Bert’s Queer Gift by Kate W. Hamilton

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Apr 8, 1886

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 12, No. 14.

Bert’s Queer Gift.

By Kate W. Hamilton

A CARELESS nail—it must have been the nail which was careless—had torn Bert’s coat; but Aunt Marion had just finished the bit of delicate darning that made the jagged rent invisible. She was shaking out the garment to hang it away, when something dropped from one of the pockets and fell on the carpet at her feet. She picked it up—a little brown leafy roll—sniffed its odor disdainfully, and, resisting her first inclination to toss it into the grate, slowly laid it on the table beside her.

"Well, that is just what I have suspected for some time," she said. "Poor Bert! I suppose he thinks himself on the sure road to manliness now."

The words were spoken only to herself, however; she said nothing to any one else about it, though she sat for a few minutes with a very thoughtful face before she hung the coat away and took up other work. If Bert missed anything from his pocket, he made no inquiries. He was thankful that Aunt Marion made none, and, as she did not, he soon forgot the trifling affair in what he considered more important matters. Chief among these was his birthday, which came a few days later, and it was a very bright face which greeted the parcels that lay beside his plate at breakfast.

"But what is this?" he asked with a puzzled look, as, in among the books, telescopes, and half a dozen other things that he wanted, he discovered a neat little box holding only a short steel chain.

"That? Why, that is a wrist chain," answered Aunt Marion, with great earnestness, as if the question were a surprising one. "Is it the right size, I wonder? I had to guess at that." She came around to his side, and, lifting the chain, slipped a steel ring attached to it over his little finger; then, drawing the ends of the chain down, she fastened them around his wrist. "Fits exactly, doesn't it," she said enthusiastically.

"Yes'm, but—" Bert hesitated. From her manner he fancied that it was something he ought to know all about and appreciate very highly; but he really could not see its value. "What is it for, Aunt Marion?"

"Why, to wear on your wrist. Don't you see?" replied his aunt, giving it another twist and settling it to her satisfaction.

"Some new fashion that I haven't heard about, I suppose," muttered Bert to himself, looking dolefully at his new adornment as he carried his treasures up to his room. "Women have a fancy for every new-fangled notion, so I presume auntie thinks this is something very nice; but I declare I don't see the sense of it." He appreciated it still less as he went about his morning work. It caught, tangled, and obtruded itself disagreeably. "Not very convenient," he ventured to suggest to Aunt Marion. But that lady only answered placidly—

"Oh, I don't think you will mind that very much when you get accustomed to it." So she really expected him to wear the troublesome thing and get used to it? He was pondering the subject when his friend Ralph came in to see the new telescope.

"Hello! what are you wearing that dog-collar for?" he questioned curiously, as Bert displayed his hand in arranging the glass.

"It's a new thing? Didn't you ever see one before?" asked Bert, coloring a little.

"Lots of them—on the necks of canines," declared Ralph with unceremonious frankness; "but I don't see what you want to wear one on your arm for."

"Well, the fact is, I don't," confessed Bert; "but I don't know exactly what to do about it. You see, it is one of my birthday gifts—some new-fashioned arrangement that has taken auntie's fancy." It was a fashion of which Ralph had never heard, and he said so. His visit and comments left Bert still less pleased with the odd gift he had received. At last he decided to talk it over with Aunt Marion.

"You see, I'm ever so much obliged to you, auntie; but I don't know just what to do with the thing," he explained. "What is the good of wearing it?"

"Oh, I don't suppose there is any good in it," answered Aunt Marion serenely.

"Well, I don't think it is very—ornamental, you know," ventured Bert, hesitatingly.

"Oh dear, no!—not the least bit ornamental," assented his aunt.

"And, besides, it's inconvenient."

"Probably; but I think you would grow accustomed to that after a while, and not notice it much."

"But what is the use of getting accustomed to it—a chain like that?" demanded Bert, growing more and more bewildered. "What would you want to wear it for?"

"I? Oh, I wouldn't want to wear it for anything," declared Aunt Marion as placidly as before. "It is unsightly, inconvenient, and utterly useless. I wouldn't wear it; but your taste might be different."

"You must have a high opinion of my supply of common sense, Aunt Marion!" Bert flushed indignantly. "Do you think I am silly enough to like what nobody else would want?"

"I have been studying your tastes lately, and you seem to like some things that are just what you describe my gift to be," pursued Aunt Marion, drawing a cigar from her work-table and laying it in Bert's hand. "Here is this, for instance, that rolled from your pocket the other day. Is the habit of smoking useful to body or soul, Bert? Is it ornamental? Isn't it considerable trouble to acquire? and will it not be expensive, and often inconvenient to yourself and disagreeable to others after it is acquired? Is it anything, after all, but a chain, my boy?"

Bert said nothing; he only threw the cigar into the fire and walked away. But he answered rather curtly a day or two later—though no one but Ralph understood him—when a companion invited him to smoke, "No, thank you. I have one more dog-collar than I have any use for hanging in my room now."—Kate W. Hamilton, in Sunday School Visitor.