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[Illustration: MRS. LESLIE'S BIBLE PEARLS.]




The Pearl of Love:

OR,

JOSEY'S GIFT.

_BY MRS. MADELINE LESLIE._

"Love is the fulfilling of the law."--ROM. 13:10.

BOSTON:

PUBLISHED BY A. F. GRAVES,

20 CORNHILL.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by

REV. A. B. BAKER,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.


To

FRANK RANDALL, RUTH, MAY, RANDOLPH MORGAN,
AND JAMES WALDINGFIELD,

CHILDREN OF

D. F. APPLETON, Esq., New York,

THESE "BIBLE PEARLS" ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED
BY THE AUTHOR.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER I.

                        Page

JOSEY'S RIDE              11

CHAPTER. II.

THE TWO NURSES            21

CHAPTER III.

THE WRONG BABY            33

CHAPTER IV.

JOSEY'S TEMPER            48

CHAPTER V.

JOSEY'S CHRISTMAS         61

CHAPTER VI.

THE BURNED BABY           74

CHAPTER VII.

JOSEY'S SORROW            86

CHAPTER VIII.

JOSEY'S GIFT             100




_The Pearl of Love._




CHAPTER I.

JOSEY'S RIDE.


"Please mamma, may I go to ride with you?" asked little red-cheeked
Josey Codman.

Mamma was tying on baby's silk hood, and did not answer for a minute.

"I would let him go," urged Aunt Fanny. "He can sit between us; and he
wont be a bit of trouble."

Josey clapped his hands.

"I'm going, mamma, isn't I?"

"Can Nurse get him ready quick enough?"

"Yes, indeed! Run, Josey, for your new hat. Nurse bring his sack from
the hall. It's fortunate I curled his hair before dinner. It's all dry
now; come, pet, stand still while I baste in a clean ruffle."

Baby Emma didn't like so many wrappings around her neck, and began to
throw back her head in an alarming manner. Mamma gave her to Nurse to
carry about, while she put on her bonnet. Then the carriage drove to the
door. Papa had to be called from his study. Nurse scrabbled on her hat
and shawl, and at last they were all seated in the back, and the driver
cracked his whip, calling out to his horses,--

"Go on!"

"Why!" said papa, "I didn't know Josey was going."

"But I am. Isn't I, mamma?" cried the boy, his eyes dancing.

"I should think so," answered mamma, laughing. "I don't know as it was
best, we shall be out late."

"Oh, we'll manage somehow," said Aunt Fanny, "Josey is such a good boy!"

"Nurse," began mamma, "you must be careful what Josey eats for supper;
only bread and butter, with a cup of milk."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And if he grows sleepy before service is through, take off his jacket
and let him go to sleep. You will be in Mrs. Reed's nursery."

"Yes, ma'am, where we were before."

"Baby's asleep, so soon," said Aunt Fanny, watching the infant's head
nodding over Nurse's shoulder. "Lay her down. She'll sleep all the way,
and be as good as a kitten."

"Don't let her soil her new cloak, Nurse," said mamma. "Fanny, the cloak
looks beautifully! handsomer than I thought it would."

"I always liked that color," answered Aunt Fanny, "it's real bird of
paradise. Untie baby's hood; now Nurse, she'll sleep easy."

Mamma and aunty were on the back seat, with Josey tucked in between
them; papa and Nurse, opposite. Papa turned from one to another as they
spoke; but he did not listen to a word that was said. There was to be a
great meeting in the Tabernacle Church that evening, and he was to
preach. As they rode along, his mind was fixed on what he was going to
say.

Mr. and Mrs. Codman did not always live near the great city where they
were now going. Their home was more than a thousand miles away; but they
had come here to reside for a year or two, and had rented a pretty
cottage nearly ten miles from town.

On three sides of the cottage, there was a piazza, with pillars all
covered with woodbine and honeysuckle. In the barn at the end of the
garden, was a horse which the clergymen used for his daily ride to the
Post Office. When they went to town, they always hired a hack from the
stable.

Mr. Codman was a very learned man, as well as a faithful, devout
minister. Everybody loved him, for he loved everybody, but especially
little children. If he were riding through the village, he always liked
to watch the boys at their play, or the little girls trundling their
hoops. Whenever there was a cry of distress he was off from his horse
in a minute, ready to assist the child who had fallen, or to relieve any
one of their troubles.

The children of course loved him. Many a time in the early spring, as he
came out of his gate in the morning, he would find a group of them
standing there to say "good morning!" or to offer him a bunch of
violets.

Sometimes papa took Josey on the saddle before him; and then how the
children would shout with glee, and press up to speak a word to the
pretty boy.

Mr. Codman was not the minister of the village, though he sometimes
preached for the clergyman; but he always improved every opportunity to
tell those around him of the love of God, who sent his only Son into the
world to save sinners.

[Illustration: JESSEY LEARNING TO RIDE. VOL. I.]




CHAPTER II.

THE TWO NURSES.


At seven o'clock Mr. and Mrs. Codman and Fanny started for church. Dr.
and Mrs. Reed went, too; and another clergyman with his wife, by the
name of Matthews. Mrs. Matthews had been invited to tea, and had brought
her baby, a little girl, nearly the same age as Mrs. Codman's.

Soon after they were gone, Ann perceived that Josey was sleepy, and
easily persuaded him to lie down on the bed. Then the two nurses, having
had their supper, began to chat, while they tended the babies.

"Look now!" said Ann, dancing Miss Emma on her lap, "the two of them
look as much alike as a pair of kittens."

"Except," answered Martin, "that your Miss has black eyes; and mine,
blue."

"That's true for ye, but then their mouths are the same, and sure enough
I thought before, that no baby could equal ours for a small mouth."

In the mean time Emma and Rose cooed and coquetted with each other in
the very best of spirits, until a late hour, when they both went quietly
to sleep.

"Feth and a pretty sight they're making," suggested Ann, pointing with
some pride to the bed; the two little ones lying side by side, and
Master Josey across the foot, with his rosy cheek resting on his hand.

"It looks for all the world like a baby asylum," was Martin's laughing
reply.

"I wonder what Mr. Codman is preaching about," she added; "I would like
to be within sound of his voice, it's a treat to hear him."

"I heard Miss Fanny saying to her sister that the text was to be from
Ephesians 4:32. 'Be ye kind one to another.' You know it's before the
'Young Men's Society,' he's preaching to-night."

"And fine words they are to put before any society. I'll ask Mistress to
tell me about it to-morrow. Sure, I've read in some good book, that
kindness to every one would just turn this wicked world into a heaven,
like where the angels live."

"I believe it would," replied Ann, "for if everybody loved, sure there'd
be no stealing, nor lying, nor any such wickedness. And then, why, there
would be no prisons, nor jails. Indeed, Martin, I think it must be the
finest text in the whole Bible."

"Because," added Martin, in an approving tone, "the greatest kindness of
all was, when the Lord of glory himself loved us poor sinners so well
that he couldn't bear to see us ruined forever, and so he gave himself
to die on the cross in our stead."

"Would we have had to die there, if he hadn't?" asked Ann, with a look
of awe.

"Not just there, maybe; but we would have had no hope of being happy,
because there was God with a sword over our heads; and he couldn't take
it away, till somebody, equal to the whole world of people, suffered the
penalty in our stead."

"I see it now, I've heard Master explain, that Jesus being the Son of
God, his blood was more precious than the blood of all the human race;
and if all the sins of all the people were washed in it, there still
would be enough to save millions on millions more."

"Well," murmured Martin, after a pause, "we can't be kind enough to
people after such an example as the Lord has set us."

The great clock on a neighboring church struck nine.

"They'll soon be home now," she added, springing to her feet, "I'll just
bring my baby's cloak and hood from the closet, and have them ready."

"It's a fine night for a ride," said Ann, bringing Josey's coat and
cap, and laying them on a chair. "Baby slept all the way into town, and
I expect she'll sleep going home."

"You have to go nearly twice as far as we do. It's scarce six miles to
Easton Parsonage; but then Mr. Matthews is a very careful driver;
Mistress would like to ride faster than he drives; I wish we were going
the same way!"

Every moment footsteps were listened for; but not till half-past nine
did a carriage drive to the door. Then Aunt Fanny and Mrs. Reed ran up
in a great hurry.

"Come, Ann," said Miss Fanny, hurriedly, "we're late and must be off in
a minute. You put on your sack, and I'll dress Josey. Mrs. Reed has
offered to put on baby's cloak and hood; and, Martin, you had better get
on your bonnet, for the other carriage, with Mrs. Matthews and Mrs.
Codman in it, will be here directly."

The two nurses ran to the back room, where they had taken off their
outer garments, and in less than five minutes, Miss Fanny appeared with
Josey asleep on her shoulder, and Nurse behind her with baby Emma,
closely wrapped in her cloak and hood.

Mr. Codman cut short his wife's "good byes," by saying,--

"It will be midnight, wife, before we reach home;" so, with hasty
adieux, they jumped into the carriage and drove off.

Mr. and Mrs. Matthews followed directly, turning down the opposite
street, Martin screening her baby's face from the night air by a thin
veil.

It was a bright, beautiful evening, but rather cool. Mr. Codman held
Josey close to his breast; and his wife, with a warning to Ann to keep
Emma well covered, began to talk earnestly about the sermon.




CHAPTER III.

THE WRONG BABY.


In this way they rode on for four miles. "Almost half way," Fanny
observed, as they passed the five corners; "I suppose Mr. and Mrs.
Matthews are home by this time."

Just then, Josey awoke with a start and cry of alarm, which roused his
sister, and made her open her eyes. Fanny, who sat opposite, pulled
back her hood to quiet her, when, with a shriek, mamma cried out,--

"We've got the wrong baby! Oh, Nurse, you made a mistake! This is Mrs.
Matthews' Rose. Husband, stop the driver, quick!"

"Are you sure?" asked papa, who had been taking a short nap.

"Sure? Can't I tell my own baby? Emma has black eyes; and, look for
yourself, is this my baby's dress?"

"I see no difference, my dear."

"But, Frederick, it's awful, and every minute we're going farther away
from our little darling."

"Well, my dear, if you are positive, we must turn back, but it is a
great pity such a mistake was made."

"Mrs. Reed dressed both the babies," explained Aunt Fanny, trying to
recover her senses, after the fright.

"And I only carried down the one she gave me," argued Ann, choking back
a sob. "I saw it was our baby's cloak, and I never mistrusted the right
one wasn't inside of it."

It was a difficult matter to make the driver comprehend that he was
expected to go eight or ten extra miles to change babies.

"Why isn't one as good as t'other?" he asked, grumbling. "The horses 'll
never go through with it, and at this time of night it's no use."

But Mr. Codman, who was now wide awake, and well understood the
distress which agitated his wife, without the squeeze she was giving his
hand, and her continual "Oh dear! Oh, my poor baby!" now said, firmly,--

"We wont waste words about it. We must go to Easton parsonage as quickly
as possible."

"I'll take the short cut, then, across the moor. The moon is so bright I
can keep out of the ruts."

"But then we lose the chance of seeing them. They may have found out
the mistake earlier, and be on the way to meet us. Drive on!"

But driver still demurred, muttering that it was a bad job, and he
couldn't be going over the ground four times without good pay.

"How much do you want for yourself?" asked the gentleman. "I hire the
carriage by the month."

"A couple of dollars is little enough."

"I'll give you three; now drive on."

The carriage door shut with a snap, and they started off, driver lashing
his horses with the whip.

"We must look out that they don't pass us," said the clergyman.

"I'll keep watch," responded Aunt Fanny, decidedly. "I wonder what Josey
would say if he were awake?"

"If our driver had been a father," exclaimed Mrs. Codman, "he wouldn't
have asked why one wouldn't do as well as t'other."

"Hem!" exclaimed Aunt Fanny, indignantly. "'Twouldn't have hurt the man
to have heard your sermon to-night, brother. I don't think he's very
kind, any way."

"He was probably at the ale-house, and had taken enough to make him
cross."

"Had he heard you describe how God rewards our love to others by peace
in our own hearts, he would have been more kind."

"Well, Fanny, be as tender in your thoughts as you can. It is hard for
the man to lose three or four hours of his sleep."

"O, you always are ready to find excuses!" she answered, laughing.

"I ought to practise what I preach, oughtn't I?" He looked archly in her
face.

"I hope Emma wont wake," said mamma, anxiously. "Little Rosa sleeps as
quietly as a kitten. How strange that none of us noticed the change."

"It's no joke," said Fanny, though she could not help laughing.

They were going over a rough part of the road, and Josey, after growing
restless, suddenly started up.

"Are we most home?" he asked in a sleepy tone.

"We'll get there by and by," answered his father, cheerfully.

"I'm afraid we shall have to go all the way to Mr. Matthews'," said
mamma. "Next time, I'll dress baby myself.'

"Miss Fanny sent me to put on my bonnet," urged nurse. "She said you
were in a hurry."

"No one is to blame, nurse," said her kind master. "It is simply
unfortunate."

Mile after mile they drove on, only meeting an occasional carriage,
until they came in sight of Easton Parsonage. Here the lights were all
out, except one in the chamber; and there persons could be seen moving
about.

A vigorous knock soon brought Mr. Matthews to the door. "I heard
wheels," he said, "and more than half suspected who it was. We made a
sad mistake."

Martin came down, her face very red, bringing baby Emma, and Ann gladly
gave up her charge.

Mrs. Matthews soon appeared with marks of tears.

"Wasn't it dreadful!" she exclaimed, with a fresh burst of grief. "I
wanted to go right back. We were only two miles from the city when we
found out we had brought away the wrong baby; but Mr. Matthews said no,
we must keep her till morning. He thought it very careless of us, but"--

"There was no carelessness about it," urged Fanny, indignantly. "Mrs.
Reed wanted to help; and she put on the wrong cloaks, that was all.
There was never a thought with us of not coming back. Brother wouldn't
have hesitated if it had been twice as far. We knew you'd want your
baby, and we wanted ours."

"I thought you would understand that we should keep your little Miss
till morning," explained Mr. Matthews.

"But mothers have such tender hearts," added Mr. Codman, "and we ought
to thank God for it. Come, wife, we must be off. We have fourteen miles
to go, and it's almost twelve o'clock."

"There's a difference in ministers as in other folks," whispered Martin
aside to Ann. "Mr. Matthews scolded well, and wouldn't hear of going
back; but your master did as he would be done by."

"Just like his text," returned Ann. "'Be ye kind one to another.'"




CHAPTER IV.

JOSEY'S TEMPER.


It was a little past two when the weary family alighted at their own
door. For the last few miles, the moon had been clouded; the horses were
tired; and they had to drive with care.

"Tell Cook we'll have a late breakfast," said mamma, taking her babe
with a kiss. "Now, Nurse, go and get all the sleep you can."

The following morning, Josey couldn't remember coming home at all. He
opened his large hazel eyes very wide, as Aunt Fanny told him what had
happened.

"I'm glad we found her; isn't you?" he asked, again and again.

Baby Emma received a great many extra kisses that day, and the next, and
whenever mamma thought about the mistake. But one week after another
passed on, Mr. Codman preaching once in a while, until Spring came
again.

When Emma was a year and a half old, she was full of mischief; and
Josey, who was now five, sometimes got out of patience. He was just
learning to read, and liked nothing better than to sit on Aunt Fanny's
knee and hear her tell stories. Sometimes Emma, finding no one
watching, would get to mamma's basket and overturn all the spools, or
tangle the thread, and then Aunt Fanny had to start up and attend to
her, and stop the stories very short.

Or baby would climb on a chair to her brother's shelf and pull his nice
books to the floor. Once, indeed, he came in from a walk, and found
mamma busy with a caller, and Emma, who had been left there while Nurse
went an errand, doing a great deal of mischief. She had a new book in
her hand, and just as he found her she was tearing out three or four
leaves, laughing and shouting with delight. Josey ran to take his book
away; but it was too late. His Christmas present was spoiled. Poor boy!
he cried as if his heart would break, and was very angry with his
sister, more so than his mamma had ever seen him. He struck her little
fat hand, exclaiming,--

"You are naughty! naughty! and I don't love you any more."

The visitor rose to go, and Mrs. Codman did not detain her. She was so
grieved at her little boy's actions, she could scarcely command her
voice to say "good-bye." She rung the bell for Ann, and then, taking
Josey by the hand, led him away to his own chamber.

He glanced up into his mamma's face and saw it was very white, and he
began to be sorry for his bad temper.

"Oh, Josey!" she commenced at last, seating him on her knee, "do you
know how you've grieved mamma?" and then the tears began to roll down
her cheeks.

"Emma tore my best book," he said, softly.

"Emma is only a baby, Joseph, and didn't know any better. If you hadn't
struck her, papa would have bought you another one. But, Josey, you
gave way to your anger, and told your darling little sister that you
didn't love her."

"I think she's too big to tear my pictures out," he said, sighing.

"She must be taught to let your things alone," answered mamma, "and you
must remember to put them out of her way; but all the pictures in the
world wouldn't excuse you for treating her so unkindly. Don't you
remember that pretty verse you learned last Sunday? 'Be kindly
affectioned one to another, in honor preferring one another.' Papa
explained to you what it Meant."

"I'm sorry, mamma; but I want my pretty book."

"I'm sorry, too."

She said these words in such a sad tone that Joseph softened at once. He
threw his arms around her neck, exclaiming,--

"Mamma, I'm going to be good and love God like little Samuel in the
temple."

She held him close to her breast, whispering, "'He who loveth God,
loveth his brother also.' This is what St. John tells us. 'If a man say,
I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar.'"

"Oh, mamma! I'm real sorry."

"And he says, too, 'My little children, let us not love in word, neither
in tongue, but in deed and in truth.'"

"What does that mean, mamma, to love _in deed_?"

"It means that it does no good merely to say 'I love you, I love God;'
but we must show it by our actions."

"How could I show Emma, mamma, when she was tearing my book?"

"Think for yourself, Josey."

He looked very serious, his cheeks growing more and more red, but at
last he said, softly,--

"I might have taken the book away, and put it up high; and I might
think, 'She is so little, she don't know any better;' and after I said,
'naughty, naughty!' as you and papa do, then I could kiss her."

"Yes, my own darling, that would have been Christ-like, loving, kind,
and forgiving; and your heart, instead of burning with anger toward your
precious sister, would have been filled with the sweetest emotion, such
as is implied by the words, 'Be kindly affectioned one to another.'"

"May I go and kiss Emma now, mamma?"

"Yes, darling; and I hope you will learn how pleasant love is,
especially between brothers and sisters."




CHAPTER V.

JOSEY'S CHRISTMAS.


Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, had come and gone; and now Josey was
seven years old, and Emma was baby no longer. There was a tiny girl in
the cradle who was named Grace. The family had returned to their own
home; Mr. Codman preached to his old people.

Aunt Fanny was still with them, though she had agreed to go on a mission
to India with a gentleman now studying for the ministry. She was the
same ardent girl as before, loving her brother's family, and devoted to
their comfort.

Joseph had from his birth been much in her care and was a prime
favorite. She had grieved with his parents at the unkindness and
impatience he had sometimes shown his sister; and she rejoiced with
them that he was becoming so kind and affectionate.

Though Joseph was so young, yet his parents hoped he had become a lamb
of the Good Shepherd. He had faults, as all children have; but he tried
to correct them. His face sometimes flushed when Emma teased him or
meddled with his books, of which he was very careful; but he never
struck her now, and seldom was angry but a minute.

"I try to think," he said to his mamma, "that she don't know better, and
that she's almost always good; and if I wait a minute and remember about
Christ forgiving me, then I feel happy right away."

Josey showed in one way that he was a Christian child. He loved
everybody, and tried to be good to all.

Among the poor people belonging to his father's church, no one was more
welcome to their humble cottages than little Josey. He always had a
pleasant word for each, and often spent hours of his play-time in
reading to the old women of the parish.

At Christmas, his greatest treat, and one that he spent weeks in
preparing for, was to take his box sled (the one he drew his sister in,)
and fill it with the presents he had prepared for his friends.

"Though they are poor," he said, over and over, "I love them dearly,
and I want to have them know it." So he spent all his pocket-money in
buying what mamma and Aunt Fanny thought would be useful.

A pair of mittens for one poor orphan, a flannel shirt for a rheumatic
old man, a pair of glasses for another, and plenty of pies, which he had
hired cook to make. He hired her, because he wanted to feel that the
gifts were his and not his mother's.

Do you wonder every body, rich and poor, loved him, and that, wherever
he went, blessings were showered on his head?

I don't mean those worthless words that so many beggars use without
meaning: "A thousand blessings on your head, Miss."

Oh, no! But real, heart-felt prayers that God would be his Father and
Friend forever.

Do you suppose Josey was a cross, sulky boy? Can you imagine him wearing
a frown? or with his lips in an ugly pout?

No, indeed! It is not possible for one who cultivates such love for all
around him; for one who tries in this way to imitate the example of his
blessed Saviour to be unhappy or cross. Those children who think only of
themselves, who are selfish and greedy, who never heed the blessed
words, "Be ye kind one to another," are the persons to wear sour faces
and pouting lips.

Don't you remember what the good Book says, "Her ways are ways of
pleasantness and all her paths are peace." That means Wisdom's ways, and
one of these paths is love; love to God and love to those around us.

You can well imagine that Josey's father and mother, and aunt and nurse,
were delighted in seeing him growing up to be a good boy; and each of
them were ready to assist him in correcting his faults.

He was neat and orderly; keeping his little treasures arranged nicely
in the drawers mamma gave him, and his clothes each on their own hooks
in his closet. But Joseph was not always prompt in attention to his
duties. He liked so much to hear the talk at table or at the fireside,
that it was a real trial to him to leave the pleasant company, and the
delightful things that were being said; and he often lingered when he
ought to have been on his way to school.

Aunt Fanny used sometimes, by an anxious glance toward the clock, to
remind him of his duty, for she hated to have her favorite reproved; or
his mamma would say gently, "You'll be late again, Josey." If the
conversation was very interesting, he would only push back his chair a
little and wait for papa to say,--

"My son, go this moment."

One day his mamma had a long talk with him on the subject of
procrastination, after which he did much better.

She explained to him that the meaning of the command, "Honor thy father
and thy mother," was not only that a child must obey when told to "go"
or "stay;" but he must strive in every thing to act as would please
them. He must honor them by anticipating their wishes, by acting when
they were absent as he knew they would approve if they were present.

She told him that he could please the Lord Jesus by a dutiful attention
to their desires, such as, always to be in season for school, or
punctual to any engagement, just as much as by being honest and
truthful. The dear Saviour would look into his heart and know he was
trying to do right out of love for him.




CHAPTER VI.

THE BURNED BABY.


The winter after Josey was eight years old, his parents received a visit
from their dear friends Mr. and Mrs. Matthews and little Rose. Two
infant brothers had died since they last met, and Rose was still their
only daughter.

Emma was now in her fifth year, and Rose only a few weeks younger.

Many a time during the visit, did the mothers and Aunt Fanny talk over
the mistake made by Mrs. Reed, at which no one was more sorry than Mrs.
Reed herself. Many a time they laughed over the question of the cross
driver:

"Why wont one do as well as t'other?"

The man had married afterward, and when a tiny babe was put into his
arms, and he was told it was his own, he understood well why every
father and mother love their own children best.

Aunt Fanny was soon going to leave the country. They had all been busy
for months in getting her clothes ready for the voyage, and a missionary
society in the village were making shirts, etc., for her friend, Mr.
Barnard.

One afternoon, she walked to the village to give some directions that
had been requested, and took the opportunity to make her last calls on
some of her poor families.

The tea hour passed, and she did not return. Her brother did not know
where she was gone, so they were obliged to wait patiently for her
return, though Josey grew every moment more anxious.

At last it was within half an hour of his bedtime,--Emma and Rose had
long before gone to their cribs,--when Aunt Fanny's welcome voice was
heard.

She looked very pale, and all knew at once that something must have
happened. She motioned Josey to her side, and laid her head on his
shoulder as he stood by. Presently she exclaimed,--

"I have seen a dreadful sight! Oh, I never can get it out of my mind!
The screams and shrieks, I hear them yet!"

"What is it? do tell us," urged her sister.

"You know little Juley Lane, what a passionate child she has always
been. I told Mrs. Lane the last time I was there, it wasn't safe to
leave her with the baby. She didn't seem to have any love for him. Now
she's killed him."

Josey gave a start and sob of horror, while Mrs. Codman exclaimed,--

"Shocking! terrible! how did it happen?"

"I was making calls," added Fanny, with a groan, "and I met Mrs. Lane.
She was hurrying with a basket of clean clothes, and told me she'd been
obliged to leave Juley with her old mother and the baby. I told her I
was going to call, which relieved her anxiety, and she said she'd be
home in a short time.

"Long before I reached the house I heard awful groans, and on opening
the door, what a sight was before me.

"Mrs. Lane, thinking the baby would be safer, had tied him into the high
chair, and set him in front of the stove. Julia had one of her fits of
anger and pushed him over. His poor hands and face fell upon the hot
iron and burned to a crisp. When I went in, the old woman had crawled on
her hands and feet, to the place, and was trying, with her poor deformed
fingers, to release him. Juley stood by, frightened and crying, but not
able to do anything.

"I flew to untie him from his chair, which was in a bright blaze, and
then rushed to the door to send for a doctor. Then the mother came. Oh,
dear! I wouldn't go through such a scene again for a kingdom. I don't
believe the poor child was conscious; the doctor thought not; but such a
sight! You wouldn't know him from a piece of burnt wood; and there he
lay, only showing he was alive by a feeble groan.

"Mrs. Lane shrieked and tore her hair, and when Juley pulled her dress,
I was afraid she'd kill her, too. So I got a neighbor to carry her off,
screaming and fighting. The old woman hasn't been across the room
before by herself for a year, and now lies speechless on the bed; I
don't believe she'll live till morning."

Mr. Codman put on his hat directly and hurried away to the distressed
family, while his wife took off Fanny's hat, and brought her a cup of
tea, begging her to try and eat a piece of toast.

"You'll be sick, dear, if you don't," she urged. "The shock has been too
much for you."

"I can't hold the cup;" sobbed Fanny, giving way at last; and then she
held up her poor burned hands and arms.

"Oh! oh dear!" screamed her sister.

"My poor, poor girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Matthews; and then they and Josey
and Nurse all cried together.

In less than half an hour Mr. Codman returned, and the doctor with him.

The old woman had breathed her last. Fanny had saved her from burning
to death, by tearing off her blazing clothes at the risk of her own
life. The neighbors all said Miss Fanny was an angel. If it had not been
for her presence of mind, the house would have been burned, and the
widow have lost everything.

The doctor bound up the poor, blistered hands and arms, talking
cheerfully as he did so, but, his eyes grew moist as he told them
afterward what she had done.




CHAPTER VII.

JOSEY'S SORROW.


In the hurry and excitement, no one thought of little Josey. It was not
till Aunt Fanny was sinking to sleep from the effects of the doctor's
medicine that his mother found him sobbing by himself in the corner.

"What will become of Juley, mamma? will she have to be put into
prison?"

"Don't think about Juley to-night, dear," she answered, soothingly.
"You'll cry yourself sick. We must all thank God, who saved our dear
Aunt Fanny's life. She was so good and thoughtful, and did not once stop
on account of the pain in her hands, but threw water on the flames, and
almost lifted the old woman into bed."

"Oh, mamma! I am glad about that; but I can't help thinking, if you
hadn't taught me to love my sister, and not give way to temper, I might
have--I mean, dear, darling Emma might have been burned to death. Do you
think God has forgiven me, mamma, for striking her as I used to?"

"Yes, Josey, I am sure He has. You're a kind, affectionate brother now,
teaching your sister to be patient and obliging."

She saw the shock had been too much for him. He trembled excessively as
he tried to unbutton his jacket.

"I'll talk with you all about it to-morrow," she said; "try to say your
prayers now, and go to sleep."

"But, mamma, are you sure Aunt Fanny will get well? She did groan so,
when the doctor touched her arm."

"Oh, yes! I hope she'll be better in a few days. Burns are always very
painful at first."

"Well, Aunt Fanny is a good missionary. Isn't she? She was kind one to
another."

"Yes, indeed! she always is that; just like your father, you know."

Mr. Codman wrote Mr. Barnard the same evening, and he came the day but
one after the poor baby was burned, just as Mr. and Mrs. Codman were
starting to attend the funeral of the old lady and child.

Fanny was dressed and sitting in an easy chair, both arms bandaged to
the elbows and laid out on a pillow. She looked very white, except where
a fever spot burned on each cheek. Mrs. Matthews sat by, talking in a
cheerful tone, while Rose and Emma played with their dolls in the corner
of the chamber.

With a gentle knock Mrs. Codman peeped in, asking, in a mysterious
voice,--

"Are you ready for visitors?" Then, without waiting for an answer, she
beckoned the young missionary to come forward.

He flew to her side, and, not daring to trust his voice, instantly
kissed her cheek.

"This is Mrs. Matthews," Mrs. Codman said. "She will be happy to tell
you what a heroine your Fanny has been. I must run away, or I shall be
late."

Mrs. Matthews repeated some of the particulars of the dreadful accident,
and then, seeing how hard it was for the young man to control his
feelings, rose, and calling the children, left the room with them.

"My own Fanny," he said, putting his hand softly on her head, "I wish I
could bear this dreadful pain for you. How could you expose your
precious life? What should I have done if you too"--

He stopped suddenly, and walked to the window, but soon returned at the
sound of her voice, saying,--

"James, you are making quite too much of what I did. Any one would have
done the same. I could never look you in the face if I had not tried to
relieve such terrible suffering. But Oh, it was dreadful! I cannot
forget it."

Tears filled her eyes, and he tenderly wiped them away.

"I cannot sleep," she went on, "except under the influence of anodynes.
The shrieks and groans ring in my ears."

"Your nervous system has had a shock, and it will take time to recover.
You know I have been studying a little medicine, and I shall take you
for my first patient. I prescribe perfect rest, and that you see no one
but me."

Fanny laughed. "Josey will have something to say to that," she began.
"He has been the most unwearied little nurse, and his face has grown
very sad."

"Dear little fellow! I shall love him better than ever."

Mr. Barnard staid two days, and then Fanny was obliged to insist that he
should leave her, as there were not quite two months before they were to
sail, and she knew that every moment of his time was filled with
engagements.

Her burns were less painful, and it would still be weeks before she
could help herself at all; but she was surrounded with friends who
delighted in doing anything for her comfort.

She bade him good-bye, with a tear and a smile, not expecting to see him
again till a day or two before their marriage.

He looked back to watch her sitting so white and patient, without one
murmuring word, and thanked God that she was so soon to be his own
loving, faithful wife.

Josey rejoiced that now he could return to his labor of love and feed
his beloved aunt; for she insisted that he did it more skilfully than
any of them.

Those were precious hours to the dear boy, when, with the tray before
him and a spoon in his hand, he ministered to her wants, meantime
telling her all the thoughts of his little heart. Years after he
remembered the words she had said, and tried to improve by them.

He was now fully determined to be a missionary and go out to tell the
heathen about Christ, as his aunt Fanny was going. He began at once to
gather all the tracts and primers he could find, and packed them in an
old valise.

His mother found them there some months later; and explained to him that
the poor Hindoos could not read English.




CHAPTER VIII.

JOSEY'S GIFT.


Aunt Fanny's burns were now nearly healed. For a week she had been
without the bandages, though the wounds were still tender. Her trunks
were mostly packed, and many tokens of love placed there by beloved
friends.

When with her brother's family the young missionary always wore a
cheerful smile; but there were hours when she wept at the thought of
parting from those who were so dear. Yet not for one instant did she
regret the choice of her life. She was going to tell the poor benighted
heathen of the love of Jesus,--to try and persuade them to throw away
their idols, and worship the living and true God.

As she thought of all this, and realized what a privilege it was to save
souls from eternal death, her whole heart glowed with a desire to be
among those for whom she was to labor.

Mr. and Mrs. Matthews had been travelling for some weeks, but had now
returned to be in season for the wedding.

On the Sabbath night previous, the family were seated in the library,
when mamma noticed that Josey was not present. She could not account for
this, because, when out of school, he was scarcely a moment away from
his aunt's side. She went through several rooms in search of him, and
at last found him in a closet by himself, sobbing as if his heart would
break.

"Why must Aunt Fanny go?" he sobbed, "I can't bear it,--I can't bear not
to see her any longer!"

"My darling," said mamma, taking his hand, and leading him to her own
chamber, "do you know what Aunt Fanny is going for?"

"Yes, mamma, but couldn't somebody else do it?" She stopped a moment
and then said,--

"Josey, there was a time, thousands of years ago, when man had sinned,
and there was no hope nor joy for him in the world; there was only the
certainty that his soul must be miserable forever. Then our blessed
Saviour said, 'I pity these poor people and shall try to save them.' He
left his glorious throne, by the side of his Father, and came here to
give himself to death.

"The love and pity of God the Father was so great, that he sent his
beloved Son, that whosoever believeth on him shall have everlasting
life.

"The poor Hindoos know nothing of the true God. They have not the
precious Bible, as we have, to tell them that they need not throw their
babies to the crocodiles,--they need not tear and wound their own flesh,
nor throw themselves under the wheels of the cruel Juggernaut. Your aunt
Fanny and uncle James are going to tell them, they need do nothing of
all this. They desire to say to those poor, ignorant men and women and
children, that Christ's love for them is so great that if they will but
come and accept of his salvation, it shall be freely theirs. She wants
to tell the poor, weary pilgrims, who have been walking hundreds of
miles with stones in their shoes, that the blessed Jesus will accept
them without money, without price, without any of these painful
journeys,--that they have only to lay their load of sin upon him, and he
will carry it for them."

Josey's tears ceased to flow, and he listened with almost breathless
interest.

"Do you want to keep Aunt Fanny from telling them this?" mamma asked.
"Do you want them to go on worshipping those senseless idols, which can
neither see, nor hear, nor understand?"

With a great sob Josey answered,

"No, mamma, I love her dearly, dearly; but I'll let Jesus have her.
He'll know then how I love him."

With a gush of tears, she folded him to her heart. When they were more
calm, she urged him to return to the parlor.

"Pretty soon I will," he said softly, "And oh, mamma, if you'll please
let me sit up an hour later every night till she--I mean, till we're all
alone. Now I'm going to write her a letter."

My little reader, would you like to read it, and see how our dear Josey
showed his love to his Saviour? how he tried to obey the rule, "My
little children let us not love in word, neither in tongue, but in deed
and in truth?" It was this:


     "My dear, darling Aunt Fanny:

     "I've been thinking a great deal about you, and once I said
     I couldn't let you go away; but I'm willing now. I know I
     shall miss you dreadfully. And it makes me cry to think how
     I shall want to hear you pray by my bed, every night; but
     I'll tell you why I'm willing. You know I'm trying to be a
     Christian child, and I do hope the dear Saviour has pardoned
     my sins; so I want to show Him that I really thank Him for
     it, and to-night, I said to myself, 'I have nothing to give
     Jesus, to show him my love, but my dear, dear aunty. I do
     hope it will show the heathen a little, that I love them,
     and want to be kind to them. When you get there, will you
     please tell them a little boy gave his aunt to the Saviour,
     so that they may learn the way to heaven.

     "When I am a man, I hope I shall be a missionary, too; and
     perhaps then God will let me see you and Uncle James again.

                                        "Your little nephew,

                                        "JOSEY CODMAN."




MRS. LESLIE'S

BIBLE PEARLS.


_Series for Boys._

    VOL. I. THE PEARL OF LOVE.

     "  II.  "    "   "  CHARITY.

     "  III. "    "   "  OBEDIENCE.

     "  IV.  "    "   "  PENITENCE.

     "  V.   "    "   "  HOPE.

     "  VI.  "    "   "  PATIENCE.


_Series for Girls._


    VOL. I. THE PEARL OF FAITH.

     "  II.  "    "   "  DILIGENCE.

     "  III. "    "   "  MEEKNESS.

     "  IV.  "    "   "  FORGIVENESS.

     "  V.   "    "   "  HOPE.

     "  VI.  "    "   "  CONTENTMENT.