Children’s Story

Story – Julia’s Missionary Money

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Once upon a time there lived a little girl in a town in New York State. I know that she was a bright and happy and delightful little girl, because now that she is growing old, she is bright and happy and delightful.

She lived with her father and her mother and brothers in a real old-fashioned, homey home where guests liked to come. One of the guests who liked to come was the great Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States. The little girl was always very happy when he came. She used to like to sit close and talk to him. She called him “Uncle Abe.” He often called her “Sissy,” though her real name was Julia.

One time when the President was visiting at Julia’s home, the family were all gathered in the sitting room in the evening. Julia was counting the money in her missionary box. Mr. Lincoln watched her.

“What are you doing over there?” he asked.

“I’m counting my missionary money, Uncle Abe,” Julia answered.

Mr. Lincoln put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a coin, and held it toward Julia. Julia drew her box back.

“Oh, no, I can’t take that, Uncle Abe. I have to earn all the money I put in this box,” she said earnestly.

“Is that so?” said Mr. Lincoln, thoughtfully. Then he put his hand back into his pocket.

The next day he was getting ready to start for the train.

“I wonder if you couldn’t walk down to the depot with me, Julia?” he said.

“Oh, yes, I’d love to!” cried Julia, and she ran for her hat.

As they started down the street together, Abraham Lincoln changed his valise [a small traveling bag] to the other hand. It was an old-fashioned valise with two handles. As he looked down from his great height at his little companion, he asked, “Do you suppose that you could help me carry my valise? It’s pretty heavy.”

Julia was a little surprised, for Mr. Lincoln had never before asked her to help him carry his valise. But she took hold of one of the handles, and they carried it between them all the way to the depot, talking gayly as they went. At the depot the President took the valise and pulled a shining coin out of his pocket, holding it out to the little girl.

“There, Julia,” he said, “now you have earned your missionary money.”

Julia was much surprised, for she had not thought of such a thing as earning money by helping her friend carry his valise. But she saw that she really had earned it.

“Oh, thank you, Uncle Abe!” she exclaimed joyfully.

Then he went away on the train, and Julia ran home with the shining coin held tightly in her hand. She thought it was the very brightest penny she had ever seen. She hurried to put it into her missionary box, where it would be safe.

The next week, when the missionary boxes were opened, Julia was called out into another room. There sat the superintendent, and there were her father and one of her brothers. And there on the table was her missionary box. Everyone looked sober.

“How much money did you have in your missionary box, Julia?” asked the superintendent.

“Eighty-two cents,” answered the little girl.

“I knew it was a mistake. It is not her box,” said her father.

“Are you sure that was all you had? Where did this come from?” she was asked, and she saw the bright penny that the President had given her.

“Oh, that’s the money Uncle Abe gave me!” she answered.

The shining coin was a five-dollar gold piece.

This is a true story. I know it is true, because the little girl, who is a little girl no longer, told me the story herself.

Cockleshells, True Education Series, Olive Vincent Marsh, 16–19.

Story – I Will Rebuke the Devourer

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Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse. … And I will rebuke the devourer for your sakes” (Malachi 3:10, first part, 11, first part). When I read these words, I can say, “Amen. Truly the Lord’s promises are sure.”

Way in the northeast corner of the little southern state of Australia proper, four miles from the town, lived a Sabbath-keeping family. Loving the Lord and this message whole-heartedly, they strove to live up to all the light that shone from the pages of God’s word, and endeavored to return to the Lord His own in tithes and offerings. We children were taught to keep count of our pennies, and when we had ten, to give one to the Lord.

The story I am going to tell belongs to the summer of 1899. The season was well worthy of its name, for each day the sun’s rays seemed to send out, if possible, a fiercer heat. Slowly life and energy seemed to be leaving us. Stock died, and everything was in a parched, dried-up condition.

Our home was surrounded by bush land, and along the southern boundary flowed a clear-water creek.

Away to the southeast, portions of the Australian Alps could be seen. In summer these often appeared a combination of smoke and flame, for bush fires were prevalent in those parts; while in the winter they put on a cap of snowy purity. This summer bush fires were raging in many places.

Christmas was approaching—a time in childish minds associated with nothing but joy and happiness. For many weeks we had been surrounded by a thick wall of smoke, sometimes close at hand, sometimes farther away. At first this caused some anxiety, but gradually that died away. Several times Father had been called out to fight fires that had started a short distance away, but that, too, had grown to be a common occurrence.

At last word reached us that a fierce bush fire was raging some miles away, and was traveling in our direction. The wall of smoke grew denser, and at times we were unable to see more than a chain from the house. It was Sabbath, the day before Christmas, and it seemed impossible for the sun to send out greater heat. We children dispensed with as much clothing as possible, and endeavored to keep still and quiet. A fire had started about three miles from our home, and Father had gone away early that morning to assist in an endeavor to check it.

The smoke all around seemed to thicken, and between twelve and one o’clock Mother sent one of the boys to a neighbor to inquire whether he thought there was any possibility of the large bush fire reaching us. He came back with the assurance that the fire was miles away, and going in another direction. That was comforting, to say the least; for what could two women, with six children to protect, do against this terrible scourge?

Mother said that when one of the boys had had something to eat, he was to take some refreshment to Father. When he had finished his dinner, he went out to get his pony, but rushed back almost immediately with the cry, “The fire’s in our paddock [small enclosure to keep horses]!” Mother went out, and there, not more than two hundred yards from the house, was the awful fire fiend sending out tongues of flame in every direction, and licking up all in its path. The large fire had reached us! What was to be done? To combine rapidity of action with presence of mind was absolutely necessary. Mother gathered us around her, and for a moment knelt in prayer, committing us to the care of our heavenly Father, who is all-powerful.

Blankets were snatched and wrapped around the three little ones, as a protection against sparks, and they were given into the care of us three older ones, the eldest but sixteen. The next question was where to go. One of our paddocks had been almost completely cleared of timber, and that was the first place thought of; but on second thought it was decided that the creek would be the safest place.

Mother sent us ahead, for she had to help Grandma, who had more than reached her allotted span of life. When a short distance away, I looked back and saw that the stables and barn were alight. We hastened on while sparks flew over and around us and lighted trees on the other side of our path. After reaching the creek, we waited for Mother, and then we all went to a neighbor’s [house] across the creek.

Where was Father all this time? Those at the other fire found they were unable to check its fury, and seeing smoke coming from the direction of their own homes, turned toward them. Being unable to reach home by the usual route, Father had to make a circuit of about three miles. When he reached the homestead, everything around it was blackened, but the house stood firm, a monument to the truthfulness of God’s word.

Right through the apiary of one hundred hives the fire had swept, but only one hive was destroyed. No human hand had been there to check the progress of the flames, and nothing but the interposition of God through His angels could have done so.

We went home in the evening, and the most eloquent language would fail to portray the solemn grandeur of the scene. As the shadows deepened, the red glare in the heavens, the flaming trees, and the millions of sparks that were sent skyward, equaled the finest display of fireworks. Next day the three horses were found still huddled in a corner of one of the paddocks, where they had stood with their heads to the fire. How close the devourer came to them may be judged from the fact that the animals’ noses were scorched.

The neighbors on either side of us lost their homes; in the same district two or three lost their lives, while our losses were comparatively slight. Truly the God that now lives is the same God that led His people out of Egypt and through the wilderness to the Promised Land, and still He cares for and leads His children in this wilderness of sin, and if we trust Him He will bring us through to the Promised Land.

“Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, … and prove Me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Malachi 3:10).

The Youth’s Instructor, February 29, 1916, Pearl Tolhurst, 11, 12.

Children’s Story – Keeper of the Light

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Mary’s father was the keeper of a lighthouse on the coast of England. The light of these lamps shines at night to guide ships on their way and to keep them from dangerous rocks and shoals. The lighthouse seems to say: “Take care, sailors, for rocks and sands are here. Keep a good lookout and mind how you sail, or you will be lost.”

One afternoon Mary was in the lighthouse alone. Mary’s father had trimmed the lamps, and they were ready for lighting when evening came. As he needed to buy some food, he crossed the causeway which led to the land. This causeway was a path over the rocks and sands, which could be used only two or three hours in the day; at other times, the waters rose and covered it. The father intended to hasten home before the tide flowed over this path. Night was coming on, and a storm was rising on the sea. Waves dashed against the rocks, and the wind moaned around the tower.

Mary’s mother was dead, and although she was alone, her father had told the girl not to be afraid, for he would soon return. Now there were some rough-looking men behind a rock, who were watching Mary’s father. They watched him go to the land.

Who were they? They were “wreckers” who lurked about the coast. If a vessel was driven on the rocks by a storm, they rushed down—not to help the sailors, but to rob them, and to plunder the ship.

The wicked men knew that a little girl was left alone in the lighthouse. They planned to keep her father on the shore all night. Ships filled with rich goods were expected to pass the point before the morning and these men knew if the light did not shine, the vessels would run upon the rocks and be wrecked. How cruel and wicked they were to seek the death of the ships’ crews!

Mary’s father had filled his basket, and prepared to return to the lighthouse. As he drew near the road leading to the causeway, the wreckers rushed from their hiding place and threw him on the ground. They quickly bound his hands and feet with ropes and carried him into a shed, where he had to lie until morning. It was in vain that he shouted for them to set him free; they only mocked his distress. They then left him in the charge of two men, while they ran back to the shore.

“Oh, Mary, what will you do?” cried the father as he lay in the shed. “There will be no one to light the lamps. Ships may be wrecked, and sailors may be lost.”

Mary looked from a narrow window toward the shore, thinking it was time for her father to return. When the clock in the little room struck six, she knew that the water would soon be over the causeway.

An hour passed. The clock struck seven, and Mary still looked toward the beach; but her father was not to be seen. By the time it was eight, the tide was nearly over the causeway; only bits of rock here and there were above the water. “O father, hurry,” cried Mary, as though her father could hear her. “Have you forgotten your little girl?” But the only answer was the noise of the waters as they rose higher and higher, and the roar of the wind as it gave notice of the coming storm. Surely there would be no lights that night.

Mary thought of what her mother used to say: “We should pray in every time of need.” Quickly she knelt and prayed for help: “O Lord, show me what to do, and bless my father, and bring him home safe.”

The water was now over the causeway. The sun had set more than an hour ago, and, as the moon rose, black storm clouds covered it from sight.

The wreckers walked along the shore, looking for some ship to strike on the coast. They hoped that the sailors, not seeing the lights, would think they were far at sea.

At this moment Mary decided she would try to light the lamps. But what could a little girl do? The lamps were far above her reach. She got matches and carried a small stepladder to the spot. After much labor she found that the lamps were still above her head. Then she got a small table and put the stepladder on it. But when she climbed to the top the lights were still beyond her reach. “If I had a stick,” she said, “I would tie a match to it, and then I could set a light to the wicks.” But no stick was to be found.

The storm was raging with almost hurricane force. The sailors at sea looked along the coast for the light. Where could it be? Had they sailed in the wrong direction? They were lost and knew not which way to steer.

All this time Mary’s father was praying that God would take care of His child in the dark and lonely lighthouse.

Mary, frightened and lonely, was about to sit down again, when she thought of an old book in the room below. It was a special book that belonged to her mother. She questioned, “If Mother were here, would she not allow me to take it?”

In a moment the large book was brought and placed under the steps, and up she climbed once more. Yes, she was high enough! She touched one wick, then another, and another, until the rays of the lamps shone brightly far above the dark waters.

The father saw the light as he lay in the shed, and thanked God for sending help in the hour of danger. The sailors saw the light, and steered their ships away from the rocks. The wreckers, too, saw the light, and were angry to see that their evil plot had failed.

All that stormy night the lamps cast their rays over the foaming sea; and when the morning came, the father escaped from the shed. Soon he reached the lighthouse and found out how his little girl had stood faithful to duty in the dark hours of storm.

Scrapbook Stories from Ellen G. White Scrapbooks, ©1949, 29–32.

Children’s Story – The First 4th of July

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One day, more than two hundred years ago, five men were appointed to write a letter to the world. One of the five men was old — seventy years old. His name was Benjamin Franklin. Two of them were middle-aged. Their names were John Adams and Roger Sherman. The other two were young men, and their names were Robert Livingston and Thomas Jefferson.

Most of the letter was written by one of the young men, by the one named Thomas. He was tall and had sandy hair. His eyes were gray and often sparkled like two stars. He was strong and liked to ride horseback.

Thomas dipped his quill [feather] pen into the ink and scratched away on the paper until the letter was finished. When the other four men read it, they liked it so well that they asked him to make only a few changes.

Soon after the letter was written a big bell began to ring and men began to throw up their hats and shout. The big bell rang and the people shouted because the letter to the world had been written and signed. It was signed by the five men who wrote it, and also by fifty-one other men who had asked them to write it.

That letter to the world is now known in every part of the world. In the United States of America, it is printed in most of the history books that boys and girls study in school. It is called the Declaration of Independence.

The young man Thomas who wrote the Declaration of Independence was Thomas Jefferson. He was later to become the president of the United States. The Declaration was signed on the 4th of July 1776. That is the reason we celebrate the 4th of July every year. The big bell weighs more than a ton and it is known as the Liberty Bell. It is kept in the city where the Declaration of Independence was written and signed.

You have all heard the 4th of July called Independence Day. The Liberty Bell hangs in Independence Hall, in the city of Philadelphia. The Liberty Bell became famous on the first 4th of July in American history. A verse from the Bible is printed on the bell. It says, “Proclaim liberty throughout the land and to all the inhabitants thereof” (Leviticus 25:10).

History Stories for Children, John W. Wayland, ©1991, 225–227.

Children’s Story – Did Bob Think?

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Bob was an old horse on my great-grandfather’s farm. He was a very clever horse. But it is not so much for his cleverness as for one thoughtful thing he did that his name has been handed down to us who live so long after him and who never saw him.

Bob was very fond of children. The boys who lived near used to have many a pleasant game with Bob on sunny afternoons, when he was grazing in the fields.

Sometimes the boys chased Bob, and sometimes he chased them. It was a funny sight to see the old horse running after a troop of boys, uttering a peculiar whinny that plainly said, “Isn’t this real fun, boys?”

One day Bob was coming slowly through the one long street of the village, dragging a loaded cart behind him. There, right in the middle of the street, a little child was sprawling in the dust. No one noticed it until Bob and the cart were close upon it.

Was the child to be trodden under the horse’s feet or crushed beneath the broad wheels of the cart? No; for just as the mother rushed out of the doorway with a shriek, Bob reached down, seized the child’s clothing with his teeth, and laid the little one safely on the footpath. It was done tenderly, quietly, and it was over in a minute. Then the wise horse went on as if he had done nothing surprising.

Do you wonder that we keep Bob’s memory green? And isn’t his thoughtfulness a lesson for children whose excuse for carelessness that injures others is, “I didn’t think”? Bob thought, and his thinking saved the child’s life.

Balloons, True Education Series, ©1976, 48, 49.

“Think right thoughts, and you will perform right actions.” The Adventist Home, 54. If we have invited Jesus to live in our heart, we will think His thoughts. Then it will be natural for us to be kind and thoughtful, helping and encouraging others around us. He will help us to think and then do what He would do.

Children’s Story – The Fourth Man in the Boat

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It was in Venezuela, a country in the northern part of South America. One of our missionaries, his assistant, and a boy to help care for the boat were passing up a large river in the mission boat. When they came to a fork in the river, they did not know which way to go. They decided to try the right-hand branch of the river.

They had not gone far when they found that they could go no farther. They returned to the fork, and took the left branch. They passed up this branch until it began to grow dark. Then they cast anchor and lay down in the boat to sleep.

The next morning, they continued their journey up the river until they reached a town where they were to hold meetings.

After the meetings were over, they returned to the fork of the river. Here they stopped at a house, and were given permission to stay all night. The missionary and his assistant went up to the house, leaving the boy to look after the boat.

“Where is your companion?” the owner of the house asked.

“He is at the boat, but he will soon be up,” the missionary answered, thinking that the man was speaking of the boy.

“But where is the other one?”

“There are only three of us.”

“I saw four men in the boat when you went up,” he continued. “Your helper here was at the front, steering the boat; you were at the side, leaning over to watch; and the boy was on the other side, taking the depth of the river.”

“Where was the fourth man?” I asked.

“He was standing right by your side, and was dressed in white.”

Then he described how my two helpers and I were dressed. I knew by this that he had observed carefully and correctly. He told us that this part of the river was very dangerous.

With gratitude I thanked God that He had saved us from dangers that we knew not of. He had fulfilled to us His promise, “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him, and delivereth them” (Psalm 34:7).

Eagles, Selections from the True Education Series, ©1976, 59, 60.

Children’s Story – He Stood the Test

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The Blue Line street-car stopped at the corner, and an anxious-looking young woman put a small boy inside.

“Now, Robin,” she said, as she hurried out to the platform again, “don’t lose that note I gave you. Don’t take it out of your pocket at all.”

“No, Mama,” said the little man, looking wistfully after his mother as the conductor pulled the strap, the driver unscrewed his brake, and the horses, shaking their bells, trotted off with the car.

“What’s your name, bub?” asked a mischievous looking young man sitting beside him.

“Robert Cullen Demms,” he answered.

“Where are you going?”

“To my grandma’s.”

“Let me see that note in your pocket.”

The look of innocent surprise in the round face ought to have shamed the baby’s tormentor; but he only said again, “Let me see it.”

“I tan’t” said Robert Cullen Demms.

“See here, if you don’t, I’ll scare the horses, and make them run away.”

The little boy cast an apprehensive look at the belled horses, but shook his head.

“Here, I’ll give you this peach if you’ll pull that note half way out of your pocket.” The boy did not reply, but some of the older people looked angry.

“I say, chum, I’ll give you this whole bag of peaches if you will just show me the corner of your note,” said the tempter. The child turned away, as if he did not wish to hear any more; but the young man opened the bag, and held it just where he could see and smell the luscious fruit.

A look of distress came into the sweet little face. I believe Robin was afraid to trust himself; for when a man left his seat on the other side to get off the car, the little boy slid quickly down, left the temptation behind, and climbed into the vacant place.

A pair of prettily gloved hands began almost unconsciously to clap; and then everybody clapped and applauded, until it might have alarmed Robin if a young lady sitting by had not slipped her arm around him, and said, with a sweet glow on her face: “Tell your mama that we all congratulate her upon having a little man strong enough to resist temptation, and wise enough to run away from it.”

I doubt if that long, hard message ever reached Robin’s mother; but no matter—the note got to his grandmother without ever coming out of his pocket on the way.

Taken from the Youth’s Instructor, December 6, 1900.

Children’s Story – Shut Up With a Bible

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When Nicholas I became emperor of Russia, his first task was to put down a formidable sedition among the aristocracy of his realm. Many nobles, detected in guilt, and many who were simply suspected, were thrown into prison. One, who was innocent, was by nature a man of fiery temper; his wrongful arrest infuriated him, and he raved like a wild animal. Day after day, brooding over his treatment, he would stamp shrieking through his cell, and curse the emperor and curse God. Why did He not prevent this injustice?

No quiet came to him save in the intervals of exhaustion that followed his fits of rage. A visit from the venerable clergyman on the ninth day of his confinement, produced no softening effect. The good man’s prayer was heard with sullen contempt. The divine words, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,” sounded like mockery to the embittered prisoner. The aged minister went away, leaving a Bible in the cell, which he begged the prisoner to read.

As soon as his visitor was gone, the angry nobleman threw the Bible into a corner. What to him was the word of a God who lets tyrants abuse him?

But when the terrible loneliness of succeeding days had nearly crazed him, he caught up the volume, and opened it, and his first glance fell on the middle of the fiftieth psalm: “Call upon me in the day of trouble: and I will deliver thee.” The text surprised and touched him, but his pride resented the feeling, and he dropped the book.

The next day, desperation drove him again to the only companion of his solitude, and from that time he read the Bible constantly. Then he began to study it, and commit whole chapters to memory. The story of the Savior’s life and death totally changed him. He saw himself a fellow sufferer with Christ who was unjustly accused and slain.

Revengeful rage gave way, and the spirit of a martyr took its place. Like the persecuted Christians shut up in the Roman catacombs, he forgave his enemies. An unworldly joy took up the time he had once spent in harsh thoughts and words. The shadows of wrong and death vanished in the new light that shone upon him from beyond.

The company of the book—the one Book in all the world that could have done it—had given the proud noble another heart.

Madame Dubois, once a beloved prison missionary in New York, from whose writings this story is taken, was in Russia when the condemned man’s aunt and sister, with whom she was visiting received a letter, which was believed to be his last. It was the outpouring of an exalted soul superior to fate.

He had undergone his trial; and, unable to prove his innocence, had been sentenced to death.

On the day set for his execution, while the ladies of his mansion walked in tears through the crape-hung parlors, suddenly the sight of their doomed kinsman himself astonished them at the door!

It was an unhoped for deliverance at the last moment. When the jailer’s key unlocked the prisoner’s cell, instead of the messenger of death, the czar of Russia stood before him. A conspirator’s intercepted letter had placed the innocence of the suspected nobleman beyond question, and the czar made what amends he could by bestowing on him a splendid castle and a general’s commission.

Seventy-five years have passed since then, and with them the life of the almost-martyred Russian; but the fruits of his devout fidelity and kindness among his fellow men, the hospital he built for the sick and friendless, and the very Bible he was shut up with in his own distress, still bear witness to a consecration that was worth all personal cost, and infinitely more.

Taken from The Youth’s Instructor, January 3, 1901.

Children’s Story – The Bookmobile

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There were two things Christi loved to do more than anything else. One was to read and the other was to ride her bicycle. During the school year she always had plenty of books to choose from at the school library. She especially loved to read books about animals. But when school let out for the summer, her daily supply of books dried up. Her family lived way out of town—too far away to use the public library.

Fortunately, every two weeks a bookmobile would come out to their county road and would park a couple of miles away from their house. The bookmobile used to be a school bus. The seats had been removed, and there were shelves of books along the walls. The children from the surrounding farms could come and check out books, just like you do at the library. Christi would usually read all her books very quickly, so she always looked forward eagerly to “bookmobile day.”

But there was one problem. They had to ride their bikes to get to the bookmobile. Now that in itself was not a problem, because Christi loved to ride her bike. It was a big blue bike that she had gotten for her sixth birthday—her very first bicycle. It had a white basket in front to carry books and things. She could ride it all day long. The problem was that there were two enormous hills they had to ride up to get to the bookmobile. Their bikes had only two speeds—stop and go. They did not have lots of gears to help them go up hills more easily, so their legs had to do all the work.

By mid-summer the days had begun to grow quite hot. As they set out for the bookmobile, they were very eager and excited to get their new books. Wearing a bright red bandanna over his nose and pretending to be a cowboy, Zane zipped ahead of Christi and Diana as they rode along together, talking about the books they were going to choose this time. As they began to climb the first hill, their breathing got harder and they had to stop talking to save their breath. Soon they were standing up, pumping their pedals as hard as they could. They knew if they slowed down too much they’d have to walk up the hill.

Zane was already well ahead, and Diana surged forward ahead of Christi. As she fell further and further behind, Christi’s little legs pushed the pedals as hard as she could.

“Hey, wait up for me,” she called out as they pulled farther ahead of her.

“You hurry up. I can’t slow down now,” retorted Diana as she rode on.

About half-way up that big, steep hill, Christi couldn’t pedal any more. Her mouth was dry and her head was pounding. It was so embarrassing to have to get off the bike and walk, but she just couldn’t pedal any more. Slowly she got off and pushed her bike up the hill. She was tempted to turn around and go back home, but she wanted those books too badly.

What a relief it was to get to the top of that hill. Zane and Diana had been waiting awhile and now they were ready to go.

“Finally, you got here,” said Zane. His bandanna was pushed down around his neck now. “I’ve been waiting for e-e-eons.” He stretched the word out.

Christi flushed pink under her freckles. “You don’t even know what that means!”           But they were already gone. Christi had been hoping for a little rest, but she knew if she rested now, she would fall even further behind. Slowly she climbed back onto her bicycle and coasted down the other side of the hill. The air felt good rushing against her hot face, cooling her off a bit. She began to pedal, going faster and faster as she prepared to conquer the next hill. This hill was even bigger. The bicycle swayed from side to side as she strained every muscle to keep it going as long as she could.

Suddenly she was on the ground gasping for air. Her bicycle handle was rammed into her stomach and she couldn’t catch her breath. She didn’t know what had happened. Her elbow and leg were scraped and bleeding, her library books had fallen out of the basket and her head throbbed. Slowly, ever so slowly, she sat up and looked around. There, by her rear tire, was a deep rut in the road. She must have hit it. She’d been so tired she hadn’t even seen it.

“I WANT TO GO BACK HOME!” she howled.

After awhile she stopped crying. She realized she was almost to the top of the hill and it wouldn’t be far to the bookmobile after that. Anyway, she was closer to the bookmobile than to home.

Christi stood up and gathered the books back into the bicycle basket. Zane and Diana had stopped at the top of the hill and they watched as she limped wearily up the hill. She could tell they felt bad that she had fallen down.

“You’re bleeding,” said Zane, briskly taking charge. “Here, let me put a tourniquet on your knee.” He untied his bandanna and wrapped it tightly around her knee. Too tightly. Now her knee really hurt. “I learned how to do that in first aid class,” he said proudly.

They all got back on their bikes and rode on. Now Zane and Diana rode more slowly so Christi could keep up with them. Up ahead they could see the bookmobile waiting. When they arrived, it felt good to get off her bike and go into the cool bookmobile where she could rest while she chose her books. The trip home would be easy. It was down hill most of the way.

Later as Mom treated Christi’s cuts and scrapes, Christi told her about her miserable ride to the bookmobile. “Was it worth all that pain and effort?” asked Mom.

Christi looked at her stack of books on the table. Yes, she decided, it was worth it. She knew the next ride to the bookmobile would be just as hard, but she would be there.

“Not one who is earnest and persevering will fail of success. The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. The weakest saint, as well as the strongest, may wear the crown of immortal glory. All may win who, through the power of divine grace, bring their lives into conformity to the will of Christ.” Acts of the Apostles, 313.

Children’s Story – Laddie, The Leader

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Among my neighbors, at a lake resort last summer, was a bright little boy called Laddie. He was a dear little fellow, but, like all three-year olds, and some sixteen and thirty and fifty year olds, he once in a while became tired and impatient. We dined at the same small hotel table. One day we were all a trifle late in taking our places, and were not waited upon promptly. When we ordered fruit ice at the close of the meal, the waitress was long in bringing it. Laddie was much concerned. He remembered one other day, when the ice was all gone before the late-comers were served. He was quite sure it would be so this time. He was afraid that if it did come, it would all be melted. In fact, he was very unhappy about it.

I looked sober, and said, in an anxious voice, “I wonder if I shall have any ice today! I do like it so much, and I don’t see why it is not brought.”

Instantly, Laddie’s face brightened, and his voice rang out cheerily. “Don’t you be afraid! I’m pretty sure there is some left. She’ll bring you some pretty soon. I think you’ll have a good, big dish full.” And during the long waiting he reassured me every minute or two with some such remark. When at last it came, he was radiant. “What did I tell you?” he asked. “You see it wasn’t very long, after all!”

Another time, when we were returning from a late walk, Laddie was very tired, and there was nobody in the party strong and sure-footed enough to carry him over the woodland path. It was a weary, weary tramp for him until he was sent ahead to be our guide. Then the tired little form straightened, and the dragging feet were lifted clearer; while his musical voice range out, in caution, “You must not turn down there, or you will get lost. You must just follow me.”

Now why do you suppose I have remembered these little incidents so clearly, and put them on paper for you? Because they show so plainly that when we are thinking of others, our own worries and troubles are lightened, and disappear altogether. And also because, although we may stumble and falter and walk carelessly when we think we are showing another the way, and that he is looking to us for guidance, we do our best, and do it easily, too. It is with us as it was with Laddie—the hard time seems short; and we can say, as he did, “You see, it wasn’t so very long after all!”

Written by Clara Dillingham Pierson. Taken from The Youth’s Instructor, June 28, 1900.