p. 12 | SNAKES AND BUTTERFLIES by Mary E. Wilkins

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Jun 16, 1887

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 13, No. 23.

SNAKES AND BUTTERFLIES.

By Mary E. Wilkins

GEORGE STURTEVANT was sitting comfortably by the parlor fire, and he had just come to the most interesting part of a new book, when his mother entered.

"George," said she, "I want you to put on your cap and run over to Mrs. Crosby's for me, and ask her if she is through with my sleeve-pattern."

"Oh, dear!" said George, dolefully, "It's awful cold."

"Nonsense, a stout little boy like you, telling about the cold! Put on your cap and mittens and run along."

"I'm kind of afraid of Jack."

"Jack is chained, he won't hurt you a bit; come, get your cap."

"He wasn't chained yesterday. I saw him running around the yard, myself."

"Mr. Crosby was with him. Run along, and don't talk any more about it."

"I'm real lame where I tumbled down yesterday."

"Lame, a boy who was out playing foot-ball an hour ago! Don't think up any more excuses. Get ready and run right over there. I must go down-stairs and see to my cake now."

George sat still after his mother had gone. He looked injured. Uncle Ezra Sturtevant, who was George's grand-uncle and an old man, looked sharply at him over his newspaper. "Three snakes," he remarked in a meditative tone.

"They ain't snakes," said George quickly, his round face turning red.

"Oh! well, I thought they were."

George sat a little while longer; then he rose slowly and left the room. Pretty soon his fur cap bobbed past the window. Uncle Ezra laughed.

"There he goes," said a lady who was sewing on the other side of the room. "You started him pretty quick. How very clever children are in conjuring up bugbears."

"George always runs when I say 'snakes,'" replied Uncle Ezra. "We have a little bargain about it. I told him a snake story the other day, and he has done a good deal better since then."

"What was it?"

Uncle Ezra laughed and hesitated. "Well, I'll tell you. It isn't very much of a story. Years ago there was a boy whom I knew who had this same habit which George has. Every one of his tasks and duties seemed to be guarded for him by a vigilant scarecrow of some kind. He had a brother who was just the reverse. No braver, more willing, and more cheerful boy ever lived than his brother, whom we will call Willie. The other was Tom.

"One summer when Tom was about fourteen, and Willie twelve, a friend of their father's came to pay them a little visit, and remained till Monday, when he was to leave for New York, and Tuesday, take the steamer for Europe. He was a very wealthy man and had planned quite an extensive pleasure-trip.

"The day after his arrival, the mother of these boys asked them to take some pails, and go up in the pasture and pick some blueberries. Willie started readily enough, but Tom had a thousand objections. He was tired, his head ached, the sun was too hot, there was a vicious cow in one of the fields he had to cross. However he finally went, but he lagged behind Willie and scolded all the way.

"The visitor, whose name was Ames, Mr. Oliver Ames, was present when the boys were sent for the berries, and listened attentively to all that passed. He was present, too, when Tom returned in about half an hour with the bottom of his pail scarcely covered with berries.

"When his mother asked him what he was home so soon for, he said he had seen an awful black snake under the bush where he was picking, and he didn't dare to stay there another minute. His mother asked him why Willie didn't come too, and he hardly knew what to reply; but he mumbled something to the effect that if Willie wanted to stay and pick berries in a pasture full of snakes he could.

"Tom thought there was something queer about his mother's manner, and the first of the week he found out the reason. Willie, who had come home with his pail heaped with the most beautiful blueberries, went to New York with Mr. Ames, and the next day sailed with him for Europe. Mr. Ames had no family of his own, and on his first arrival had kindly offered to take one of his friend's sons to Europe with him, and the question which it should be had been a hard one to decide.

"Finally Mr. Ames, who was a shrewd man, had hit upon this plan. 'Give the boys some work to do,' he said, 'and I'll take the one who does it according to my mind.'

"So the plan was tried, and Willie went to Europe. Mr. Ames, who was a quizzical though a kindly man, gave Tom a little lecture before starting. 'Why, there would be no sense in taking you, my boy,' said he. 'If we wanted to go to England and see Westminster Abbey we couldn't because you might see a snake. And if we wanted to go to Switzerland and see the Alps, I don't see how we could, for you would be very likely to come across a black snake on the road, and then back we should have to go. This other boy won't see anything worse than butterflies.'

"When Willie had come home on that day and they asked him what he had seen in the berry-pasture, he had stared and then said he hadn't seen anything but perfect swarms of beautiful butterflies. Never saw so many handsome ones together,' he said.

"'No snake?' asked Mr. Ames.

"Willie laughed. 'I told Tom there wasn't any,' he said. 'I went right over and looked in the bush, and there wasn't a sign of any. I almost filled my pail there.'

"Tom was terribly disappointed and mortified, but he was not cured. He lived to be a man, and an old man, but he found many a snake under his bushes, which kept him away from good things.

"Willie's journey to Europe with Mr. Ames proved to be the key to fortune for his whole life. His hopeful, willing disposition won the old gentleman more and more; he did a great deal for him while he lived, and left him his immense fortune at his death."

Uncle Ezra had been telling the story in a precise way, now he spoke out earnestly. "I tell you what," said he, "when I think of what I have missed during my whole life by this miserable habit of hesitating and seeing obstacles to duties which I knew ought to be done, I feel as if I couldn't do enough to save George from it. I could tell you of failure on failure, and disappointment on disappointment, which I could trace directly to it. I'm going to help George kill the snakes under his bushes, if I can. I bought him a little bank, and I put in a dollar for every snake he kills, and take one out whenever he is scared away from anything he ought to do. You saw how quickly he went when I said there were three snakes. He knew that meant losing three dollars, and when there are dollars enough he is going to have a pony. He has set his heart on the pony, but he'll have to work pretty hard for it. Some of the dollars have gone out, poor little chap, but he has done a good deal better on the whole. Here he is now."

George came in all rosy and panting. He had been running.

"Well," said Uncle Ezra, "ears frozen, George?"

George laughed and blushed, but he turned his handsome eyes frankly toward his uncle, "No, sir."

"Didn't get very badly bitten by the dangerous dog?"

"No, sir."

"Got over your lameness?"

"Yes, sir."

Uncle Ezra counted some silver pieces out from his pocket-book. "Well, here's the bounty money for the three snakes," he said.

And George took it and thanked him, and jingled it proudly into his bank.—Mary E. Wilkins.