Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 September 1892 — FOR OUR LITTLE FOLKS. [ARTICLE]

FOR OUR LITTLE FOLKS.

A COLUMN OF PARTICULAR INTEREST TO THEM. What Children Have Done, What They Are Doing, and What They Should Do to Fan Their Childhood Day*. Nice Story of a Kind Little Girl. The family of a petty official at Berlin was recently treated to au agreeable surprise owing to the charitable disposition of the smallest member of their little household —a 3-year-old girl. During the month of May she met, sitting on a bench in the public square near her home, an old, poorly but neatly clad man, who attracted her attention by his sad looks and lonesome air. Thinking he must be hungry, she stepped up to him, and, with the question, “Want a piece of pie?” she resolutely handed him half of her simple lunch. The man appeared somewhat perplexed, but smilingly received the piece with thanks and ate it. From that day both might frequently be seen together engaged in lively conversation, the little girl never forgetting to offer her old friend part of her lunch, which she was in the habit of eating in the open air after playing about on the lawn, jipr evqr admitting of any refusal on his part to take at least a little bite. At the beginning of this month Hermine returnee} hofiie one morning w|Fb the distressing ney?s that the “p6oT man” had nos appeared. Neither had he been seen for several days after, when Hermine’s father received an unexpected summons to appear at court. Here he was toltl that the “poor old man,” who really was a wealthy citizen of Berlin, had left his whole fortune to little Hermine. His will contained the following paragraph: ’•< “I had despaired of the whole world, for thbse who were nearest and dearest to me had deceived me. Thus I renounced all, for what I desired I was unable to obtain. I became a miser, because my liberality was only rewarded with ingratitude. Nearing the end of my course, I was mightily touched by a child’s heart, which reconciled me With humanity. It was only for a short time, but, if I had millions to bestow those few moments would not be paid for too deafly. May roy wealth serve my little friend for better ends than It did me, who never knew how to appreciate or to expend it. ” —Baltimore Sun.

Pleasures of the Deep. An enthusiastic boy, after flnishing the last chapter of a book called “The Pleasures of the Deep,” pleaded with his father to let him ship aboard a small schooner. The old man smiled a grim smile, took the case under consideration, and in a few days the boy was on the rolling deep, as a greenhorn on a vessel in the coal trade. The next week he appeared at home, lame and stiff, his throat sore, one eye nearly shut, and a feeliug of humbleness running all through him. “What! back again?” cried the old man, as the boy entered the house. “Yes, father, I want to saw all the wood for winter, bring in all the coal, clean out the cellar and paint the barn, and you needn’t give me but two meals a (Jay. ” “Don’t you like sailing?” “Father, you don’t understand anything about it. The captain sailed away on Sunday the same as any other day, and I believe he swore even harder. He wouldn’t give me an umbrella when it rained, he made me sit up most all night, and two or three times called me .up at midnight and made me haul rope lind dreg old sails about. There wasn’t a single night when all of us got off to bed at 9 o’clock, and there wasn’t a single day that he didn’t bully us about and stop us every time we got to reading anything good. -I like land, father, and I wish I owned a farm.’’—Philadelphia Times.

Too Biff lor a Little Boy.

We had been invited to join a company who were to make the trial trip on a small steam yacht built for the use of one of our Government Inspectors. We were well under way when the young man who was engineer determined to play a joke on the small boy who wa9 with U 9. Just as the little fellow was about to take a drink of water from the large tin dipper, which had been provided for use rather than ornament on the boat, the man at the throttle pulled a rope which blew the whistle. The boy dropped the dipper and ran crying to his mother. “Why, Howard,” she said, “you are 6urely not afraid of a whistle!” “No,” he yelled, “but that Is too big a whistle for such a little boy *”

I S’all S’eep Wiv Him To-Night.

Sometimes I believe the little ones say the best things after all. I know a little family in Detroit who are heart-broken and sad this Saturday night. There were three last Saturday, but to-day only two are left. The tie that bound them more closely than that which the clergyman drew, has lately been loosened, and the light of their lives went out with the red winter sun only the other night. The father is a railroad man, whose duties called him away from home nearly three-fourths of the time. It was his habit, whenver he was about to start home, to telegraph his wife apprising her of the fact. In these telegrams he never failed to mention the name of the little 4-year-old, and the dispatches usually ran as follows: “Tell Arthur I shall sleep with him to-night.” The baby boy was very proud of these telegrams, which his mother would read over to him, and he considered “teledraf” a great institution. The other night when the fever had done its work and the mother was sobbing out her anguish, the little one turned calmly in his bed, and said: “Don’t ky, mama; I s’ill s’eep wiv Dod, ’oo know. Send Dod a teledraf, and tell him I s’all s’eep. wiv him tonight. ” But the message went straight up there, without the clicking of wires or the rustling of wings. —Free Press.

Wh»t Was the Good of It?

Willie is 6 years old, with a brother and sister two and four years older, and these two were recently invited by Mti. Blank to a little part/, much

to the discomfiture of "Willie, whs was slighted. When the other two children had gone, Willie’s mother was doing what she could to smooth his ruffled feelings. “I heard Mrs. Blank talking about you, Willie, the other day," she said, “and she said you were the handsomest boy in all this town.” Willie didn't say anything for a moment, and then he lifted his big brown tear-stained eyes to his mother’s face. “Well, mamma,” he half sobbed, “what’s the good of bein’ beautiful if a fellow don’t git invited to no parties?” Maddie’x Birthday Cake. Eight-year-old Maddie had had a birthday, and was telling Aunt Emma about it. “I had a birthday cake with frosting, and with eight little candles on it; one for every year, you knr w.” “That was nice,” said Aunt Emma. “I am going to have a birthday, Maddie. Don’t you think I ought to have a cake with candles on it?” “Why, you couldn’t!” said Maddie, lookingup with surprise. Aunt Emma was as old as Maddie’s mamma. “You couldn’t have the candles, Aunt Emma—not one for every year, you know. There wouldn’t be room on the cake.”—Youth’s Companion. -