Children’s Story

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.

Michael’s Two Miracles

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Michael bent his head against the stinging north wind as he hurried home from school. Even though it was still early autumn in the southern part of Canada where he lived he knew that the wind and the gray low-hanging clouds meant snow before morning. Jersey Girl would certainly have to be put in the barn tonight.

Jersey Girl was the purebred dairy heifer that Uncle Bill had given him. “She’s due to freshen soon,” Uncle Bill had said at breakfast that morning.

Michael could hardly wait to see the heifer’s little calf. “Maybe Jersey Girl will have a surprise for me today!” he exclaimed to himself as he hurried along.

When Michael reached home he found Uncle Bill in the barn filling the kerosene lantern. Uncle Bill glanced up, his face drawn with worry. “We’ll have to let the milking go for now. Jersey Girl had her calf today, but she left it somewhere in the pasture. She didn’t bring it when she came in with the herd.”

Michael swallowed hard at a lump in his throat. “Do you think the calf is dead?” he asked.

Uncle Bill shook his head. “No. If it were dead Jersey Girl wouldn’t have left it. The calf is alive, all right. She has just hidden it. Some first-calf heifers do that. I meant to leave her in the corral this morning, but she slipped past me.”

Uncle Bill opened the barn door as he spoke, and a gust of icy wind rushed in.

The lump in Michael’s throat grew. “Will the calf freeze?”

Quickly Uncle Bill nodded. “It will tonight if we can’t find it right away.”

Michael no longer minded the cold wind. He didn’t even think about it. All that mattered now was the tiny calf huddled somewhere in the big pasture. “Where will we look first?” he asked his uncle.

“Up the washout. Because of the cold, Jersey Girl would pick the warmest spot she could find. After we’ve searched the washout, we’ll try the grove.”

Michael nodded. He knew now why Uncle Bill had brought the lantern. The thick grove of oaks lay on the back side of the pasture more than half a mile away. Darkness would fall before they could make their way there and back, if they had to go that far looking for the calf.

“We can search the washout on our way to the grove,” Uncle Bill said. “This will save time. But I don’t believe we will find the calf there. The grove is the most likely place.”

Uncle Bill was right. Although he and Michael searched behind every rock and bush along the washout, there was no sign of a calf.

“The grove next,” said Uncle Bill, “and we’d better hurry. I see snowflakes.”

Michael could see some too. Quietly he stopped and bowed his head. “Dear Jesus,” he whispered, “please don’t let the snow keep us from finding Jersey Girl’s calf.”

When Michael had finished his prayer he looked up to find his uncle staring at him in disapproval. “We’d better not waste time,” he said shortly.

Uncle Bill did not believe in prayer. He didn’t believe in Jesus. This made Michael and his mother very sad. They had prayed many times for something to happen that would make Uncle Bill change, but so far he hadn’t.

Michael stumbled on the path and he realized it was beginning to grow dark. Uncle Bill paused long enough to light the lantern. As he did so, heavy flakes of snow swirled against the yellow globe.

Soon the flakes were beating thickly against Michael’s face. The path turned white. So did Uncle Bill’s back and shoulders.

Michael grew frightened. “Uncle Bill,” he cried, “how can we find the calf? I can hardly see the lantern, the snow is so thick!”

“It will be a miracle,” Uncle Bill’s voice sounded hollow. “We’re at the edge of the grove now, but we could walk within inches of the calf without seeing it.”

“Maybe it will bawl for Jersey Girl,” suggested Michael.

“It might,” answered Uncle Bill. “But it isn’t likely.”

“Please, Jesus, make the calf bawl!” Michael prayed as he plunged ahead on the path. He had only taken a few steps when he tripped and fell heavily onto a snow-shrouded bush. A snow-covered mound lay beside it. Michael put his right hand against it to brace himself in getting up. It gave way under his touch. Instantly a familiar-sounding small bawl filled Michael’s ears, and a little animal sprang up and out into the path. Michael seized it with a joyful cry.

“It’s Jersey Girl’s calf! Oh, Uncle Bill, we’ve found it!”

“So we have.” Uncle Bill’s voice sounded strange as he took the struggling calf from Michael’s arms. “We had better get it to its mother as quickly as we can.”

Michael took the lantern and held it close to the calf. “It’s so small—and so pretty!” he exclaimed happily. “It’s the color of fresh churned butter!”

After the calf and Jersey Girl had been put in the barn for the night and the milking was done, Michael told his mother what had happened.

“Your finding the calf like that certainly was a miracle,” she said softly. “We must thank Jesus for it.”

Michael nodded in agreement. He and Mother both knelt, then before either one had begun to pray Uncle Bill slipped into the room and knelt with them.

Michael’s heart nearly burst with thanksgiving as he leaned forward and whispered to his mother, “Let’s thank Jesus for two miracles!”

Heaven, Please! Helena Welch, 36–41.

Children Story – The Pilgrims and the Mayflower

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A little more than three hundred years ago, there were people in different countries who had not learned to let others worship God as they thought was right. Even in good old England the king wanted everyone to go to the same church he attended. If they refused to obey him, they were severely punished. Sometimes, they were put in prison or even to death. Some of the people did not like this. They thought the king should not meddle with their religion. They wanted to be free to worship God in their own way, and not be punished for it.

In Holland there was religious freedom for all. At last, a company of people left England and went to Holland to live. They were happy in Holland, but as their children grew up, they seemed more like the Dutch than like English people. The fathers and mothers thought this was not best. So, after living in Holland twelve years, they decided to sail to far-off America where they could have a country of their own.

They remembered how Abraham and his family wandered from place to place—“strangers and pilgrims on the earth,” desiring a “better country, that is, an heavenly” (Hebrews 11:13, last part, 16, first part). “We, too, are pilgrims,” they said, “on our way to heaven.” Ever afterwards, these English people were called “Pilgrims.”

Some of the older people thought the wild trip across the ocean would be too much for them.

“Isn’t the trip too long and too dangerous?” they asked. “Will not the Indians in America kill us?”

“Let us be brave and trust in God. He will surely take care of us,” the others said.

Still, the aged men and women thought it was best for them to stay in Holland. But they went to the boat to bid their loved ones good-by. On the shore they all knelt down and prayed that God would protect those who were leaving, and that He would be a father to those who were left behind. The good old pastor, John Robinson, stayed in Holland to look after those who remained.

With tearful eyes but brave hearts one hundred twenty Pilgrims sailed back to England in the ship “Speedwell.” From there they sailed away in two ships, the “Speedwell” and the “Mayflower.” But the “Speedwell” was a poor boat. Twice it sprang a leak, so they had to bring it back to England. Only one hundred of the little company could find room in the “Mayflower.” So another tearful good-by had to be said to the twenty who were left in Plymouth, England. At last, on September 6, 1620, these one hundred Pilgrims sailed away from their native land never again to return.

Among the Pilgrim children on the ship there were four little girls with very singular names. One little girl’s name was “Remember.” Another was “Resolved,” another was “Desire,” and still another was “Love.” Another of the children was named “Wrestling.” Then there was a beautiful young woman, whose name was Priscilla. She was an ancestor of the poet Longfellow. Captain Miles Standish and John Alden were there, too. Miles Standish was captain of the Pilgrims’ little army of twelve men, who were always ready to keep back unfriendly Indians. John Alden was a gentle, scholarly young man, a close friend of the captain.

The voyage was a long and stormy one. On the ocean a little boy was born. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. White, named him “Peregrine.” It meant “Wanderer.” Everyone on the ship had a kind word and a loving arm for this dear little wanderer. Years and years after this, some of his descendants went as missionaries to China.

At last, on December 21, 1620, after more than one hundred days, the people on the “Mayflower” landed on the shores of America. John Alden was one of the first who stepped ashore on the great rock which is now called “Plymouth Rock,” or “Forefathers’ Rock.” They had with them a map of this country, which Captain John Smith had made. By looking at it, they found that they were in New England at a place called Plymouth.

“Surely God has led us to this place,” they said. “We left our Plymouth in Old England, and here we have a new Plymouth in New England. Let us make our new homes here.”

It was in the middle of winter. Not a house was to be seen! Not a person anywhere to welcome them! Only the dark forests before them! Only the great ocean behind them! Yet with full hearts they thanked God. They knew that He was with them.

The men began at once to build homes. With willing hands they cut down trees for walls. They made the roofs of bark stripped from the logs. They filled the cracks between the logs with mud and grass. They built the chimneys on the outside with stones. They put sheets of oiled paper over the windows for glass. They had no clock, so they cut a notch on the window. When the sun shone on this notch they knew it was noon. They had no stove, so they cooked their food in an iron kettle which hung in the big fireplace. In those days there were no matches, and if the fire in one house went out, one of the boys was sent to a neighbor’s house for some coals.

The winter was very cold, and the Pilgrims suffered much. They did not have enough food. A great many became sick. At one time, there were only seven well ones to take care of the others. When spring came, half the little company had died, among them Priscilla’s father and mother and brother, leaving her alone. In their sorrow the singing of the spring birds seemed like music straight from heaven.

Suddenly, one day in March, a tall Indian stood before them. His body was covered with bright-colored paint. His course, straight, black hair was cut square across his forehead. At the back it hung down long, and from it three eagle’s feathers stuck out. In his hand he carried a bow nearly as tall as he, and in his belt a tomahawk. For a moment, no one spoke.

“Welcome, welcome, Englishmen!” the Indian said at last.

“Welcome, Indian!” the white men answered. “Who taught you to speak English?”

“Some fishermen who were here several years ago,” answered the Indian.

Samoset, for this was the Indian’s name, decided to stay awhile. The Pilgrims did everything they could to gain his friendship. As he went from house to house, each one gave him something to eat. One man gave him some beads. The governor gave him a cloak. Samoset called Baby Peregrine the little “paleface papoose.”

When night came, Samoset decided to stay all night. Some of the Pilgrims slept but little that night. They feared unfriendly Indians might come during the night and kill them. In the morning, the mothers gave Samoset a good breakfast. The men gave him a knife, a bracelet, and a ring. He was pleased with these things, and finally went away. After this, the Indians were friends of the Pilgrims, and gave them very little trouble.

During the spring, the Pilgrims planted Indian corn which the Indians gave them. They also planted seeds of pumpkins and other vegetables. When autumn came, they had a bountiful harvest. They were not going to starve as they had the first winter.

They were so thankful for God’s blessings that they had a great feast to which they invited the Indians. This was the first Thanksgiving Day in America. Early in the morning of Thanksgiving Day, ninety Indians greeted them with a loud Indian yell. They brought deer meat with them. After breakfast, the beating of the drum called everyone to church. Then some of the white men went into the woods and got wild turkey. Others picked cranberries, grapes, and plums, which grew wild. Outdoor fires were started, and the food was cooked in large kettles which hung over the fire. Tables were set outdoors, and everyone had all he wanted to eat. It was a grand feast.

After the table was cleared, the Indian chief poured out a bushel of popped corn. The children had never eaten anything like this before. This Thanksgiving feast was another tie that bound the Indians to the Pilgrims in friendship—a friendship that lasted fifty years.

[Emphasis author’s.]

True Education Reader, Sixth Grade, 115–122.

Children’s Story – Saved from the Fire

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Johnny held out his arms to his father. But before he even had a chance to tell his father goodbye, the soldiers hurried Mr. Wesley away to be locked up in Lincoln Castle.

“Mother,” Johnny cried, “why didn’t Father pick me up and tell me goodbye?”

“Your father owes so much money,” Mother said, “and we are too poor to pay. The soldiers have to put him in prison until he can pay his debts. It’s the law. He wanted to tell you goodbye, but the soldiers wouldn’t let him.”

At that time in England people were locked up in jail sometimes when they couldn’t pay their debts. And this is what happened to Mr. Wesley. After a while, Johnny’s father was released from jail for a while. But as soon as his creditors—the people he owed money to—heard that he was home, they came around demanding that he pay them. They took the cow and the horse. They shouted at Johnny’s father.

Mrs. Wesley gathered Johnny and his brothers and sisters around her and tried to comfort them. Before long, someone smelled smoke! Someone else shouted, “Fire! The house is on fire!” Johnny was so excited and so scared that he ran upstairs instead of running outside. There were so many children running in all directions that Mother and Father couldn’t keep track of them all. They tried to make sure everyone was safely out of the house, but in all the confusion, they didn’t realize that Johnny was missing.

Mother and Father and all the other children were standing in a safe spot underneath a tree in the yard, when all at once they discovered that Johnny wasn’t with them!

“I thought you had him,” exclaimed Mother to her husband.

“But he’s always with you. At least, you always know where he is,” Father replied.

Everyone began looking for Johnny. The fire was creeping up to the second-story window. Smoke was pouring from the front door.

“Father! Father!” came a child’s faint cry. Mr. Wesley stared into the blazing building. He saw a small hand waving from an upper window.

“Father!” came the voice again. Then Johnny’s father saw him. Johnny was standing at the window with the smoke and flames gathering around him! In an instant, Father climbed onto the shoulders of some men standing nearby. They stretched and lifted him as high as they could. Reaching up, Father was able to touch the window. He reached inside, and his strong hands lifted Johnny to safety. He handed the little boy down to his mother. She carried him to the shelter of the big tree where the rest of the family was waiting.

All his life, Johnny was certain that God had saved him from the fire for some important reason. He often wondered what that reason might be. As Johnny grew, his mother taught him about the Bible and Jesus. She taught all her children about God, and it took her a great deal of time to teach all the Wesley children, because there were nineteen of them!

You can imagine that with nineteen children in the family there wasn’t much money to go around. But Johnny went to school and decided to become a preacher. He wanted to tell other people about God and His love. Johnny’s mother wrote him a letter to encourage him. In the letter, she wrote, “Every morning and evening give your heart to Jesus, and He will save you. Jesus will guide you and give you strength.”

Johnny read that letter over and over. Soon he had it memorized. And he prayed every day that Jesus would help him. John Wesley grew up to be a great man of God and a powerful preacher. He learned many lessons from the Bible. He learned that no matter how hard he worked at being good, he could never earn heaven. Heaven is a gift from God that He gives to everyone who believes on Him and loves Him. John Wesley spent his whole life preaching and helping other people know God.

It wasn’t always easy for John to preach and teach about God. Sometimes people didn’t want to listen. Sometimes people became very angry because they thought John wasn’t teaching the Bible correctly. But every time things grew difficult for John, angels would help him.

One winter day, John Wesley was walking to church where he was going to preach. The path went down a steep hill that was covered with ice and snow. It was hard to walk on the path because it was so slippery. As John came down the path a group of angry people crowded against him. They tried to push him to the ground. But John kept walking and hurried on.

One man grabbed John’s collar and tried to make him fall. The collar came off in his hand! Then another man came holding a large club. He tried to hit John over the head with it. But just before it struck John’s head, it swerved as if pushed aside by an invisible hand. John was sure that an angel had kept the club from hitting him.

Still the angry mob pushed against him. One man raised his fist to hit John. But as he tried to hit him, his arm stopped in midair as if it were frozen. Then gently, he touched John’s hair, looking surprised. John knew that an angel had stopped the man’s hand.

Finally, John reached the church and began to preach. The mob followed him into the church and started shouting and making fun of him. But as John kept on speaking, they began to listen. Soon they were listening quietly to God’s words to their hearts.

Later, John described how God had protected him time and time again. “One man threw a piece of brick and hit my shoulder,” he said. “Another struck me with a stone right between the eyes. I’ve been hit on my way to church and on my way home after the church service. My face has often been bruised and bleeding. Yet I felt no pain because God helped me and I trust Him.”

All his life, John tried to help others. He didn’t have much money, but sometimes he would go hungry himself to give food to some poor family. John Wesley was always doing kind things for other people—and pointing them to God.

Storytime, Character-building Stories for Children, 90–93.

Childrens Story – A Beautiful Dream

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William Miller is preaching tonight,” said Ellen’s father one day, as he sat down to dinner, “and we must go to hear him. He is preaching a new and strange doctrine. He thinks that Jesus Himself will soon come to this earth. I want to know whether this is from the Bible.”

That night the Harmon family went to the meeting held by William Miller in the town of Portland, Maine. How stirred they were as the minister told them of the nearness of the coming of Jesus. Mr. Miller made the explanation from the prophecies so clear that although Ellen was only twelve years old even she could understand it.

This minister was a careful student of the Bible. He found that the prophecies in the book of Daniel concerning the different kingdoms had all come true. Then he came to a prophecy which said that at the end of a period of 2300 years the sanctuary would be cleansed.

“Can we tell when these years will begin and end?” he wondered. He found the answer in the book of Daniel, the ninth chapter. Here he found that this period began when the decree was given to restore and build Jerusalem. From history he learned that this decree was given 457 years before Christ.

The other prophecies in this same chapter concerning the work of Christ and His death, had been fulfilled in the exact year it was prophesied that they should be; so Mr. Miller was confident that the next event, the cleansing of the sanctuary, would take place at the end of the 2300 years. The end of the prophecy would come in 1843.

What was meant by the cleansing of the sanctuary? Bible students know now that the sanctuary here spoken of is in heaven, where Jesus pleads with His Father for the forgiveness of our sins. But at that time nearly all Christians believed that the earth was the sanctuary. Mr. Miller felt sure that the cleansing of the sanctuary meant the cleansing of the earth from sin at the coming of Jesus.

What a thrilling thought this was. Jesus was coming in 1843! He felt that he must tell others about it; so he left his home and went out to preach wherever he could find those who would listen to him. Now he had come to Portland, and was telling the people there why he believed that Jesus would come in only three more years.

Everyone in the city was talking of this great event. Many scoffed and laughed, but scores of others believed. Ellen [Harmon] went to these meetings, and when Mr. Miller asked those who wanted especially to seek God in prayer to come to the front of the hall, she went forward, with many others, and knelt, praying that her sins might be forgiven. Of course Jesus answered her prayer, but she did not feel that He had. She had not yet learned that we must trust Jesus to pardon our sins when we confess them and ask Him to forgive them. For the next few weeks she was troubled, for she was not sure that she was ready to meet Jesus.

The following summer the Harmon family went to the Methodist camp meeting. Ellen was glad to have this opportunity to hear more about Jesus. She went fully resolved to seek the Lord in earnest there, and to be prepared for His coming.

Soon after they reached the campground, she heard a sermon preached from the words of Queen Esther, “So will I go in unto the king, … and if I perish, I perish” (Esther 4:16). The sermon was especially for those who were longing to be saved yet were afraid they could not make themselves worthy of the love of God. The words of the minister helped Ellen to understand what she must do to be ready to meet her Saviour when He should come. She understood that she could not through her own strength make herself worthy, but that Jesus alone could cleanse from sin.

Soon after this, as she prayed, her heart was filled with happiness and she now felt that Jesus had forgiven her sins. She realized that Jesus was very near to His children, that they could go to Him with their troubles, and that He would take away all sadness, the same as He had blessed and healed those who came to Him when He was here on this earth.

One of the women spoke to her, “Dear child, have you found Jesus?” As Ellen turned to say Yes, the woman exclaimed, “Indeed you have. His peace is with you. I see it in your face.”

About this time Ellen passed by a tent on the campground and saw a little girl who seemed much distressed about something. She held in her arms a little parasol. Her face was pale as she tightly clung to her treasure. Several times she started to lay it down and then she held it closer to her again. After a few minutes the child cried, “Dear Jesus, I want to love You and go to heaven! Take away my sins! I give myself to You, parasol and all.” Then crying, she threw herself into her mother’s arms. “Mother,” she said, “I am so happy, for Jesus loves me, and I love Him better than my parasol or anything else.”

Her face was shining with happiness as she smiled at those about her. Then her mother, with tears in her eyes, explained that her little daughter had received the parasol as a present not long before. She loved it very much. She carried it with her everywhere, even taking it with her when she went to sleep at night. But during the meetings the little girl had heard that we must give all to Jesus. The little parasol was the dearest thing on earth to her, and so she had felt that she must give it to Jesus. What a struggle she had gone through before she was willing to give up her treasure! But now that it was over, and she had given all she had, her face was bright with her new joy.

Then it was explained to the little girl that since she had given up everything to her Savior, and allowed nothing to stand between her and her love for Him it was right for her to keep the parasol and use it.

As Ellen walked on across the campground she said to herself, “How hard it is to give up the parasol! Yet Jesus gave up heaven for our sake, and became poor, that we, through His poverty and suffering, might have heavenly riches.”

Shortly after her return from camp meeting, she asked to be baptized and taken into the Methodist Church, to which her parents belonged. The leaders in the church urged her to be sprinkled, but she felt that she wanted to be baptized as her Saviour had been, by immersion.

Although the day appointed for the baptism was a windy one, and the waves of the ocean dashed upon the shore, Ellen’s heart was happy—happy that she could take up her cross for her Master. Her peace was like a river. She was beginning a new life that was to be a life of service for her Saviour.

Although Ellen became a member of the church and attended the meetings regularly, including the prayer meeting, she had never prayed aloud in public. Now it became impressed upon her mind that she should seek God in prayer in the small prayer meetings. She was very timid, and felt that she could not do this, but whenever she knelt alone to pray, this duty came to her mind.

Then one night she had a dream. She dreamed that she was sitting, sadly thinking, with her face in her hands. “If Jesus were upon earth,” she thought to herself, “I would go to Him, throw myself at His feet, and tell Him all my sufferings. He would not turn from me; He would have mercy upon me, and I would love and serve Him always.”

While she was thinking, the door opened, and a beautiful person came in. He looked at her kindly and said, “Do you wish to see Jesus? He is here, and you can see Him if you desire. Take everything you possess, and follow me.”

She gathered up her little possessions and joyfully followed her guide. He led her to a steep, narrow stairway. As they began to climb the stairs, he warned her to keep looking upward, lest she become dizzy and fall. She saw others climbing the stairs also, who looked down and fell before they reached the top.

Finally Ellen and her guide reached the last step. They stood before a closed door. Her guide told her to leave everything she was carrying. She cheerfully laid her possessions down.

Then he opened the door and told her to go in. In a moment she stood before Jesus. As He looked upon her, she knew that He was acquainted with her and with all her thoughts.

She tried to shield herself from His gaze, but He drew near and laid His hand upon her head. “Fear not,” He said, as He smiled upon her. The sound of His sweet voice filled her heart with happiness. She was overcome with joy and sank to the floor at His feet.

Ellen felt, in her dream, that she had reached the peace of heaven. When at last she rose, the loving eyes of Jesus were upon her, and His beautiful smile filled her soul with gladness. She looked at Him with holy reverence and love.

Her guide opened that door and they went out. He told her to take up again the possessions she had laid down. Then he handed her a green cord tightly coiled. He told her to place it next to her heart, and when she wanted to see Jesus take the cord out and stretch it as far as she could. “Do not let it remain coiled very long at a time,” the angel said, “or it will become knotted and hard to straighten.”

Ellen placed the cord next to her heart and joyfully began her journey back down the narrow stairs. As she went she praised the Lord and told everyone she met where he could find Jesus.

When Ellen awakened she was happy. This dream gave her hope that she could go to God in prayer whenever she desired. To her, the green cord represented faith in God, and she understood how simple it was to trust in Him. She was sure now, that Jesus loved her.

“His Messenger” by Ruth Wheeler, 13–19.

Children Story – The Burnt Composition

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There! It is finished, Mamma! Will you read it over now, and see if it is correct?”

Mrs. Carter looked up from her sewing at her little girl’s eager, flushed face, smiling at her earnestness.

“Let me see dear,” she said, taking the papers in her own hand. “It looks very neat.”

“There is not one blot or erasure,” said Nettie; “if the spelling and grammar are right, I think my chance for a prize is as good as anyone’s. Mr. Mason said he would give prizes for all the correct compositions, though the writing desk is for the best one in every way. I don’t think I shall get that, Mamma. We all think Hattie Ross will have that, if she is only careful about her blots. She does write so beautifully; only she will blot and smear badly. I guess she will be neat this time, though. The desk is such a beauty, with a little silver plate for the name of the winner. If I can get one of the books for correct composition, I will be satisfied.”

“I think you will get one, Nettie,” said her mother, after carefully reading the composition. “This is correct, well expressed and very neat.”

“Now, Mamma, will you tie it with the ribbons for me, and I will put it away.”

The precious manuscript being tied nicely with crisp, dainty ribbons, Nettie put it carefully in her desk, with a long sigh of relief. It had been a very difficult task for the little twelve-year-old girl to complete a correct and neat composition. She was not fond of writing, had hard work to put her ideas into words, and found it quite as hard to keep her sheet clean. So it was quite a triumph when the work was really complete, entirely alone, and had been pronounced worthy of a place among the prize compositions.

The little girl was still in the room where she and her sisters studied, when Amy, her cousin, nearly her own age, came in, flushed and tearful.

“Is your composition ready?” she asked.

“Yes, and Mamma says it will do.”

“Then you can help me with mine. I have tried and tried, and I can’t write one.”

“But, Amy, if I help you, you can’t try for a prize. You know Mr. Mason said we must not have any help, even from our parents.”

“Your mamma helped you.”

“No, not one bit. She only read it when it was finished.”

“But you will help me, Nettie. Nobody will ever know.”

“But it will not be honorable.”

Amy would not listen, however, to her cousin. She coaxed a long time, making it very hard for tender-hearted, good-natured little Nettie to refuse the request. She loved Amy very dearly, and it was her constant habit to assist her with all her lessons and exercises. Only the fact that it would be a dishonorable trick upon their teacher kept her from yielding now. Hard as it was for her, she refused upon that plea.

Then Amy grew angry, taunted her with jealousy, selfishness, and miserably mean motives, that Nettie felt were untrue and unjust. Working herself into a fury, Amy suddenly seized the precious manuscript her cousin had just completed, and tossed it upon the red coals of the open grate.

“If you won’t help me to a prize, you shan’t have one yourself,” she cried.

“Oh, Amy!”

The cry was too late to save the treasure. Already it was curling up in the fierce heat, and a bright blaze was in a few moments all that was left of the work of many play hours.

As the flame died away in a black mass, both children stood very still, looking at the destruction one passionate moment had made. Already Amy was sorry, for her tempests of temper never lasted long, and she hoped Nettie would scold and cry, as she would have done, and then “make-up.” But Nettie’s grief was too deep for anger. She did not speak after the first cry, but went silently from the room to lock herself in her own little bedroom, and sat down for a hearty cry.

Remember, she was but twelve years old, and had worked very faithfully for the promised reward. As the tears ran down her cheeks, her thoughts were very busy.

“I will never speak to Amy again, nor help her with a single lesson. She had no right to burn it. I would have helped her with anything else, but this would have been wrong; it would have been cheating to write this composition. I’ll never forgive her, never! It was so pretty, too! And I cannot have another ready in time—there is so much to do before examination, and only one week for all. I wonder if Amy feels bad. I should, I know. I hope she does. Do I? Is this Christian forgiveness? Only one month since I resolved never to be bitter again, to conquer my temper, and try to be a real, true Christian, like Mamma; and now I am revengeful, unforgiving, and wicked. What shall I do? I can’t forgive Amy, I can’t.”

So her thoughts ran, now blaming Amy, now herself, the tears flowing fast all the time. At last the little girl, tired of crying, knelt down and said very softly the Lord’s Prayer. Her sweet face was very earnest as she whispered, “ ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us’ (Matthew 6:12). I will forgive Amy. Help me, Heavenly Father, to forgive her, as I hope to have all my sins forgiven.”

In the meantime, a very unhappy, penitent little girl was walking slowly homeward. Amy would have given all her own hard study for the other prizes if she could have restored the burnt composition. Her conscience was very sore. She knew that Nettie was right in refusing her request, and she knew that in every way she had been wrong; wrong in asking for help, wrong in getting angry, and oh! how very, very wrong in taking such a wicked revenge for Nettie’s refusal! She thought of the many hours Nettie had spent trying to help her in her studies, of the many times her cousin had given up a pleasant walk or ride to aid her in a difficult sum or exercise; and before she reached home, Amy was quite sorry and felt quite as guilty and mean as Nettie could have wished her had she been ever so revengeful.

The next morning, after Nettie had started for school, Mrs. Carter was surprised to see Amy, with a grieved face, standing before her.

“Aunt Mary,” she said, trying not to cry, “did Nettie tell you about the composition?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Carter said very gravely.

“Do you think she will forgive me, if I try to make up the loss, Aunt Mary? I am so sorry.”

“I don’t think the loss can be made up, Amy.”

“I have tried to make it right, Aunt Mary. It was very hard to do, but I went to Mr. Mason this morning, and told him the whole story. He says if you will send him a note saying the composition was correct and neat, he will consider it the same as if he saw it himself. O Aunt Mary, please do! I am so miserable.”

Mrs. Carter pressed a warm kiss upon the penitent little face.

“If you always atone for a fault so nobly as this, Amy,” she said kindly, “you will not feel miserable long. It will be a lesson for you and help you to check the hasty temper that gets you into so much trouble. I will write the note to Mr. Mason now.”

The note was soon ready, and Amy took it gratefully.

“Will Nettie forgive me now, Aunt Mary?”

“Nettie forgave you fully and freely before she slept, Amy.”

“I wonder if I could be so good as that?” Amy said tearfully. “I am sure I can never be ugly to Nettie again.”

When the examination day came, Mr. Mason handed each of the cousins a small pocket Bible.

“Yours,” he said to the wondering Amy, “is to prove to you how much I appreciate the true penitence that acknowledges a fault at once, and tries to make amendment. Nettie earned a reward by her hard study, and she holds it in her hand; but, above all study, I prize the Christian kindness and forgiveness that kept her silent when I asked for her composition, rather than tell me how it was destroyed.”

I have told you this little story, little readers, because it is true, every word of it, and proves how truly the power of prayer and principle will aid us in atoning for faults and forgiving our enemies.

Choice Stories for Children, Ernest Lloyd, 116–120.

Children Story – Christ Our Refuge

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There were six cities in the land of Canaan which were set apart as places of refuge, to which a man might flee if he had, either by accident or design, killed another. These cities were easy of access. Three were on the west side of the river Jordan, and three on the east side. Every year the roads leading to them were examined, to see that they were in good condition, and that there was nothing in the way to stop the man-slayer as he was running from his pursuer. At different points there were guide-boards, and on them were written, REFUGE! REFUGE!

If any man by accident killed another, and reached one of these cities before his pursuer, he was allowed to stay there until the death of the high-priest who was then living. But if in anger a man had purposely killed another, then, although he sought refuge in one of these cities, he was given up to the avenger of blood to be slain. You will find more about these cities and their names if you will read the thirty-fifth chapter of Numbers, the nineteenth chapter of Deuteronomy, and the twentieth chapter of Joshua.

But what interest can boys and girls and all older persons have in these cities?

I will try to tell you. God has different ways of teaching. A great many things about which we read in the Old Testament are what is called types. A type, in scripture language, means a pattern or a likeness to a person who is to come, or to an event which is to take place. It is supposed to point forward to something more valuable than itself. Thus, for example, the blood of the lamb which was slain on the Jewish altar was type or a foreshadowing of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ for our salvation. Hence John the Baptist pointing to the Saviour, said to His disciples, “Behold the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world” (John 1:29). The paschal lamb, which was slain to commemorate the deliverance of the Jews from the bondage of Egypt, and the lamb which was offered daily, both morning and evening, in the service of the temple, were representations of the greater sacrifice which Christ came from heaven to make for our salvation.

So the land of Canaan was a type of heaven. The lifting up of the brazen serpent on a pole was a type of our Saviour’s crucifixion; and the cities of refuge were a beautiful type of Jesus Christ, who is the sinner’s refuge.

You know, my dear children, that we have all sinned, and that we all need a place of safety. The avenger says, “Thou shalt surely die.” Escape for thy life. But that we may not die eternally, God has given us the Bible as our guide-board; and the Bible is constantly pointing to Jesus Christ as the sinner’s refuge. He is our hiding-place. It is to Him Isaiah refers when he says, “And a man shall be as a hiding-place from the wind, and a cover from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land” (Isaiah 32:2).

The way to our city of refuge is plain. “I am the way” (John 14:6), is the Saviour’s own direction. The gate is always open, and the assurance is, “Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out” (John 6:37).

I want you to remember, dear children, that it is a great deal easier to run to this city of refuge when you are young, than it will be if you put it off until you are older. The promise of the Saviour is, “Those that seek Me early shall find Me” (Proverbs 8:17). Will you not flee to Jesus as your hiding-place? Will you not seek Him when He may be found? How sad it will be if you neglect to do so. You will need a refuge when the tempest of God’s judgments shall burst upon the wicked. Oh, then how glad you will be if you can say, as David said of his trust in God, “Thou art my hiding-place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance” (Psalm 32:7).

Sabbath Readings for the Home Circle, vol. 1, 148–151.

Children’s Story – Hands Across the Wheat Field

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The wheat stood bright and golden in the big field, and Peter liked to watch as puffs of wind blew across it. “It waves, Father, just like water!” he exclaimed.

Peter’s father smiled and put his rough hand on the boy’s fair head. “Yes, it does, son. And tomorrow the machines will start rolling through it.”

Peter knew what machines his father meant. They were the big combines that went around and around the field. They harvested the grain from the growing stalks of wheat and dumped it in trucks to be hauled to the market in town.

The wheat crop had been good this year in Argentina, the country where Peter and his family lived, and Peter had had lots of fun playing in the field. Now, in a way, he was a little sad to think that he wouldn’t be able to see the grain waving in the wind much longer. If the combines started in the morning, most likely by evening the whole field would be harvested.

“I’ll miss the wheat, Father,” Peter mourned.

Father smiled and nodded his head. “I guess I will too. But it is harvesttime. You know the Bible tells us that there is a time to sow and a time to harvest. We sowed the wheat at the right time, and it grew green and tall. After many weeks the wind and rain made it ripen. Now it is ready to be harvested. If it stands too long, the wheat stems will weaken and fall. Then we will lose the grain.”

Quietly Peter listened to his father, then he smiled too. He knew that his parents needed the money the wheat would bring to help them live through the coming winter. Slowly Peter reached out and took his father’s hand. “I’m glad it is harvest time,” he said.

Father squeezed Peter’s hand tightly in his. “I’m glad it is too.”

Early the next morning Peter and his small sister, Rosita, went outside to watch for the big combines to come down the road from town. The sky was clear and bright and the sun rose higher and higher. A long time passed, but the combines did not come.

Rosita grew restless. “Let’s do something else,” she begged. “I’m tired of watching for the ‘bines.”

Peter laughed. “All right. Why don’t we chase butterflies for a change? I just saw one fly into the wheat field.”

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Rosita happily. “I see one right now.”

Away she ran toward the house as fast as her chubby little legs would carry her, following the pretty butterfly. For a few seconds Peter watched her. Then he saw a big beautiful butterfly of many colors flitting past and began a chase of his own.

Just how long Peter chased butterflies he didn’t know. He soon lost the big butterfly, but he saw others of all colors and sizes. He forgot about Rosita. And he forgot about the combines, too, until he heard them coming down the road.

“Rosita!” he shouted at his little sister, starting back toward the house. “Here comes the combines!”

But Rosita didn’t answer. Mother heard Peter and came out on the porch.

“Rosita isn’t with me,” Mother said. “I thought she went out with you to watch for the combines.”

“She did,” Peter explained, “but we began chasing butterflies. I saw her chase one toward the house.”

Peter saw his father coming from the barn, and he ran to meet him. “Father, is Rosita at the barn?” he called.

“No,” Father answered in a puzzled voice. “I thought she was with you.”

Peter wanted to cry. “She was,” he explained again, “but we began chasing butterflies, and now I don’t know where she is.”

Father looked worried, but he patted Peter’s shoulder. “We’ll find her,” he comforted. “I’ll tell the men not to start the combines. Rosita may be in the wheat field.”

With a sinking heart Peter stared across the acres and acres of waving grain. How would they ever find his little sister in such a big field?

But Father had a plan. Mother and Peter would join hands and walk across the field. “We will walk and call until we reach the back side,” Father explained. “Then we will turn and walk back again. That way we won’t miss any ground. Rosita may have sat down somewhere to rest and fallen asleep. If she had, she won’t hear us call. If we don’t join hands, in this tall wheat we may miss her.”

The men thought the plan was a good one. As they all lined up and joined hands, Father prayed and asked for Jesus’ help.

When the prayer was over, Peter took Father’s hand and looked around for someone else’s hand. But there was no one else. He was on the end of the line.

Father looked down at Peter and said softly, “Just take hold of Jesus’ hand, son. He will help us find Rosita.”

As they began moving across the field Peter almost felt that Jesus was holding his hand. The wheat was very tall. It was over his head in places, but somehow it wasn’t hard to walk through.

All up and down the line Peter could hear the men calling Rosita’s name. Mother and Father called too. Peter didn’t call. He had to keep up with his father, who could take long steps.

All at once Peter pulled his hand from Father’s and began to run through the wheat field. When he was a little way ahead of the others, he stopped and knelt down and prayed. He could hear Father calling him to come back before he got lost too. But when he had finished praying, he got up and ran in another direction. Something seemed to tell him to keep going. On and on he ran.

Then suddenly he stopped and stood still. Right in front of him was Rosita. She was fast asleep, her head pillowed on a little pile of wheat stalks.

“Father!” Peter shouted as loudly as he could. “Father, here’s Rosita. I’ve found her!”

When Father came, Rosita woke up and rubbed her eyes. “I got losted,” she sniffled. “I called and called, but no one knew where I was.”

Peter reached out and took her hand. “Jesus knew where you were,” he told her. “He helped me find you. Father told me to take Jesus’ hand when we joined hands to look for you, and Jesus told me what to do.”

By this time the others who had been looking for Rosita came up to where she was. They heard what Peter said. One of the men smiled at him and said, “Son, I think Jesus really did take your hand. I think He led you right to your little sister.”

Peter smiled back at the man. He thought that Jesus had too. In fact, he was certain that Jesus had stretched His hand across the whole wheat field!

Heaven, Please! Helena Welch, 10–15.

Children’s Story – Mr. Rui’s Sabbath

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Down in Brazil there lived a poor man named Rui. He was a humble water carrier, and he was so poor that he even had to borrow the can in which he carried water. Then he heard about the Seventh-day Sabbath and decided to keep it. Although he was earning hardly enough money to buy food for his family, Rui decided to pay tithe. His faithfulness to God made him faithful and honest and happy in his work. Soon he had so many customers that he bought his own water can and began to save a little each week in a small bank on the kitchen shelf. Soon it was full, and he bought a little donkey. Soon the bank was full again, and he bought another donkey. He taught his older son to help him in the water business. Soon the bank was full again, and Rui bought a store, and turned the water business over to his son.

After the sun sets on the evening after Sabbath, he puts up a sign that says, “First day of the market.” Sunday evening he puts up another sign: “Second day of the market”; and so on till Friday evening when he puts up the sign “Sabbath.” Then he closes his store, and as the sun sets he gathers his family and they all sing as the Sabbath begins. Since there are mother and father and thirteen children in the family, the whole village knows when Sabbath begins. Pastor Baerg was spending the weekend with Mr. Rui’s family not long ago, and since they were all ready, Pastor Baerg suggested they begin to sing. “No, no, Pastor,” said Mr. Rui, “if we sing now, it will throw the village folks out of time, for we always sing at a certain time, and the village folks set their clocks and watches by our Sabbath songs.” No wonder God blessed Mr. Rui and his family! No wonder Isaiah says, “Blessed is the man that doeth this, … that keepeth the Sabbath from polluting it, and keepeth his hand from doing any evil” (Isaiah 56:2).

“The Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27).

Make God First, Mrs. John Baerg/Eric B. Hare, 267.

Children’s Story – The Worth of a Smile

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How much is a smile worth? A penny? A quarter? A hundred dollars?

Well, it’s worth something, isn’t it?

It surely is, but somehow you could never fix a price for a smile, could you? To do so would spoil its value at once.

Yet sometimes a smile is very valuable. What gives a smile its value? Its beauty? Its friendliness? Its sincerity? Or is it the effect it has upon another?

Many years ago there lived on one of the very poor streets of New York a little girl called Hannah. She was 11 years old and her cheerful little face often brought gladness to sad people who saw her on the street.

One day Hannah went to a children’s program at a nearby church. She had been there many times before to attend meetings of various kinds; but this time she was to take part in a program herself. You can imagine how pleased she was about it.

Now, it so happened that in the audience that afternoon was a well-known doctor, one of the supporters of that church. Whether or not he was feeling lonely or sad that day will never be known, but somehow as he looked at Hannah’s dear little face, his heart was touched. Then she turned and looked straight at him and smiled! He thought he had never seen anything so lovely before. He left the hall a happier and better man.

And he never forgot that smile. It lived with him every day until he died.

When his will was read, his executors were astonished to learn that he had left all his money—and he was a very rich man—not to any relatives, for he had none; not to any hospital, as he might have done, but, using his own words, “to those who have given me happiness during my lifetime.”

On the list was Hannah’s name, the little girl who had smiled at him in the church program twenty years before. He left her $150,000!

Think of that—$150,000 for a smile!

I can almost hear you saying, “I wish my smiles were worth as much as that.” They are! But not in money.

Think of the happiness they bring to Mother and Father. Your smiles help them bear their burdens more easily, and make them live longer, too. Isn’t that worth something?

Smiles make the wheels of a home move so much more smoothly, while frowns and scowls and pouts are like sand and gravel thrown into the works.

Who does not love the boy or girl who smiles when things go wrong—when other children annoy them or they are hurt while playing games? Such smiles are worth much more than money.

Suppose you smile someday at someone who is very sad and discouraged, and make him smile, too; what is that worth? You may never know, but it may mean everything to him—the turning of a corner on life’s dark and lonely road. And there are lots of people today like this, people who have given up hope that anybody will smile at them again.

As the familiar hymn says–

“There are hearts that are drooping in sorrow today,
There are souls under shadow the while;
Oh, the comfort from God you can gently convey,
And brighten the way with a smile!
O brighten the way with a smile,
Yes, brighten the way with a smile;
Someone’s dreariest day you can gently beguile,
And brighten the way with a smile!”
   William C. Martin, 1904.

Won’t you try to see how much good you can do with your smiles? You will be repaid in happiness untold.

The Storybook, Character Building Stories for Children, 68–71.