Don't Taste | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 23, 1882

Don't Taste.

SAM came out of the corner grocery looking very unlike his usual self. He generally held up his head straight and walked along with a firm lively step, probably whistling as he went.

Just now he looked around as if he was afraid of any one seeing him—as if he was ashamed of himself—in short, he wore, in face and figure, what you might call a decidedly sneaky look.

He felt sneaky. He wanted to get out of the way.

He began walking faster and faster, not towards his home, where he knew his mother would have a warm welcome for him, with perhaps something else warm in the oven; and his little sisters would be glad to have him play croquet with them.

Neither did he go to see the Carter boys, although he knew they would be looking for him to play a good game of ball. He went by the quietest road towards the woods.

Most boys like to have company when they go to the woods, but Sam seemed to prefer his own company. He struck into the deepest shade he could find—where the yellow sunshine of the bright October afternoon could hardly manage to get in a few long rays to touch up the dark green.

At last he came to a place where a great wild grape vine drooped, a tough branch from the boughs of a tree far above him, and, climbing to the trunk below, formed a sort of half-swing, half-seat.

Sam threw himself on this branch and took something out of his pocket.

What was it? What could this boy have come out here all alone for.

He held in his hand and looked at—a dirty-looking, bad-smelling piece of plug tobacco!

He had made up his mind to try it, but he did not want any one to see him. It did not look very nice, and he began to wonder why he had wanted it.

In the quiet shade and pure air about him it seemed to grow uglier and uglier.

A great many good reasons he had heard against the use of tobacco crowded themselves upon his mind, but he could not recall one in its favor.

Some of the boys thought it very smart to chew or smoke, but he could not help remembering that these were boys he cared least for.

He was cutting off a piece of the stuff when he heard a voice somewhere near quietly asking,—

"Chew? Chew? Chew-w-w?"

He stared around in great wonder. No one was to be seen; could anybody have followed him? There was a rustling in the branches above him; he had heard it ever since he had shaken them to the very top as he threw himself on the grape stem.

"Chew! Chew! Chew!" came again, and he peered anxiously into the foliage above his head.

There was a face looking out at him, sure enough, a face—more grave and solemn than a preacher's.

Sam laughed aloud as the old hoot-owl again croaked at him. It sounded differently now that his own imagination did not help to turn the sound into an accusing word.

But just then there broke on the quiet so sharp a twitter close beside him that he fairly jumped from his seat.

"Quit it! Quit it! Quit-Quit-Quit!"

"Why, I haven't begun yet!" cried Sam, half startled, half in fun.

"Quit it! Quit it! Quit it!"

"I will!" He flung the nasty brown lump as far as he could into the bushes. A chipmunk gave a frightened chirp and ran up a tree.

"There, I'll leave it to you," said Sam, as he turned homeward. "If even the birds won't give a fellow any peace with his tobacco, I think he'd better 'quit it' and stay quit."

"I am glad enough, though," he said in a softer voice, as he neared home, and saw his mother looking out for him, "that I don't know the taste of it yet."

Boys, how many of you don't know it? Keep on saying it, and be proud of being able to.—Youth's Companion.