p. 10 | CHUBBY DIXON'S PRAYER by Ella Foster Case

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Nov 21, 1892

CHUBBY DIXON'S PRAYER.

By Ella Foster Case

A TRUE STORY.

His real name was Frank Wentworth Dixon, but everybody, even to Aunt Hetty Fergis, called him "Chubby." This was, in fact, a very proper name for a boy whose width was in a fair way to catch up with his height.

Chubby had freckles and tow hair; yet, somehow, when the tow head bobbed in at a kitchen door and two merry eyes twinkled and a cheery voice called out, "Green corn to-day, cucumbers?" there was not a housewife in Colton but wanted to hug him on the spot.

Yes, green corn and cucumbers—these meant bright quarters and half dollars. Now for a boy who wears made-over clothes, quarters and half dollars are greatly to be desired. Chubby desired them, and that is why he spaded and raked, planted and hoed, till he had the best garden anywhere about. Not that money was the sole end and aim of Chubby's life; far from it. He worked for something better than money, namely, a whole year at the academy.

Once Chubby might have gone almost anywhere and done almost anything without thinking of the cost, but that was a long time ago, before Chubby and his mother went to live with Aunt Hetty; she it was who took them in when Chubby's father went off and left his wife and boy without a penny. Indeed, they were worse off by many a penny than if they had "never sot eyes on him," as Aunt Hetty put it; for he spent not only his own money, but, in a dreadful moment, he forged Aunt Hetty's name to a note—that meant State prison.

"O Hetty!" begged the poor wife, when the miserable story was told, "you won't send him there—you can't. Think of Chubby."

Aunt Hetty did think of Chubby; so, instead of shutting up her bad brother-in-law, she put a mortgage on the little home, and now the two women sewed early and late to pay it off.

Chubby did not know all the ins and outs of the matter; he knew there was "trouble" of some kind; that their own home was gone, with its pretty belongings; that frosted cake was a thing of the past; and, worse than all else, that he must forever appear in made-over clothes.

Now Chubby was not a vain boy, yet he had feelings; and it is not pleasant for a boy to look as if he had been shot into his jacket, and through some miscalculation had gone a couple of inches too far. Chubby was conscious of presenting just this appearance. It was, therefore, with a glad heart that he went down to Mrs. Knapp's one hot, hot August day, to borrow her latest pattern. Mrs. Knapp was the village tailoress, who, in a moment of compassion, had offered her best pattern for Chubby's academy suit.

It was a hotter day when Chubby was called from the cool grape arbor to "come in and be fitted."

"All right, mamma," and he came hopping into the house like a disabled hen.

"I wouldn't hop too much till we see how it's coming out," snapped Aunt Hetty, who had just broken her fourth needle.

"Coming on, you mean," laughed her nephew, with supreme confidence in the new pattern.

"Stand up straight now, Chubby, and let me see about the shoulders; the front is all right," said his mother.

Chubby squared himself for the ordeal.

"It seems to bag in here," she continued, taking up a handful just below the nape of the neck. "It needs taking in a good two inches—so," and she jabbed in a pin to make sure of the place. "Just run up the collar, Hetty, while I baste this seam, and we'll have it fitted in no time."

Alas and alack! when the jacket was tried on again, even Chubby gave up in despair. The back of the collar, like water, was bound to run downhill.

"I verily believe," said Aunt Hetty, "the thing is possessed. The Valley of Humiliation isn't a circumstance to these everlasting collars." And she gave the offending garment an upward twitch that brought Chubby's white teeth together with a snap.

"I have tried and tried," sighed Mrs. Dixon hopelessly, "but I could never do anything with boys' clothes."

"It's plain neither of us can," snapped her prim sister, eyeing the new jacket spitefully. "This one looks like all the rest—as if it had been snatched."

Chubby knew at once what the effect must be, and, try as he would, his eyes began to fill.

"S'pose I oughtn't to care so much," thought he, with a look at his mother's tired and perplexed face. "S'pose I ought to be thankful for even—" but at this point visions of a boy in a "snatched" jacket were too much for all Chubby's "s'poses," and, with a lump in his throat, he dashed out of the door and fled to the barn, where he could shed his tears unseen in the haymow.

The speckled hen flew from her nest with a loud cackle as Chubby threw himself down.

"Wish I was a hen myself," sobbed the disappointed boy. "Then my coat would grow on me."

But when Chubby had cried his cry out, he made up his mind that even hens have their trials. Think of losing your coat entirely, and being made into a pie!

For a long time Chubby lay watching the cobwebs, trying to become reconciled to his fate. All at once a sunbeam popped through a knot hole, and struck him full in the eye. It seemed to bring Chubby to himself; for he sat up straight, and, with a little smile, whispered to himself: "I've said 'em always, ever since I was a baby, but I have never really asked for a single thing in all my life."

With that Chubby crawled over to the darkest corner, and in a trembling voice began: "Dear Lord, I ain't such a very good boy, but Aunt Hetty says I ain't so very awful, and if you only would send me a new jacket, I'd never forget it of you as long as I live. Dear Jesus," he added, sobbing, "make my papa send it to me, and make us all good."

Now it happened that Aunt Hetty, who had come out to get a fresh egg for her waffles, heard every word.

"O Lord!" she ejaculated, tiptoeing out of the barn, "don't lay it up agin' Chubby; he's a little boy, with no idea of the solemnness of praying for such a man as his father."

Aunt Hetty was firmly convinced that it was the greatest presumption to ask the good Lord to undertake such a tough job. The thought of Chubby's father brought so many other bitter thoughts along with it that she went back to her kitchen in a very wrathful state of mind.

As for Chubby, his heart was like a feather for lightness; he had asked in faith, and was sure of an answer. With new courage he ran to his garden, where he hoed and whistled, whistled and hoed, until supper time. He did not stop whistling even then, but bounced into the dining room with such a breezy note that three tired pickers were blown right out of his mamma's forehead, while Pussy Willow, the cat, was saved an extra pull of the tail. Pussy Willow was Aunt Hetty's safety valve. A twich at his long-suffering tail seemed to let off her ill temper and restore her to a peaceful frame of mind.

Chubby prayed his new prayer not once only, but every day, and many times a day; for he had read about the widow who asked over and over again, and he had no notion of being outdone by a poor benighted widow. Moreover, as school would begin in two weeks, he felt there was no time to lose. So sure was Chubby that the new suit would come in time that he made it a point to be at the gate every night when the stage came along, so as to be ready to carry in the box.

The days went by, and so did the stage. On the last night Chubby watched it disappear around the corner with a sinking heart.

"P'raps," thought he, "I've asked for too much. The Lord must have a heap of boys to look after. S'pose plenty of 'em would be glad enough to get any kind of clothes, without finding fault with the fit." By this time he had reached the haymow.

"Oh, I wish I didn't care, but I do, I do!"

Just as before, Chubby felt better when he had cried his cry out, and just as before he crawled over to the darkest corner and prayed a new prayer. This time it was for courage to wear the "snatched" jacket, and to wear it with a smiling face. This prayer was answered at once, for there was not a boy in the class who looked happier, or who studied with better success, than Chubby did that first week of school.

Then something happened. The stage actually

stopped at Chubby's gate; the driver carried in a box; in a whirl of joy Chubby tore off the cover. There was a letter on top for his mother; a jacket came next; a pair of trousers next, and—but Chubby couldn't stop to go to the bottom. With one war whoop, he changed jackets; 'twas a glorious fit! With another war whoop he stood on his head, and when Aunt Hetty came in from her biscuits to see what the racket was about, there was her sister crying for joy, and there was her nephew turning somersaults like mad.

"What is the matter?" she gasped, waving her doughy hands.

"A man-made jacket!" cried Chubby.

"O Hetty," sobbed Mrs. Dixon, "my husband has found the right way at last; he has gone to work like a man; he has sent these things, and is coming himself, and there's your check, Hetty, to pay off the mortgage!"

Aunt Hetty gazed at the box, then at her sister, then at her nephew, and last of all at the check. Finally she seemed to realize what it all meant, and, with a little cry, fell to hugging Chubby, regardless of dough, all the while exclaiming: "You was an instrument yourself, Chubby; I heard you praying; and, to my mind, the removing of mountains ain't a circumstance to it, not a circumstance!" —N. Y. Observer.