Didn't Think | AdventAI

International Tract and Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Oct 15, 1885

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 11, No. 39.

Didn't Think.

OPENING the door of a friend's house one day, I made my way through the entry to a small back court, where Ned, the only son, was crying bitterly.

"Ah, Ned, what is the matter?"

"Mother won't let me go fishing. Harry and Tom are going to the harbor, and I want to go."

Here Ned kicked his toes angrily against the post, to the great danger of his new boots.

"Whose little dog is this?" I asked, as a brown spaniel came bounding up the garden walk.

"It is mine," cried Ned, in an altered tone. "Didn't you know I had one?"

"No, indeed. What a fine fellow! Where did you get him, Ned?"

"Father bought him for me. He is so knowing, and I teach him many things. See him find my knife," and Ned, wiping away his tears, threw his knife into the clover. "There, Wag," he said, "now go and find my knife."

Wag plunged into the grass, and after a great deal of smelling and wagging, he came triumphantly forth, and brought the knife to his young master.

"Give it to him," said Ned, pointing to me, and Wag laid it on my feet.

"This is a knife worth having," said I, "four blades."

"Tis a real good one," said Ned. "Father gave it to me on my birthday; and he gave me a splendid box of tools, too."

Ned looked up brightly and forgot his crying.

"Let me think," said I. "Was it with this knife that you hurt your foot so badly?"

"Oh no," cried Ned; "that was done with the ax; but I've got well now."

"I was afraid you would be laid up all the spring."

"Well, it was mother's nursing, the doctor says. Mother and father took great care of me. It was lonely staying in the house so; but mother used to leave her work and read to me, and father often stayed with me."

"I should think you had very kind parents, Ned."

The boy looked down on the floor, and a slight pout puckered his lips.

"I suppose there are none who have your interest and happiness so much at heart."

"But I want to go fishing," muttered Ned.

"And can't you trust them, Ned, and willingly agree to their wishes? You may not know the reason why they object to your going; but from all your experience of their kindness and wisdom, are you not sure that they would not cross your wishes without good reason for doing so. And surrounded as you are by so many proofs of their love, will you sit there and murmur and cry, and fill your heart with angry and stubborn thoughts, because of one little denial of your wants? Is not this a poor and ungrateful return for their kindness? It is little enough that a child can do for a parent, and that little he ought to do most cheerfully. I suppose the best return a child can make to a parent is a cheerful obedience. How small that seems! And would you grudge giving that, Ned?"

Ned looked sober. Tears started in his eyes. "Oh, sir," he said humbly. "I didn't think of all this—I didn't think of it."

"Didn't think" is at the bottom of a great deal of our ingratitude and murmuring against both our earthly parents and our Father who is in Heaven.—Children's Friend.