A MORE EXCELLENT WAY by Rebecca P. Reed

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Mar 23, 1888

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

A MORE EXCELLENT WAY.

By Rebecca P. Reed

It all came about through Johnny's dropping the syrup-pitcher at breakfast. The table-cloth was spick and span clean, and his mother had risen with a miserable neuralgic headache, and Johnny wasn't as careful as she would have been, of course, when in his hurry he tipped the pitcher, which in its fall overturned a very full tumbler. And so, in another half-minute, there was an island of syrup set in a small pond of ice-water! All the circumstances which I have enumerated were too much for ordinary maternal patience.

"Johnny, you are a naughty, careless boy! You can have no syrup on your cakes this morning!"

Johnny's eyes opened in astonishment.

"Why, mamma, I didn't mean to do it."

"But you are always doing things with such a rush. You make other people a great deal of trouble and labor, and then you say, 'I didn't mean to!'"

A cloud of a very gloomy character had suddenly fallen over the group at the pleasant breakfast table. Just here, in the confusion consequent upon the accident, Kate, the twelve-year-old sister, who sat opposite Johnny, struck her napkin ring sharply against the salt-box standing by her plate, thereby overturning the dainty little china device. This incident being of so trivial a nature, nobody made comment, until the rebellious and tearful Johnny exclaimed: "Kate has been careless, too, mamma, and you haven't blamed her a bit. Sha'n't she go without syrup, too?"

"It isn't anything to tip over a salt-box," remonstrated the little girl.

"What a silly thing to mention, Johnny!" added the mother.

But somehow, almost before the remark had left her lips, her conscience had disputed its truth.

"Johnny," she said suddenly, "will you excuse me for speaking as I did? It was because the clean table-cloth was soiled, and the spilling made such confusion and so much work, that I was discouraged. But it was an accident, and not my little boy's fault. You did not mean to do damage, any more than Kate when she hit the salt-box. You can see that yours was a much more trying accident, and it was hard to be pleasant over it; but I see that I was in the wrong, because I was really blaming you because there was syrup in the pitcher, and not for being careless in tipping it, as I said. Kate's salt-cellar didn't have any syrup in it, you see, only salt, which did no damage."

The picture before her was chaotic, but Mrs. Way succeeded in smiling brightly into Johnny's eyes, and added: "I am sick this morning. I didn't sleep well last night. You know how I dislike a soiled table-cloth—so, on the whole, won't you try to excuse me?"

Such a queer expression as Johnny's face wore, but smiles carried the day very speedily.

"Now, children," interposed their father, "since mamma has been so very polite, and has apologized so beautifully, don't you think

a small boy and girl, not very far away, ought to be very careful as to their manners at table, and run no risks of tipping pitchers and tumblers and salt-cellars, and making ugly spots on clean table-cloths?"

"Yes, sir," said Johnny, with great emphasis.

"I'll try," added Kate.

That morning, as the children were on their way to school, Kate said in a thoughtful way, with a tender accent in her voice: "I think mamma is just the sweetest mother in all the world. She is always sorry when she does wrong, just as much as she wants us to be."

To which somewhat confused grammar of his sister, Johnny responded with earnest loyalty, "Yes, and she owns up right out loud, too, I tell you!"—Rebecca P. Reed, in Congregationalist.