That Little Leather Strap.
By Emma Hildreth Adams
FATHER, mother, study this picture. It portrays but a brief incident in the life of two tiny human beings, able to speak, just now, but few words of their native tongue, yet marvelously quick to understand ordinary conversation in their home. The occurrence may seem to you very trifling. But think into it. Think out beyond it. Think of the fruit that may ripen from such sowing. Possibly there may be housed herein a lesson which may pay for the learning, may be suggestive, even helpful in rearing little ones committed to your care. A few days since, the writer was invited to dine with some dear friends—in a near-by city of Southern California. At table were gathered, besides the father, mother, and the writer, three little boys, the latter constituting the juvenile portion of the family. The eldest child is a lad of seven years. The two younger are brothers in a peculiar sense. Both stepped into life the same hour. Upon this small world they have passed less than two years. Both are full of vitality and intensely active the days through except when taking their afternoon sleep. Both carry immense heads, packed, seemingly, with most forceful ideas. At meal time, for several months past, the parents have given them seats at table. Usually, the mother prepares their food immediately—one or two of the simplest materials of the repast, with some kind of fruit and milk or cold water. They are fed moderately, and then sent from table in charge, it may be, of the elder brother. This plan includes oftentimes certain special and impressive features. Almost from the moment these big little men are placed in their high seats, they start an exhibition which must be seen to be appreciated. Each one, from his seat beside the mother, extends his conspicuous head far toward her, opens wide his small mouth,—as do young birds, eager for the worm the mother bird has foraged for them,—pours forth a stream of vehement, inarticulate entreaty for food, while his tiny hands, making gestures indescribable for rapidity, keep time with the craving music. On the occasion to which the writer refers, no sooner had a few mouthfuls been served the mites and the remarkable concert opened, than the mother drew from beside her plate a short, narrow leather strap, and administered to the darting hands of first one, then the other, several quick, stinging strokes, saying in soft, gentle tones: “Mama will whip if you don’t keep still. Mind what I say.” The little fellows did mind what she said; but the same importuning for food, the same eloquent gesticulations with the baby hands, the same little whippings and soft threats continued until infantile appetite had been satisfied, when its possessors withdrew cheerfully in favor of their elders at table. Could that scene have been avoided? Were the little ones profited by its occurrence? Might not its omission have saved discomfort and embarrassment to the guest present? What was the matter with the little fellows? They were simply impatient. Suppose the moment they began to tease, to gesticulate, to let tears rain from their lovely blue eyes, to entreat with every feature of their pretty faces, the mother had taken them into another room, alone, and there, in a firm, gentle, and kindly way, had made them understand that only by sitting quietly at table and receiving their food as she could minister it to them, could they partake of the dinner with papa and their friend. Could not the mother have there taught them a powerful lesson in patience—one of the noblest qualities of heart and mind, a great attribute of God Himself? Could she not have begun in them the development of powers to restrain intense desire; to hush the voice of craving want; to bear delay with calmness; to meet disappointment without repining, provocation without anger, defeat without defeat—with victory? True, it takes years to accomplish results like these. God Himself consumes years in producing such outcomes in His children. But, you may say: “These children are but infants. Can a mother begin so soon to develop in her little ones that masterful quality classed by Paul with godliness, faith, and love? They are too young to catch the meaning of matters so grave.” Ah, but they do understand, even so near the start in life. Time after time the writer has noted, in these tiny brothers, their quick, clear comprehension of similar ideas. Not that they can give a definition of patience, or even give name to the thing. But they can be taught to practise it, and thus unconsciously almost be made to build it into character; to convert it into priceless stock which shall be ready on call in these years of sudden, startling, momentous changes; this period of strenuous tests for young and old. In these days a mother can hardly do better for her children than to fortify them with patience. Probably no other trait of character will be so often called into service. The words of Christ: “In your patience possess ye your souls,” and the words of Paul: “Ye have need of patience,” with those of James: “Let patience have its perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing,” never appealed, warned, advised, more loudly than they will in the near-by, onrushing years.