ONLY A LITTLE THING

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jan 6, 1888

ONLY A LITTLE THING.

'Forbearing one another in love.' 'Kindly affectioned one toward another.' It sounds very nice to talk about, but I wonder if many people really do it. It would be a great deal nicer world if they did. I don't see how I could do it very well. Sam is always so cross and disagreeable, it wouldn't do a bit of good to try to be kind to him. He wouldn't even notice it, and never would think of being kind to me. But Miss Hale talked about our being kind, no matter whether anyone was kind to us or not.

Ellen was walking home from Sunday-school, musing on what she had heard there. She was not very happy at home. No one there seemed to care whether she was or not, and the years of her childhood had been passing without much thought of it on her own part. But she was getting less and less satisfied with herself, as well as with her surroundings, and some of the things she had lately heard were leading her to think seriously upon the possibility of her troubles being made any lighter.

"Wait a minute, Het." She turned at the sound of voices behind her, and saw Harry Vane running to catch up with his little sister.

"Here," he said breathlessly, holding out to her his Bible, Sunday-school book, and a loose paper or two. "Take these home. Tell mother I'm gone down to the Y. M. C. A. rooms to see some pictures of Jerusalem they've got there. I want you to carry my books."

"But I don't see how I can," said Hetty, as he hastily piled his things upon her small hands, already well filled with her own books.

"Oh, you're clumsy!" he exclaimed impatiently, as her Bible fell upon the pavement. "Tell mother I'll soon be home."

And he was off, without waiting to see how she could get along with all she had to carry.

Ellen turned to help Hetty, expecting to hear a petulant complaint against Harry as she picked up her nicely bound Bible, and carefully wiped it with her handkerchief.

But Hetty did not say anything, except to remark that it was a birthday present, and she was trying to keep it very nice.

"I'll help you carry your books," said Ellen. "I think it was mean of Harry to treat you so."

"Oh!" said Hetty, with a smile, "he didn't stop to think. Boys don't, you know. But mother says the best way to make them think is to be forbearing with them, as Miss Hale said just now. And she says," little Hetty's voice grew more sober, "that a sister can have a great influence over a brother by being kind to him; and that we never know when such an influence may be of great use when they are older. She says a brother ought to think his sister the dearest and sweetest thing in the world, except, of course, his mother. Good-by. Thank you for helping me. I can get along nicely now."

Ellen packed the books on Hetty's arm so that she could easily carry them, and then went on by herself, still thinking. It was easy to be obliging to Hetty, for Hetty was always so pleasant herself. It was a very different thing to try to be kind to peevish, disobliging Sam.

But surely it was not "forbearing" to be kind only to those who were agreeable.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Ellen, with tears very near her eyes. "I wish my mother was here. Things are so much easier when girls have a mother."

Sam came home from school at noon the next day, and entered the dining-room with the rough manner and sullen look which had grown upon him until they seemed to belong with him. Helping himself, without regard to anyone else, he was beginning an ample dinner when his father arose hastily, looking at his watch, as he said:—

"I have to take a run down to Hartley on the 1:30 train. I can barely make it; and—here, Sam, I want you to hurry to the post-office with this letter. It is important that it should catch the early afternoon mail. Quick; now!"

"Can't I eat my dinner first?" asked Sam.

"No," he said, a little impatiently, although not unkindly; "boys mustn't be too anxious about their dinners. Be off at once, and eat when you come back."

Sam was very hungry, and looked ruefully at his plate, as he took the letter and hurried away, knowing that his father's commands must be promptly obeyed. He felt sure that there would be little comfort in his meal, when he should return from the long walk. Susan, the girl, was always very busy and always rather cross on Monday. She would eat her own dinner, and then leave the table until she was done washing, and Sam's dinner would be cold and uninviting.

Ellen looked after him as he passed the window. His face was, if possible, more sour and peevish than usual; and for a moment she felt as if he deserved any little annoyance which might come to him.

But the words "kindly affectioned" came to her mind. How pleasant it would be if she and Sam were kind to each other! She did not know whether Sam could be kind—he was always surly to her. But had she been much better to him? She had always kept out of his way as much as possible, never showing him the little cares which a sister can show, and which a motherless boy must sadly miss.

With a thoughtful face she went back to the table, where his untasted dinner lay. Making a few additions to it, she carried it to the kitchen stove, where it would keep hot. And, with everything she did, a warmer feeling toward Sam came into her heart.

Have you ever realized, boys and girls, how the delight of a kind thought or action grows upon you? Try it, and see. A host of tender feelings toward her brother seemed to spring up in Ellen's heart with her trifling care for his comfort. She began to wish to do something else.

"I'll make him a cup of chocolate," she said to herself; "Sam's fond of chocolate, and he doesn't often get it."

She brought some milk, and set it on the stove to heat, while she grated the chocolate. Susan grumbled a little about things being in her way when she was so busy. It was beginning to rain, and she would have trouble drying her clothes. So she, like Sam, was a little crosser than usual.

"I won't bother you long, Susan," said Ellen. "Sam had to leave his dinner to go on an errand, and I thought I'd have it nice for him when he comes back."

Susan turned and looked at her with an astonished face.

"Well," she exclaimed, "in all the while I've lived here it's the first blessed time I've ever knowed one of you to do a good turn to t'other."

The blood rushed to Ellen's face as, in real shame and humiliation of spirit, she felt how just was the girl's blunt rebuke. She made no answer, but stirred her chocolate until the foam on the top showed that it was properly cooked, then set it on the back of the stove, and went to see if Sam was coming.

She watched him with a look of quickened affection as he came near. The raw, windy morning had given promise of a storm, which was now setting in, and the rain was beating against his face. And she saw, what she had never looked close enough to see before, that it was thin and pale. Could it be that Sam was not well, and that no one had ever thought or cared about it? Perhaps it had something to do with his crossness. It was hard that he should have been obliged to leave his dinner, and how glad she was that she had concerned herself about it.

She ran to the kitchen, and was bringing his hot meat and vegetables just as he sat down to the table.

"Someone's taken away my dinner," he said with a growl, as she opened the door; but he stared

in surprise as she set it before him, hot and daintily arranged.

"Was that you or Susan?" he asked.

"It was I, Sam."

He said no more, but seemed to like to have her stay and talk with him. And, when she brought the chocolate and a piece of cake to eat with it, he stared again, but only said: "Most makes me think I'm Harry Vane. He always gets waited on when he's late."

"You're just as good to wait on as Harry Vane, Sam."

"That's a new idea, isn't it?" he said.

A cup of chocolate is a small thing, but it made a good beginning. It is in little things that the kindly affections of daily home life are shown. It took some time for the cross look to wear off Sam's face, and the roughness from his manners. But such things do wear off under the soothing influence of smiles and kindly offices. And in after years, when the two found their chief comfort in each other, Ellen had full reason to bless the day in which she had been led to exert the sweet power of sisterly love over her brother, finding it unfailing, as others have found it, in times when a restraining hand and a gentle voice may prove the making, with God's blessing, of a noble life.—New York Observer.