Democratic Sentinel, Volume 15, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 August 1891 — LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS! [ARTICLE]

LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS!

THIS IS THEIR DEPARTMENT OF? THE PAPER. Quaint Saying* and Doing* of UtUo Oao* Gathered and Printed Here t*r Otbea Uttlo Folk* to Bead. P. T. Barnum’* Philosophy for Children.’ Childish laughter is the echo of . heavenly music. The noblest art is that of making others happy. Amusement to children is like rain to flowers. Wholesome recreation, conquers evil thoughts. If you would be as happy as a child, please one. Childish wonder is the first step in human wisdom. Innocent amusement transforms tears into rainbows. i To best please a child is the highest triumph of philosophy, I would rather be called the children’s friend than the world’s king. ' Ho that makes knowledge most attractive to the young is the king of sages. A Beautiful Father. “Tell your mother you’ve been very good boys to-day,” said aechool teacher to two little new scholars. “Oh.” replied Tommy, “we haven’tany mother." “Who takes care of you?” she asked.; “Father does. We’ve got a beautiful father. You ought to see him.” “Who takes care of you when he is at work?” “He takes all the care before he goes off in the morning, and after he comes back at night. He’s a house painter,' but there isn’t veiy much work this' winter, so he is doing laboring till 5 spring comes. He leaves us a warm breakfast when he goes off, and we have bread and milk for dinner, and a good supper when he comes home. Then he tells us stories, and plays on the fife, and cuts out beautiful things with his jackknife. You ought to see our father and our home, they are both so beautiful”

The M'nlster’s Cat. It’s a pretty big story, but it’s true, and the minister will tell you so. It’s about Deborah, the minister’s oat. She was a very large tabby, with three white stockings, two green eyes, and a wise old head. . Once upon a time Deborah had six little blind kittens, and they and their mother lay fast asleep in a round basket behind the stove in the minister’s Study. Deborah was sleeping so hard that when Mr Neal, the milkman, came into the room she only pricked up her left ear and then went on snoring. She did not know that Mr. Neal had come to borrow her to kill off the rats*in his house. Indeed, she did not ’know that he had any house, or any rats, either. He lived a mile away across the plain, and. she caught her rats nearer home. But Mr. Neal knew all about Deborah. He hadjnot for years sold milk at the parsonage without hearing what a famous mouser she was; and he said now to the minister: “Good evening, Mr. Fenn. I’ve called this stormy night to ask if you’ll be kind enough to lend us your cat?" “Certainly,” answered the minister/ laying aside his pen; “only you’ll have to take her family, too.” . * “Of course,” said Mr. Neal; “and: I’m glad she has the kittens; they will' keep her happy.”

Mr. Neal had brought a great strong bag, and by the help of the minister I he put Deborah into it—basket, and all. She tried her best to get out,* but Mr. Neal tied up the bag and held it firmly while he walked to hir wagon. There he dropped the bag into a box that stood under the seat,; and fastened down the coyer. Then he drove away. “Poor Deborah can’t see where she is going any more than her blind kit-; tens can,” thought the minister, with a little smile, as he turned from the window. “I hope she won’t be homesick, for I’m sure she could never find her way home. Why, why, the ground is getting really white with snow!” Presently he sat down again to his sermon, and he wrote, and he wrote, till everybody else in the house was asleep. All at once he was startled by a sound from the porch. It was the mewing of a cat. He threw open the door, and in ran Deborah, carrying in her mouth a kitten. “Dear me, Deborah, can this be you ?* he cried, in great surprise. She dropped the kitten on the rug at his feet and ran out before he could close the door. He put the little wet, cold kitty on a warm cushion, and went to bed; but he was awakened from his first nap by another mewing on the porch. Deborah had come with her second kitten. An hour or two later she came with the third, and by the next noon she had them all home—all six of them. Soon Mr. Neal followed, bringing the empty basket. “I thought I must return it quickly, or Deborah would come for it,” said he, laughing. “You may tell her that I’ve bought a rat trap, and I’ll never disturb her again. A puss that will travel eleven miles in the snow for the sake of getting her family back' to its old corner deserves to live in peace." Now, isn’t this a pretty big story? I shouldn’t have dared to repeat it if the minister hadn’t told it to me himself.—Penn Shirley, in Our Little Ones.