HIS MOTHER MADE HIM

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Oct 15, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 49.

HIS MOTHER MADE HIM.

A WEALTHY business man not long ago, says a writer in the Youth's Companion, made a short visit to his native town, a thriving little place, and while there was asked to address a Sunday school on the general subject of success in life.

"But I don't know that I have anything to say, except that industry and honesty win the race," he answered.

"Your very example would be inspiring if you would tell the story of your life," said the superintendent. "Are you not a self-made man?"

"I don't know about that."

"Why, I've heard all about your early struggles! You went into Mr. Wheelwright's office when you were only ten—"

"So I did. So I did. But my mother got me the place, and while I was there she did all my washing and mending, saw that I had something to eat, and when I got discouraged told me to cheer up and remember that tears were for babies."

"While there you studied by yourself—"

"Oh, no; bless you, no! Not by myself. Mother heard my lessons every night, and made me spell long words while she beat the cakes for breakfast. I remember one night when I got so discouraged I dashed my writing book, ugly with pot hooks and trammels, into the fire, and she burnt her hands in pulling it out."

"Well, it was certainly true, wasn't it, that as soon as you saved a little money you invested in fruit and began to peddle it out in the evening train?"

The rich man's eyes twinkled, and then grew moist, over the fun and pathos of some recollection.

"Yes," he said, "and I should like to tell you a story connected with that time. Perhaps that might do the Sunday school good. The second lot of apples I bought for peddling were specked and wormy. I had been cheated by the man of whom I bought them and I could not afford the loss. The night after I discovered they were unfit to eat, I crept down cellar and filled my basket as usual."

"'They look very well on the outside,' I thought, 'and perhaps none of the people who buy them will ever come this way again. I'll sell them, and just as soon as they are done I'll get some sound ones.'"

"Mother was singing about the kitchen as I came up the cellar stairs. I hoped to get out of the house without discussing the subject of unsound fruit, but in the twinkling of an eye she was upon me:—"

"'Ned,' she said, in her clear voice, 'what are you going to do with those specked apples?'"

"'Se—sell them,' stammered I, ashamed in advance."

"'Then you'll be a cheat, and I shall be ashamed to call you my son,' she said promptly. 'Oh, to think that you could dream of such a sneaking thing as that!' Then she cried, and I cried, and I've never been tempted to cheat since. No, sir. I haven't anything to say in public about my early struggles, and I wish you'd remind your boys and girls every Sunday that their mothers are doing far more for them than they do for themselves. Tell them, too, to pray that those dear women may live long enough to enjoy some of the prosperity they have won for their children—for mine didn't."