ago I read of a strange list. It was an exact catalogue of the crimes committed by a man who was at last executed in Norfolk Island, with the various punishments he had received for his different offenses. It was written out in small hand by the chaplain, and was nearly three yards long.

What a sickening catalogue to be crowded into one brief life. Yet this man was once an innocent child. A mother no doubt bent lovingly over him, a father perhaps looked upon him in pride and joy, and imagination saw him rise to manhood honored and trusted by his fellow-man. But the boy chose the path of evil and wrong-doing regardless of the record he was making, and finally committed an act, the penalty for which was death, and he perished miserably upon the scaffold.

Dear readers, most of you are young, and your record is but just commenced. Oh, be warned in time and seek to have a list of which you will not be ashamed when scanned by Jehovah, angels, and men. Speak none but kind, loving words, have your thoughts and aspirations pure and noble, crowd into your life all the good deeds you can, and thus crowd out evil ones.

We should not forget that an account-book is kept by God, in which all the events of our lives are recorded, and that even every thought will be brought before us at the day of judgment. In that day God will judge the secrets of men: He will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the heart.

There is another book spoken of in the Bible—the book of life, and it is said that no one can enter heaven whose name is not written in the Lamb’s book of life.

Angels are now weighing moral worth. The record will soon close, either by death or the decree, “He that is unjust, let him be unjust still, and he which is filthy, let him be filthy still; and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still; and he that is holy let him be holy still” (Revelation 22:11). We have but one short, preparing hour in which to redeem the past and get ready for the future. Our life record will soon be examined. What shall it be! [Emphasis author’s.]

Sabbath Readings for the Home Circle, pages 25–28. Published by M.A. Vroman, 1905.

Children Story – Make It Plain

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On the sixteenth day after the battle of Gettysburg, I entered the room where a young wounded colonel was apparently near to death. As I entered, he was roused from his stupor and beckoned me to his bedside, and threw his feeble arms around my neck.

“O my father, how glad I am to see you. I was afraid you would not come till it was too late. I am too feeble to say much, though I have a great many things to say to you; you must do all the talking. Tell me all about dear mother and sister.”

I soon perceived by the appearance of those in the house, that there was no hope entertained of his recovery. But as I could no longer endure the agony of suspense, I at last inquired of the doctor, “Doctor, what do you think of my son’s case?”

“Entirely hopeless.”

“But is there nothing more that can be done to save him?”

“No, sir. Every thing that human skill and kindness can do has been done. Your son has been a brave and very successful officer; has been a great favorite in the army; has won the highest esteem of all who have known him, but now he must die. Immediately after the amputation the gangrene set in, and defies all efforts to arrest it.”

“Well, Doctor, how long do you think he can live?”

“Not more than four days. He may drop away at any hour. We are constantly fearing that an artery will give way, and then it is all over with the colonel. What you wish to do in reference to his death, you had better do at once.”

“Have you, or has any one, told him of his real condition?”

“No. We have left that painful duty for you to do, as we have been expecting your arrival for several days.”

As I entered the room with the dreadful message of death pressing on my heart, the eyes of my son fastened on me.

“Come, sit by my side, father. Have you been talking with the doctor about me?”

“Yes.”

“What did he tell you? Does he think I shall recover?”

There was a painful hesitation for a moment.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me just what he said.”

“He told me you must die.”

“How long does he think I can live?”

“Not to exceed four days, and that you may drop away any hour—that an artery may slough at any moment which you cannot survive.”

With great agitation he exclaimed,

“Father, is that so? Then I must die! I cannot. I must not die! Oh! I am not prepared to die now. Do tell me how I can get ready? Make it so plain that I can get hold of it. Tell me, in a few words, if you can, so that I can see it plainly. I know you can, father, for I used to hear you explain it to others.”

’Twas no time now for tears, but for calmness and light, by which to lead the soul to Christ, and both were given.

“My son, I see you are afraid to die.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, I suppose you feel guilty.”

“Yes, that is it. I have been a wicked young man. You know how it is in the army.”

“You want to be forgiven, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes! That is what I want. Can I be, father?”

“Certainly.”

“Can I know it before I die?”

“Certainly.”

“Well now, father, make it so plain that I can get hold of it.”

At once, an incident which occurred during the school-days of my son came to my mind. I had not thought of it before for several years. Now it came back to me, fresh with its interest, and just what was wanted to guide the agitated heart of this young inquirer to Jesus.

“Do you remember while at school in ______ you came home one day, and I having occasion to rebuke you, you became very angry and abused me with harsh language?”

“Yes, father, I was thinking it all over a few days ago, as I thought of your coming to see me, and felt so bad about it, that I wanted to see you, and once more ask you to forgive me.”

“Do you remember, how, after the paroxysm of your anger had subsided, you came in, and threw your arms around my neck, and said, ‘My dear father, I am sorry I abused you so. It was not your loving son that did it. I was angry. Won’t you forgive me?’ ”

“Yes, I remember it very distinctly.”

“Do you remember what I said to you as you wept upon my neck?”

“Very well. You said, ‘I forgive you with all my heart,’ and kissed me. I shall never forget those words.”

“Did you believe me?”

“Certainly. I never doubted your word.”

“Did you then feel happy again?”

“Yes, perfectly; and since that time I have loved you more than ever before. I shall never forget how it relieved me when you looked upon me so kindly, and said, ‘I forgive you with all my heart.’ ”

“Well, now, this is just the way to come to Jesus. Tell Him you are sorry just as you told me, and ten thousand times quicker than a father’s love forgave you, will He forgive you. He says He will. Then you must take His word for it, just as you did mine.”

“Why, father, is this the way to become a Christian?”

“I don’t know of any other.”

“Why, father, I can get hold of this. I am so glad you have come to tell me how.”

He turned his head upon his pillow for rest. I sank into my chair and wept freely, for my heart could no longer suppress its emotions. I had done my work, and committed the case to Christ. He, too, I was soon assured, had done His. The broken heart had made its confession, had heard what it longed for, “I forgive you,” and believed it. It was but a few moments of silence, but the new creation had taken place, the broken heart had made its short, simple prayer, and believed, and the new heart had been given. A soul had passed out from nature’s darkness into marvelous light, and from the power of sin and Satan unto God.

I soon felt the nervous hand on my head, and heard the word, “father,” in such a tone of tenderness and joy, that I knew the change had come.

“Father, my dear father, I don’t want you to weep any more, you need not. I am perfectly happy now. Jesus has forgiven me. I know He has, for He says so, and I take His word for it, just as I did yours. Wipe your tears. I am not afraid to die now. If it is God’s will, I would like to live to serve my country, and take care of you and mother, but if I must die, I am not afraid to now, Jesus has forgiven me. Come, father, let us sing—

“ ‘When I can read my title clear,’ ” and we did sing.

“Now, father, I want you should pray, and I will follow you.”

We did pray, and Jesus heard us.

“Father, I am very happy. Why, I believe I shall get well. I feel much better.”

From that hour all his symptoms changed—pulse went down, and countenance brightened. The current of life had changed.

The doctor soon came in and found him cheerful and happy—looked at him—felt his pulse, which he had been watching with intense anxiety and said—

“Why, Colonel, you look better.”

“I am better, Doctor. I am going to get well. My father has told me how to become a Christian, and I am very happy. I believe I shall recover, for God has heard my prayer. Doctor, I want you should become a Christian too. My father can tell you how to get hold of it.”

In the evening three surgeons were in consultation, but saw no hope in the case, and one of them took his final leave of the colonel.

Next morning the two surgeons, who had been in constant attendance came in and began as usual to dress the wound.

On opening the bandage, they suddenly drew back, and throwing up their arms exclaimed—

“This is a miracle! The gangrene is arrested, and the colonel will live! God has heard your prayers!”

“Why, Doctor,” replied the colonel, “I told you yesterday, that I believed I should get well, for I asked Jesus that I might live to do some good. I knew He heard my prayer, and now you see He has. Bless the Lord with me, Doctor.”

Meanwhile, “Our son must die,” had gone over the wires, and made sadness at home. Next day, “Our son will live, and is happy in Christ,” followed, and joy came again to the loved ones.

After his recovery, the colonel returned to the people whose sons he had led with honor through fifteen hard fought battles. They, in return, gave him the best office in the gift of a loyal and grateful people. Among them he now lives in prosperity and honor, he is a member of the church of Christ, and the father of a happy family growing up around him, and consecrated to the service of his Redeemer.

I, too, was made a better man and better minister by that scene, where this dear son, struggling with his guilt and fear of death, was led to Jesus, and found the pardon of his sins. I there resolved never to forget that charge he made me, in his extremity: “Make it so plain that I can get hold of it.”

I have made this the motto of every sermon I have preached, and God has blessed the effort.

Sabbath Readings for The Home Circle, vol. 2, 180–188.

Children’s Story – The Little Girl and the Prisoner

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A gentleman and his five-year-old daughter were walking hand in hand up and down the room at a railway station in England while waiting for a train. As they were waiting, two policemen came in, bringing with them a prisoner in chains. He was a very wicked man. He had just been sentenced to prison for twenty years. The policemen were taking him to the prison. They gave him a seat in a corner of the room. He was a mean-looking man, and everyone stayed away from him.

As the gentleman and his little girl walked up and down the room, the little girl could not keep her eyes off the prisoner. At first she was afraid of him, but when they reached the part of the room where he sat, she let go of her father’s hand and went to the prisoner. In a gentle voice, and with her eyes full of tears, she said to him, “I feel sorry for you.”

The prisoner frowned at her fiercely, and she ran back to her father’s side. They continued their walk, and when they came near him again, she let go of her father’s hand again, and spoke to the prisoner in the same tender tones, “The Lord Jesus is sorry for you, too.”

Then the train came, and the girl and her father climbed aboard. The policemen and the prisoner boarded a different car, and the little girl never saw the prisoner again.

When the policemen reached the end of their journey, they delivered the prisoner to the keeper of the prison. “We are sorry to have to tell you this,” said one of the policemen, “but this prisoner is ill-tempered and disobedient. He is very hard to manage and we are afraid he will give you great trouble.”

The keeper of the prison was worried. He had so many troublesome cases already, and he did not like having another one. He took extra precautions, making sure the prisoner could not escape and that he was never with any other prisoners.

But to the keeper’s surprise, he had no trouble with this man. The prisoner did whatever he was told to do, and was always respectful and pleasant in his manner. The keeper did not know what to make of it. So, after a while he spoke to the prisoner and asked him how it was that he was so different from what he had been reported to be.

“Sir,” answered the prisoner, “the report was true. I used to be as bad as possible but now I am a changed man.”

He went on to tell about what that dear child had said to him while waiting in the railway station. “Her sweet words melted my hard heart,” he said. “They reminded me of my godly mother … Her words led me to see what a sinner I was, and I turned in repentance to God. He heard my prayers. He gave me His pardon and peace in Christ. Now I am a new man and serve Jesus Christ.”

The keeper was amazed. After some months, when he was convinced the prisoner had told him the truth, he allowed him to speak to the other prisoners. He proved to be a great blessing in that prison. The prisoner never forgot the little girl whose words were used to prick his conscience and bring him to Jesus.

How God sent a Dog to Save a Family and Other Devotional Stories, by Joel Beeke and Diana Kleyn, published by Reformation Heritage Books, Grand Rapid, MI, 95–97.

Children’s Story – Child at Prayer

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A few weeks since, in coming down the North River, I was seated in the cabin of the magnificent steamer Isaac Newton, in conversation with some friends. It was becoming late in the evening, and one after another, seeking repose, made preparations to retire to their berths; some, pulling off their boots and coats, and lying down to rest, while others, in the attempt to make it seem as much like home as possible, threw off more of their clothing—each one as his comfort or apprehension of danger dictated.

I had noticed on deck a fine looking boy, of about six years of age, following round a man evidently his father, whose appearance indicated him to be a foreigner, probably a German—a man of medium height and respectable dress. The child was unusually fair and fine looking, with handsome features and an intelligent and affectionate expression of countenance, and from under his German cap fell chestnut hair, and thick, clustering curls.

After walking about the cabin for a time the father and son stopped within a few feet of where we were seated, and commenced to prepare for going to bed. I watched them. While the little fellow was undressing himself, the father adjusted and arranged the bed the child was to occupy, which was an upper berth. Having finished this, his father tied a handkerchief around the boy’s head to protect his curls. This done I looked for him to seek his resting-place; but instead of this he quietly kneeled down upon the floor, put his little hands together in a beautifully child-like and simple manner, and resting his arms upon the lower berth, against which he knelt, began his vesper prayer.

I listened and I could hear the murmuring of his sweet voice, but could not distinguish the words he spoke. There were men around him—Christian men—retiring to rest without prayer; or, if praying at all, a kind of mental desire for protection, without sufficient courage or piety to kneel down in the steamboat’s cabin, and before strangers acknowledge the goodness of God, and ask His protection and love.

This was the result of some pious mother’s training. Where was she now? How many times had her kind hands been laid on the sunny locks as she taught him to lisp his prayer.

A beautiful sight it was, that child at prayer, in the midst of the busy, thoughtless throng. He alone, of this worldly multitude, drew nigh to heaven. I thanked the parental love that had taught him to lisp his evening prayer, and could scarcely refrain from weeping then, nor can I now, as I see again that sweet child, in the crowded tumult of the steamboat’s cabin, bending in devotion before his Maker.

When the little boy had finished his evening prayer, he arose and kissed his father most affectionately, who then put him in his berth for the night. I felt a strong desire to speak to them, but deferred it till morning. When morning came the confusion of landing prevented me from seeing them again. But if ever I meet that boy in his happy youth, in his anxious manhood, in his declining years, I will thank him for the influence and example of that night’s devotion, and bless the name of the mother who taught him.

Sabbath Readings for the Home Circle, vol. 2, 158–160.

Children’s Story – Cornelia’s Jewels

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Once upon a time in the city of Rome lived a noble woman whose name was Cornelia. She lived more than one hundred years before Jesus was born. Cornelia had two fine sons. The name of the older boy was Tiberius Gracchus. The younger boy’s name was Caius Gracchus. Their father, whose name was also Tiberius Gracchus, was one of the leading men in Rome. When the boys were quite young, their father died.

The father’s death was a terrible blow to Cornelia. But she was brave, as well as beautiful and cultured. In those days, the noble ladies of Rome wore beautiful dresses and expensive jewels. Cornelia was not as rich as many of the ladies she knew, but she was a sensible woman. She willingly went without jewels and expensive clothes. She would rather spend her money to educate her sons. She made up her mind that her sons should have the best education that Rome could give. She wanted them to become good, useful men.

Cornelia had many friends, and she enjoyed having her friends visit her. Even kings often sat at her table. She was a charming hostess, and her friends were happy to come to her house and be her guests. Cornelia never talked about her sorrows or how hard it was to raise her sons without her husband to help her. Her wonderful cheerfulness and gentle courtesy made her greatly loved by everyone.

One bright morning, a lady friend came to visit Cornelia. She was beautifully dressed. She wore lovely pearls and flashing diamonds. Cornelia was simply dressed in a plain white robe. No rings or necklaces glittered on her fingers or about her neck. Instead of flashing jewels in her hair, her long, soft hair was gathered up in brown braids that crowned her head. She took her friend for a walk among the flowers and trees in her beautiful garden.

Cornelia’s sons, Tiberius and Caius, were standing in the vine-covered summer house. They were looking at their mother and her friend.

“Isn’t our mother’s friend a handsome lady?” said Caius to Tiberius. “She looks like a queen.”

“She is not half as beautiful as our mother,” replied Tiberius who was nine years older than his little brother. “She has a fine dress, but her face is not so noble and kind as our mother’s is. It is our mother who is like a queen.”

“You’re right,” answered the younger boy. “No woman in Rome looks as much like a queen as does our mother.”

Soon Cornelia came down the garden path to speak to the boys. She looked into her sons’ proud eyes with a loving smile. “Boys,” she said, “I have something to tell you.”

They bowed before her as Roman boys were taught to do.

“What is it, Mother?” they asked.

“When you come home from school today, you are to dine with us here in the garden.”

Again they bowed as politely as if their mother really were a queen. Then they left the garden and went to school.

While they were gone, Cornelia’s friend opened a wonderful little box of jewels that she had brought. She wanted to show them to Cornelia. Carefully, she picked up first one shining jewel and then another. She showed Cornelia their beautiful colors. She told her of their great value. There were diamonds and pearls and rubies and many other kinds of gems. They were indeed beautiful.

At last she looked up at Cornelia and said, “Is it true, Cornelia, that you have no jewels? Is it true, as I have heard, that you are too poor to own them?”

Just then, Tiberius and Caius came in from school.

“No, I am not poor,” answered the fond mother as she drew her two boys to her side. “Here are my jewels! They are worth more than all the expensive gems you have shown me.”

Tiberius and Caius Gracchus grew to be great men in Rome. They stood for what they knew was right. They tried to pass laws that would help the poor. Tiberius helped the common people find comfortable homes. Caius helped them to be able to buy enough food so they wouldn’t go hungry. They both worked hard to make Rome a better place to live. And that is why the world still likes to hear the story of Cornelia’s “jewels.”

Storytime, Character-building Stories for Children, 48, 49.

Children’s Story – The Talking Buffalo

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“And the kine took the straight way to the way of Bethshemesh … and turned not aside to the right or to the left.”

I Samuel 6:12

Who ever heard of two cows going away from their calves and taking the right road to Bethshemesh? Elder R. S. Watts tells of another miracle the living God performed with a dumb animal, this time with a water buffalo! A certain farmer had been planting rice all day in his paddy field on the island of Lubang in the Philippines. Just as he was ready to go home three water buffaloes came wandering into his paddy field. He tried to drive them away. Two of them left, but one refused to go. It turned right toward the farmer, opened its mouth, and spoke! “Prepare to meet God. He is coming soon. You must keep the Sabbath to be ready.” After this the buffalo went away, and the farmer, astonished beyond description, ran back to his village and excitedly told his family and his neighbors about this strange experience with a talking buffalo!

Soon after this experience a relative of the farmer, Brother Faustino Tardeo, who was a Seventh-day Adventist, came to this village to spend his vacation, for this was his former home. He was soon giving Bible studies, and when they studied about the Sabbath, the farmer told again about this experience with the talking buffalo who told him he must keep the Sabbath to get ready for Christ’s soon coming. It was such a striking coincidence that they believed God’s hand was in it all, and the farmer and a number of his neighbors began to keep the Sabbath. … Now there is quite a company of people who are studying the truth. No wonder Isaiah says that God’s name is “Wonderful” (Isaiah 9:6).

Paul declares that this wonderful God “hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen … to bring to nought things that are” (I Corinthians 1:27, 28).

This God—your God—may do something wonderful for you or some of your friends someday to bring them to the truth. [Emphasis author’s.]

Make God First, Elder R. S. Watts/Eric B. Hare, 94.

Children’s Story – The Little Orphan Princess

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Queen Victoria was born May 24, 1819. When a child, she was often called “the little Mayflower.” She was not the daughter of a king, and she did not know that she might some day be the queen of England. She was very much like other little girls. She liked to play with toys, and run and play at the seashore.

She had no brothers and sisters, but she had many dolls. The little princess herself made the bodies of some of these dolls, to which she fastened china heads. Others of them, however, were quaint, jointed, wooden dolls, such as few children of the present day have seen, but their grandmothers remember.

The little princess had few playmates, but her dolls were to her as real people. She dressed them like famous men and women she had heard about, representing kings and queens of England, poets, and many other famous literary people. The dolls were all properly dressed in such costumes as were then worn. But not all the dolls of this little maiden were English. Her French dolls represented Napoleon Bonaparte, who was a great French general, Empress Josephine, and some others. Her Russian dolls showed the czar’s uniform of white broadcloth, gold-laced and corded. There were also many dolls in Swiss and Italian costumes. Little Victoria was taught to sew, and her dolls’ costumes were made with the greatest care.

Her father died when she was a baby. Victoria was brought up very carefully by her mother. The king of England was Victoria’s uncle. He had no children, and Victoria’s mother knew that when he died her little girl would be queen. But Victoria knew nothing about this.

Her mother was a sensible woman, and the little princess was brought up in a wise and simple manner. She was taught to be regular in eating, exercising, studying, and sleeping. It is said that as a child her breakfasts consisted of bread and milk and fruit, and that for the evening meal she had bread and milk. Her dinner was also very simple.

Princess Victoria received her education under her mother’s loving care. From ten to twelve every morning and from two to four in the afternoon were regular hours for study. She was taught to speak and to write French and German. Still more carefully was she taught to use her own language well. She was taught history and arithmetic. She was taught to sing and to draw. Nor did her wise mother neglect to teach her to cook, and to sew, and to be useful at home. Victoria learned to spend money wisely, to think before speaking, to be careful of the feelings of others, and try to make others happy.

When she was eighteen years old, all the people of England had a holiday. One of her birthday presents was a piano from her “uncle-king.” Four weeks later, King William IV died. When Victoria received the sad news, tears came to her blue eyes. She was no longer a happy princess; she was a queen.

Queen Victoria tried to govern her people justly. In every way she sought to make them happy. She was always kind to the poor and needy. When an Eastern ruler asked her the secret of England’s success, that noble woman placed her hand reverently on the Bible and said, “That Book is the secret of England’s success.”

Victoria reigned a little more than sixty-three years. When she lay on her deathbed, Dean Farrar, a very dear friend, came to see her.

“Do you think my Lord will come soon?” she asked. “I wish He would come before I go. I would lay the diadem of England at His feet. I would place my country’s crown on His brow. He alone is worthy to wear a royal crown.”

When she died, thousands of people all over the world felt that they had lost a friend.

[Emphasis author’s.]

True Education Reader, Fourth Grade, 179–183.