MOTHER'S HAIR PRESERVATIVE.
By J. F. Cowan
“Been to the store, Jim?” “You go along and ’tend to your own business. I ain’t agoing to tell.” “Well, it looks like a bottle, anyway. If you don’t tell, I’ll go and put the boys onto the bottle of ale.” “Well, then, you’ll tell them a lie, for it ain’t ale.” “Well, then, I guess it’s soda water.” “No, it ain’t soda water.” “Then it’s mineral water.” “Then I guess it’s cod-liver oil.” “No, there ain’t no one to our house got consumption.” “Well, then, I’ll tell you. It’s a bottle of Hair Preservative to keep mother’s hair from turning gray and falling out. I know I wouldn’t want mine to fall out and leave me baldheaded.” “O, ho!” called out the other boy. “What’s making her get gray? I’ve heard that worry does it. Worrying over your badness, I’ll bet.” “Huh! better take that to yourself.” Then the boys separated and went their ways. But the boy who first spoke did take the first words of the other to himself. He couldn’t help thinking to himself, as he went down the street, what he had remarked about worry making gray hair, and wondering if some of these days he should have to be lugging home a bottle from the drug store, containing hair preservative, to keep his mother’s hair from growing gray. “If I do,” he said to himself, with a shrug of his shoulder, “I don’t want that Jim Ashton to catch me at it, for just as like as not he’d up and say, ‘I told you so; worrying over your badness.’” Then he walked a little farther, in a meditative10sort of way, cutting the head off a daisy with his stick here, and jabbing it into the ground after a tumblebug, who was scrambling to get out of his way there, but thinking neither of the daisy nor the tumblebug. Finally he stopped, and squared his back against the fence. “I wonder,” he quizzed himself, “if it is worry that makes people’s hair grow gray? for if it is, I know how to keep mother’s from getting so, that’s better than anything in the drug store.” He went home determined to keep his word. And he did. He slipped around into the wood-shed, and split a whole armful of the nicest kindling, finished it up by shaving off a handful of long, feathery shavings, and this he tucked in one end of the wood box, which he quickly filled with seasoned wood. Then he called his mother’s attention to it. “O, I’m so glad! I was just going to worry about your forgetting it, as you usually do, and father finding it out after he came home; but now I’ll have that off my mind.” Then the boy slipped around behind the wood-shed door, and grinned and chuckled, and rubbed his hands together, as tho he were enjoying something hugely. “Ha, ha!” he said to himself. “First dose of Mother’s Hair Preservative. Shake up well and apply frequently!” And then he went off to find his sister Susan. “See, here, Sue,” he called to her confidentially, “you ain’t going to dilly-dally and poke around about those dishes this evening, are you, and make mother come out to the kitchen half a dozen times, and ask you when you are going to get done?” “What business is that of yours?” Susan answered a little sharply. “Because if you are,” he said, “I’m just agoing to”— “Just agoing to do what, I’d like to know?” Susan demanded, with a little more asperity in her tone. “Why,” said Tom, with the utmost good nature, “I’m just going to come out and help you myself.” “You help wash the dishes? I’d like to see you!” “Well, see if I don’t then.” If Susan was a little slower than usual that evening, it must have been just to test her brother’s threat. And, sure enough, he did come, and helped her through so good-naturedly and so cleverly that she was surprised more than a little. “Tom,” she said, “what kind of a joke is this you are playing on me?” “The joke ain’t on you,” said Tom, “it’s on mother.” “Mother!” repeated Susan. “Yes,” said Tom; “it’s another dose of Mother’s Hair Preservative. She doesn’t know anything about it.” “Mother’s Hair Preservative!” again exclaimed Susan. “What in the world is the boy talking about?” Then Tom let her into the secret of the thing. Susan looked very thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I declare!” she said at last. “Who would have thought of such a thing as that?” “But it’s a great deal better than the drug-store kind, isn’t it?” Tom demanded. “Yes,” said Susan thoughtfully. “Then,” said Tom, “let’s give her another dose this evening. Shake up well, and use often—that’s the direction.” Then Tom and Susan had a brief consultation together in low tones, and the result was that pretty soon they started into the sitting-room, where father and mother were, together with a couple of sleepy-eyed youngsters, whose bedtime was evidently not far away. “Hello, Dickey!” said Tom to the elder of the two. “Want to see my new knife?” “Yes!” said Dickey, opening his eyes wide for an instant. “Come along with me and Susan, then,” said Tom. And Dickey was ready in a moment. “And Susan will bring little Mary along to see it, too,” said the elder sister coaxingly, drawing the little one to her, and picking her up. And the four left the room. The mother turned her eyes from her work to see what was going on; but as she could read no sign of mischief in their faces, she let them go without a word. In ten or fifteen minutes Tom and Susan both slipped into the room again; and before mother had time to start and exclaim: “What in the world have you done with the children? They’ll catch their death of colds out there alone,” Susan slipped up and whispered something into mother’s ear. The mother gave her a quick, pleased look, and then settled down to her work again with a sigh of relief, as tho she had just escaped something she rather dreaded. Then Susan sidled over to where Tom was by the fire, and nudged him, and pointed to mother, and Tom grinned, and rubbed his hands, and chuckled, and whispered something like this to Susan:— “The third dose since I came from school this evening! Shake well and use often. Ha, ha! Mother’s Hair Preservative! I guess I’ll apply for a patent.” “H-sh-sh-sh!” said Susan; “she’ll hear you. I believe I’ll slip out into the kitchen and set the buckwheat batter for breakfast, and then tell her about it when I come back.” “Good!” said Tom. “Dose number four! Shake well and use often. And I believe I’ll get down my geography and learn my lesson for to-morrow before mother begins to wonder if I won’t miss and get poor marks in my class. Heigh-ho! Never thought of that! Dose number five! Shake well and use often—Mother’s Hair Preservative! Great scheme! Read our testimonials; manufactured at home; Tom and Susan proprietors; not on sale at all drug stores.” “Capital!” he said to himself. “Dose number six! Shake well and use often—Mother’s Hair Preservative; manufactured by Susan and Tom.” And he went at his study as tho no geography lesson had ever been half so pleasant to learn as that one. But when Susan came back from fixing the buckwheat batter, and whispered in mother’s ear again, they both saw the pleased and gratified look which came quickly; the geography lesson had to be interrupted by another little consultation and some more chuckles upon the part of Tom. They were very well pleased with the success of their scheme. And it is my opinion that “Mother’s Hair Preservative, manufactured by Susan and Tom,” is going to be the most brilliant success of anything in its line that has ever been invented. It ought to become a very popular remedy.—Rev. J. F. Cowan, in Sunday School Times.