How many people are
there who habitually speak to a boy of ten, twelve, or fourteen with the
same civility as to his sister, a little younger or older?
"I like Miss----," said this same dear boy to me, one day; "for she
always bids me good-morning."
Ah! never is one such word thrown away on a loving, open-hearted boy. Men
know that safe through all the wear and tear of life they keep far greener
the memory of some woman or some man who was kind to them in their boyhood
than of the friend who helped or cheered them yesterday.
Dear, blessed, noisy, rollicking, tormenting, comforting Boy! What should
we do without him? How much we like, without suspecting it, his breezy
presence in the house! Except for him, how would errands be done, chairs
brought, nails driven, cows stoned out of our way, letters carried, twine
and knives kept ready, lost things found, luncheon carried to picnics,
three-year-olds that cry led out of meeting, butterflies and birds' nests
and birch-bark got, the horse taken round to the stable, borrowed things
sent home,--and all with no charge for time?
Dear, patient, busy Boy! Shall we not sometimes answer his questions? Give
him a comfortable seat? Wait and not reprove him till after the company
has gone? Let him wear his best jacket, and buy him half as many neckties
as his sister has? Give him some honey, even if there is not enough to go
round? Listen tolerantly to his little bragging, and help him "do" his
sums?
With a sudden shrill scream the engine slipped off on a side-track, and
the cars glided into the great, grim city-station, looking all the grimmer
for its twinkling lights.
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