The Truthful Pioneer's Boy.
Nearly sixty years ago a gaunt, awkward boy of sixteen looked in at the open door of a small log cabin on the outer edge of one of our Western frontiers, and pleasantly inquired, “Any chores you wish done, mother? I came home early on purpose this evening; for I want to begin that job of chopping to-morrow, and I shall want to take an early start.” “You are a good son, Abra'm, to think of me,” replied the woman proudly, turning at the sound of his voice. “I am sure I know of no one who has a better right to be in my thoughts,” the boy returned. The woman smiled upon him pleasantly, and then handed him a couple of buckets, saying, “If you are a-mind to give me a lift, you may fill the tubs with water from the spring, as to-morrow will be washing day; and then, if you would just see where the cow has strayed, and bring her in and milk her, I am sure I would be greatly obliged.” “I'll have her pulled in good time, mother, never fear. Come, Sallie, and ride down to the spring,” he continued, perching his little seven-year-old step-sister on his broad shoulders. I am persuaded that very few of my young friends ever looked upon such an ungainly specimen of humanity as was this tall, awkward prairie boy, who went striding to the spring, chatting merrily with his little sister, who declared that he was far better than real brothers, who were always teasing their sisters. I am sure the tired woman who watched him from the cabin door thought him very beautiful in spite of his homely features and uncouth ways. “Come, Sallie,” called her mother, just as the little girl mounted her brother's shoulders for a fine race through the tall grass in search of the cow. The child, not wishing to be cheated out of the sport, showed no disposition to obey, until her brother placed her on the ground, saying, “Mother called, Sallie; run and see what she wants.” The little girl hung her head, but obeyed her brother without questioning. “God bless the boy! He could not be any better to me if he were my own. I do not know how I could get along without him.” “‘Without him!’ I don't know as you need worry about that, mother,” replied her husband. “Abra'm will not leave us for many a day.” “I hope he will think it best to make his home with us; but, take my word for it, that boy will not be shut in by hewn logs much longer. You will be proud of him yet, father.” “I am in no way ashamed of him now,” the old man returned. “Mayhap he will make a place for himself in the world yet, for he takes to book larnin' like a fish to water.” “You will hear from him if you live long enough, father; never fear,” the woman responded, with an emphatic nod of her head. Long before the sun was up, the boy had completed his work in and around the cabin. Sallie was anxious to go with him to the woods, but her mother objected, and he set out alone. With his ax slung over his shoulder, he made long strides over the trodden path, whistling merrily as he went. When over a mile from home, he was startled by a little figure springing from a way-side thicket, with, “I beat you, Abra'm;” but the laugh changed into a piteous cry, for the little girl struck the ax and cut a deep gash just above her ankle. “Sallie, how came you here when mother told you to remain at home?” inquired her brother, as he tried to stop the flow of blood by applying broad plantain leaves. After he had partially succeeded, he tore half the sleeve from the coarse white shirt he wore, and bandaged the injured limb as gently as her mother would have done. “There now, Sis! Tell me how you got here?” And the girl told how she had cut across lots in order to frighten him. “You frightened yourself much worse than you did me,” he said with a smile; “but the saddest thing about it is, you disobeyed mother.” “You won't tell, Abra'm?” sobbed the child. “No; you must tell her all about it yourself, Sallie. First, tell the truth, no matter what happens,” he said, as he lifted her in his great, strong arms and walked rapidly home. Placing her on the door-step, he whispered: “Now hop in and tell her the truth. Better be whipped than to tell a lie. Now good-by; I must be off, for the morning is running to waste.” Sallie did tell the truth, and received her mother's forgiveness; nor did she ever forget the two lessons—those of obedience and truthfulness—that her brother tried to teach her that bright autumn morning. I need not tell that honest Abraham Lincoln preserved his truthfulness and integrity even in the most trying hours of our country's existence, for a boy with his sterling principles may always be relied upon. Always tell the truth, no matter what may happen.—Christian Standard.