Children’s Story – A Home for Harry

“Home” was a strange word to little Harry; he had never known what a home was. He had lost both his parents at a very young age and had been alone in the world ever since. His whole life he had been lonely, wandering about the big city all day and sleeping at night under some bridge or archway, with no one to think about him or to care for him. He never knew about Jesus either, because there was nobody to teach him. He learned how to speak in a rough, hard way using nasty language because he had nobody to show him love or kindness. He knew only the coldness of the street, a cold which was reflected in his heart.

One day a kind old man found Harry on the street and took him home to live with his family. It felt strange for Harry to leave behind the well-known city streets and go on a long journey with this man. The old man told Harry to call him “Grandfather.” Soon the houses were left behind and Harry’s eyes began to take in all the new things he could see. There were high hills, trees, and beautiful green fields. He had never seen anything like it before and it all seemed strange and funny to him. He felt like laughing and talking, but he felt slightly afraid of the white-headed, grave old man by his side.

The daylight was already disappearing and Harry felt quite sleepy when they finally arrived at Grandfather’s little house. As he walked into his new home, he looked around and felt at once that there was something home-like and pleasant about this house. He had never known this feeling before and it felt nice.

The next morning Harry awoke in his real bed feeling refreshed, but very strange. He hardly remembered having slept in a real bed before. He heard the sound of children playing outside the window, and jumping into his few ragged clothes he was soon outside playing among them. He met a boy named Hugh who was kneeling by the well. Hugh was holding something in his hands and all the other children were looking at it. Harry moved closer to the children and saw that in Hugh’s hand was a baby swallow that appeared to have fallen out of the nest under the roof.

As Harry approached he heard a girl called Hannah say, “Grandfather says it’s a good sign that the swallows are coming back to our house. I think it shows that they know what’s good, that’s all.” Hugh laughed, saying, “So you think everybody that comes to our house must feel at home? What do you say to that Harry? Do you feel at home?”

Harry had no time to answer before a girl named Hatty interrupted clapping her hands, “Yes, yes! Jesus brought both Harry and the little swallow to us and we’ll take care of them both, won’t we, Grandfather, and make them both so happy they will always want to come back here!” Little Hatty jumped up and ran indoors very pleased at her bright idea. Harry followed slowly, dragging his feet behind the other children and feeling hot and red all over. He did not like the idea of being compared to a little outcast bird. He doubled up his fists and wanted to shout out loud that he wouldn’t stay here, that he hated them all, but suddenly he caught the sound of some words which soothed him. “Hannah,” said little Hatty under her breath, “Harry isn’t much like our little pet swallow, is he? He is so rough and untidy. But, Hannah, what pretty eyes he’s got. Do you know, I think I will like him if he likes me.”

Harry felt surprised and pleased by Hatty’s kind words. Nobody had ever told Harry that his eyes were pretty, and certainly nobody had ever offered to like him. It was a completely new idea, and a rather nice one, thought Harry. He decided that he liked Hatty, and from that day on they were great friends.

By this time Harry had begun to feel quite at home and he was as happy as could be. To his delight his cheeks became rosy and round and nobody would ever have guessed that he was not a country boy.

“The mother,” as Harry called her, took a great interest in little Harry. She taught him about Jesus. She corrected him when he said nasty words and with her help he learned to speak gently and with love. She taught him that “a soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.” Proverbs 15:1. She helped him fight to break off all of the bad habits his homeless life had taught him. He always listened to the wise words of “the mother” because he was learning about Jesus through her. As Harry grew bigger, it was a great pleasure for him to be a help to “the mother,” and sometimes her own children teased her saying that she spent more time with him than anyone else. However, the children understood that she spent more time with Harry to give him the love and guidance he needed to forget the old ways he had learned on the streets. In this way, Harry lived happily among this family until he went off to make his way in the world.

The years passed by and many changes had taken place. The old house where Harry grew up, however, looked much the same, and the swallows twittered about, building their nests under the thatch as they used to do. Hatty had grown into a beautiful young woman and she loved to be outside in the garden listening to the sound of the birds. One day as she watched the swallows building their nest, she caught sight of a tall, handsome soldier walking up the hill to the house. He seemed familiar, and straining her eyes against the sun, she recognized the grown-up face of little Harry. He had come back from the war! How they all welcomed him with open arms and smiling faces. Everyone was so happy to see him. Harry had never forgotten the love they had given him when he needed it most and he remembered where his “home” was. He was so happy that Jesus had given him a home with a family that loved him.

Harry and the family had a lot of time to catch up on, and they spent a long night sitting together and reminiscing on old times. Harry reminded Hatty of the spring evening many years before when she had offered him her friendship, saying that they would make the swallows and a certain little homeless boy happy in their home and always welcome them home when they wanted to come back. Now Harry was back.

Harry grew up to be a nice young man because somebody had cared enough to bring him to their home, show him the love of a family and teach him about Jesus. It changed his life and made a difference in the lives of that little family also. When we offer a kind hand to somebody in need, we are doing what Jesus would do. “Is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? When thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?” Isaiah 58:7. Little Harry found a loving home and learned the meaning of kindness because someone followed the words of Jesus.

Unknown Author

Children’s Story – The Little Outcast

“May’nt I stay ma’am? I’ll do anything you give me—cut wood, go after water, and do all your errands.”

The troubled eyes of the speaker were filled with tears. It was a lad that stood at the outer door, pleading with a kindly-looking woman, who still seemed to doubt the reality of his good intentions.

The cottage sat by itself on a bleak moor, or what in Scotland would have been called such. The time was near the latter end of September, and a fierce wind rattled the boughs of the only two naked trees near the house, and fled with a shivering sound into the narrow doorway, as if seeking for warmth at the blazing fire within.

Now and then a snowflake touched with its soft chill the cheek of the listener, or whitened the angry redness of the poor boy’s benumbed hands.

The woman was evidently loth to grant the boy’s request, and the peculiar look stamped upon his features would have suggested to any mind an idea of depravity far beyond his years.

But her woman’s heart could not resist the sorrow in those large, but by no means handsome grey eyes.

“Come in at any rate till the good man comes home. There, sit down by the fire; you look perishing with cold;” and she drew a rude chair up to the warmest corner; then, suspiciously glancing at the child from the corners of her eyes, she continued setting the table for supper.

Presently was heard the tramp of heavy shoes; the door was swung open with a quick jerk, and the “good man” presented himself wearied with labor.

A look of intelligence passed between his wife and himself; he too scanned the boy’s face with an expression not evincing satisfaction, but, nevertheless, made him come to the table, and then enjoyed the zest with which he dispatched his supper.

Day after day passed, and yet the boy begged to be kept “only till to-morrow;” so the good couple, after due consideration, concluded that as long as he was so docile, and worked so heartily, they would retain him.

One day in the middle of the winter, a peddler, long accustomed to trade at the cottage, made his appearance, and disposed of his goods readily, as if he had been waited for.

“You have a boy out there splitting wood, I see,” he said, pointing to the yard.

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I have seen him,” replied the peddler evasively.

“And, where? Who is he? What is he?”

“A jail-bird;” and the peddler swung his pack over his shoulder. “That boy, young as he looks, I saw in court myself, and heard his sentence—‘ten months.’ He’s a hard one. You’d do well to look carefully after him.”

Oh! there was something so horrible in the word jail—the poor woman trembled as she laid away her purchases; nor could she be easy till she called the boy in, and assured him that she knew that dark part of his history.

Ashamed, distressed, the boy hung down his head; his cheeks seemed bursting with the hot blood; his lips quivered, and anguish was painted as vividly upon his forehead as if the word was branded into the flesh.

“Well,” he muttered, his whole frame relaxing, as if a burden of guilt or joy had suddenly rolled off. “I may as well go to ruin at once—there’s no use in my trying to do better—everybody hates and despises me—nobody cares about me—I may as well go to ruin at once.”

“Tell me,” said the woman, who stood off far enough for flight, if that should be necessary, “how came you to go so young to that dreadful place? Where was your mother—where?”

“Oh!” exclaimed the boy, with a burst of grief that was terrible to behold. “Oh! I hain’t no mother! Oh! I hain’t had no mother ever since I was a baby. If I’d only had a mother,” he continued, his anguish growing vehement, and the tears gushing out from his strange-looking grey eyes, “I wouldn’t ha’ been bound out, and kicked, an’ cuffed, an’ laid on to with whips. I wouldn’t ha’ been saucy, and got knocked down, and run away, and then stole because I was hungry. Oh! I hain’t got no mother. I ain’t got no mother—I haven’t had no mother since I was a baby.”

The strength was all gone from the poor boy, and he sank on his knees, sobbing great choking sobs, and rubbing the hot tears away with his poor knuckles.

And did that woman stand there unmoved? Did she coldly bid him pack up and be off—the jail-bird? No, no; she had been a mother, and though all her children slept under the cold sod in the church-yard, she was a mother still.

She went up to that poor boy, not to hasten him away, but to lay her fingers kindly, softly on his head, to tell him to look up, and from henceforth find in her a mother. Yes; she even put her arm about the neck of that forsaken, deserted child; she poured from her mother’s heart sweet, womanly words, words of counsel and tenderness.

Oh! how sweet was her sleep that night; how soft her pillow! She had linked a poor, suffering heart to hers, by the most silken, the strongest bands of love; she had plucked some thorns from the path of a little, sinning, but striving mortal. None but the angels could witness her holy joy, and not envy. Did the boy leave her? Never! He is with her still; a vigorous, manly, promising youth. The once poor outcast is her only dependence, and nobly does he repay the trust.

The Youth’s Instructor, vol. 1, No. 6, March 1853.