Influence and Responsibility of Mothers
By Mrs. L. D. A. Stuttle
By MRS. L. D. A. STUTTLE.
TRAINING TO BEAR RESPONSIBILITY.
"Jack can never be a child but once,—he will have to bear the responsibilities of life soon enough,—do let the boy have a good time while he is young." Aunt Ellen looked up from her sewing, and quietly replied: "Do you call it giving him a good time, sister, to allow him to grow up with no sense of responsibility—and with no serious thought or care for any one else than himself? I'm sure you don't want Jack to be selfish, do you?" "Why no, of course not,—and he isn't,—Jack's the most lovable, unselfish boy I ever saw; but I can't see what you mean, Ellen, just because the boy came in from school, and threw his cap and books into the corner on the floor, you are pleased to term a little thing like that, selfishness." And Mrs. Wilson gave her sister a grieved look as she carefully placed the offending books on a shelf. "I don't think Jack is naturally a selfish boy, but surely the commonest form of selfishness is a desire to gratify one's self at the expense of others." Aunt Ellen said no more, for just then the door opened, and in rushed Jack like a whirlwind: "Mother, mother, Charlie Jones has come for me to go fishing with him. I wonder where my rod is. I'm in such a hurry,—where did Willie put it? I told him to take care of it for me yesterday." "Here it is,—I put it away in the back shed myself, Jack," smiled Aunt Ellen; "but, my dear," she continued, "will you be back in time to bring in the night's wood and to fill the water pail for your mother?" "Me, why I hardly ever do that; Willie does—or some one—I don't know who; but I don't believe I'll have time." The next day grandma wanted some potatoes dug for dinner. "Where's Jack?" she called. "I asked him to dig a basket of potatoes yesterday, and now there isn't one." "Dear me!" cried Jack. "I forgot all about it; you see Willie most always does that; it isn't my business—that is, it's his business just as much as it is mine." "Yes, and what is everybody's business is nobody's business," quoted grandma. As a result of this, dinner was late, and Jack was obliged to go to school without any to avoid a tardy mark. He started off in a bad temper and without his usual cheery "good-by," for he was quite hungry. As he marched on rudely slamming the door behind him, Aunt Ellen glanced at mama, and quietly remarked that it was all right so long as Jack was having a good time, with no responsibilities. It is only just to add that Mrs. Wilson was sensible enough to admit that she was wrong. She very wisely made up her mind that it is only kindness instead of severity which lays upon children a reasonable share of the responsibilities of life. And Jack soon learned that it was not only useless to undertake to shirk his tasks, but that there was great satisfaction in performing them faithfully and promptly. "But," you protest, "all this sounds very well, and looks well in print; but I tell you, children don't like to bear even the slightest responsibility—they like to play—that's about all, and I don't see how you can put old heads onto young shoulders. Now there's my Jennie, she's a regular little butterfly." Wait, my friend; we do not believe in trying the foolish task of putting old heads onto young shoulders. What an unnatural and ridiculous hybrid we should have, indeed! But I know that Miss Jennie Butterfly can be taught that there is a beauty and satisfaction in the performance of even the humblest task. She may be taught—so may her brother—that a reasonable amount of labor faithfully done is as satisfying as play. Children should never be allowed to perform any task, however menial, carelessly and slightingly. If Mary blacks the stoves, teach her to delight in doing it well. If John milks the cows, he must be taught that "cleanliness is next to godliness," and that a lot of filth in the bottom of the milk pail shows a carelessness that is not only disgusting, but almost criminal. After a while he will learn to take an honest pride in the care of old Brindle and the stable. Let me tell you what I saw the other day: It was my privilege to enter the bedroom, playroom all in one, of a little girl of only ten years. "Privilege!"—Yes, so I considered it. This is what I saw: A little white bed neatly made; a carpet carefully swept, a tiny table daintily laid with "play dishes," and a bureau containing a neat wardrobe for Dolly,—all the work of the carefully-trained little fingers. And I said to myself, This child will grow up to be neat and useful. She will not be a mere idle butterfly, dependent upon mother to do her mending and sewing, and to coddle her into a life of uselessness. Sensible mother; fortunate child. She has probably been taught to heed the command: "Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God."