MARTHA E. WARNER by MARTHA E. WARNER

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Sep 2, 1915

MARTHA E. WARNER

By MARTHA E. WARNER

Front Porch Visits—No. 2

MARTHA E. WARNER

“What has Harold been doing now?” I asked Mrs. Bowen, as she sank wearily into one of my porch chairs.

“Scratching the children,” she answered, “and digging his nails into them. If you ever had any experience in that line, do tell me.”

“Yes,” I answered, “I have. Melvin was a nervous child, and had not been taught self-control when he came into our family. If anything did not suit, some one would get scratched. When he scratched so hard the blood came, I felt that drastic measures must be taken.

“Calling all the children except Melvin to me, I told them what I had decided to do, provided they would agree to help by not noticing Melvin, and never referring to it afterwards. Then, sending them out to play, I called Melvin and had a serious talk with him. I told him he reminded me of a cat, and a wild one at that, because a tame kitty never scratched unless in self-defense. Therefore for the rest of the day I should treat him as a cat, and being wild, I should tie him to the leg of the set tubs, until he was ready to be a manly boy again.

“So I tied him up, and gave him some spools to play with. When noon came, ‘pussy’ had his dinner on a plate on the floor. Sometime in the afternoon I noticed that the defiant look had left his face. As I passed him, I stroked his head, saying, ‘I really think the naughty old cat is going away, and I shall have my own boy back again.’ Then I left him alone. A little later I heard a faint ‘Mamma.’ When I went into the kitchen, the tears were streaming down his face. I put my arms around him and let him cry. When he could speak, he said, ‘Mamma, your boy has come back to stay. I will try so hard to control myself, but, mamma, pray for me.’”

For a moment all was quiet. Then Mrs. Bowen said, “My children never talk like that. I never pray with them. I—well—I must go home. I want to be by myself and think it all over.”

Clintonville, Conn.