HOW RODNEY CELEBRATED THE "FOURTH."
By Benjamin Keech
THE two boys were passing through the hall, and Rodney was telling his friend, Sidney, what he intended to do on the "Fourth." "I'm going to have bushels of firecrackers and torpedoes," he said, excitedly, "and at night I'm going to fire off 'Roaming' candles and pinwheels, and may be some balloons. Papa's going to help me. I've got five dollars to spend if I want to." As the noise of their departure receded, Aunt Margaret, who was spending a short visit with her sister, looked up and smiled. Then she sighed. She and Rodney's mother were sewing in the cool sitting-room, and she had heard her nephew's words. "I'm afraid you're spoiling that boy, Ellen," she said. "He's too good to be spoiled, too." "I know it," admitted her sister, "but it isn't my fault. It's his father's. He'd buy the moon and give it to Rodney if he could." "I shall have to lecture your husband," said Aunt Margaret, good-humoredly. "He needs it." Then, after a minute, she continued, "Do you care if I take Rodney to Chicago with me, when I go back?" "Not at all," said Mrs. Carroll, "if you can get his father's consent." Mrs. Carroll knew her sister, and realized that the plan she had in mind was a good one. Aunt Margaret was a mission worker, and had spent many years doing good among the lowly in one of our large cities. "Just think of his spending five dollars for fireworks," said the good woman, "when there are hundreds of boys in Chicago that never dreamed of a place like this. Why, look at your chickens and your rabbits and your brook and everything. I know of two little chaps in particular that would just go wild if they could fish in that brook. Lake Michigan isn't a circumstance to it. Do you see what I'm aiming at?" "Perfectly," said Mrs. Carroll, with a bright smile. "It's a lovely plan, too, and I'm willing to have it succeed. I suppose you'd add that Rodney could honor the Fourth just as well, and perhaps better, by giving these two boys an outing as by wasting his money on fireworks." "Exactly," nodded Aunt Margaret. "You are very bright, Ellen. I only hope Philip will be as apt." Then she added, more reverently, "And Rodney would be honoring God, too." That noon the gentle Christian woman headed off her brother-in-law, as he was leaving the house, and walked with him to the village. She told him about the two little urchins in which she was interested, and begged that Rodney might accompany her to the city, to realize how fortunate he was compared with some other boys. Kind-hearted Mr. Carroll was soon interested, and readily gave consent. Rodney, when told of the trip, was filled with excitement and began preparations that night. On the afternoon of the same day that they arrived in Chicago, Aunt Margaret and her nephew took a walk. After leaving the evangelist's house, at which they had rooms, they traveled for several blocks down a hot, dusty, crowded street, then turned into a narrow, dirty alley. Rodney was surprised that his aunt should take him to such a place as this. He had thought they would first visit the parks. Yet here they were passing close to filthy garbage cans and rattling wagons, filled with various things. Rodney objected to the evil smell in the hot, choking air. But his aunt did not seem to mind it. She looked serene, even happy. Soon they came to a rambling, unpainted building, the ground floor of which proved to be a horse stable. Rodney was amazed to see his aunt cheerfully begin to mount the unsteady stairs that led to the living-rooms above. However, he was loyal, and followed. "Two of my best friends live up here," said his aunt, while they were ascending. "Their names are Johnny and Frankie Slimski. You have heard me speak of them. John is just your age—ten. They may seem a little odd at first. But they're nice boys, and I hope you'll like them." The door was open, and they had no sooner paused at the threshold than eight ragged children, of different sizes and ages, rushed pell mell at Aunt Margaret, with glad cries of "Hello, teacher!" "Here's Miss Carr!" and so forth. They ranged, in ages, from twelve years down to twelve months, and were all brothers and sisters. Their father, Aunt Margaret learned, after introducing Rodney, was at his work in the stock yards. Their mother was away washing. The baby was sick; and, almost unconsciously, Rodney began to fan away the flies that crawled over her poor little face. The third child older than the baby was also sick, but not so much as the little one. The other children had been told to stay indoors and mind the invalids. It interested Rodney to note how Johnny, the boy who was just his age, but who was pitifully crippled by "hip disease," began to try to tidy up the room; and how Frankie flew to the sink, wet a rag, and began to scrub the grimy face of one of the smaller children. It was almost impossible to keep clean, Rodney learned, in the midst of so much filth. He wondered how they managed to breathe in such small, cluttered rooms. He wondered if the baby would ever get well. Probably she would if she had better care in a better place. A vision of his own clean, cool home came to Rodney, as he sat there, listening to the children's queer "city talk," and noting the squalor of their surroundings. After Aunt Margaret, who, among other good things, was a medical missionary nurse, had done all she could for the sick children, she and Rodney bade "good-by" to the young Slimskis and descended the stairs. It was a very sober little boy who walked beside his aunt that afternoon. That he had been interested and impressed was clear, and Miss Carr was glad at heart. Rodney had responded to the friendly advances made by the Slimski boys, and she did not doubt that her nephew would at length do his duty. "They must have a pretty hard time of it up there in those hot rooms, mustn't they, Rodney?" she asked, giving his shoulder an affectionate pat. "Yes," said Rodney, soberly, "it must be awful, especially for Johnny and the sick ones. I wish I could do something for them." Aunt Margaret smiled to herself. "Why don't you, then? I'm sure you can if you try." "We might take them to the park," ventured Rodney, stilling another suggestion that was trying to make itself heard. "So we might," said Aunt Margaret, "and we will." The seed had not quite sprouted, but Miss Carr had faith to believe that it would. She and Rodney took the Slimski children to the parks and also treated them to nice, long car rides. Mr. Carroll had supplied his son with "spending money," and Rodney bought plenty of oranges, bananas, and peanuts for the little Slimskis. For once the slum children were happy. A whole week passed quickly. Only three days of June, and of Rodney's visit, remained. He knew he would be sorry to part with John and Frank. Still, when he got home, there was the "glorious Fourth" for which to prepare. However, his aunt had another experience in store for him—an experience that she hoped would make easier the unfolding of her plan, if she had to unfold it. And it is safe to say that Rodney never forgot the Sunday-school he attended in a certain mission on State Street.11About twenty little urchins, of from fifteen years to fifteen months, straggled into the building and wriggled expectantly into the rows of chairs. Most of them were clean, and all were oddly gowned. Some wore such strangely-put-together outfits that the effect would have been laughable if it hadn't been so pathetic. Their little faces looked strangely hungry. Poverty stamped them all. Rodney, who had plenty of love and plenty of everything else that makes comfort, thought of the members of his own little Sunday-school class, back home. They were all plump and healthy looking, and came to church dressed prettily, in "nice" clothes. The prayers, the singing, and the lesson were not so very different. But in other ways the contrast was striking. Some way Rodney felt sorry for this poor little Sunday-school class. John and Frank were among the members. Sunday afternoon Miss Carr decided that, since the seed still seemed inactive, she would help it to germinate. "All the Slimski family except the father and mother are going to have a vacation this year," she began. "That is, I expect John and Frank are going to. But I'm not sure. I may be disappointed." Rodney looked up questioningly into her face. "My friend, Miss Morris, is going to take Mary and Nellie out to her home in Indiana. But it isn't decided who shall take John and Frank. If I could afford it, I'd send them home with you. But I haven't the money. It would take five dollars for both of them." Then the suggestion came suddenly back and the seed sprouted. Rodney withdrew his hand from his aunt's and sat looking with troubled eyes out of the window. Could he do it? Could he give up his cherished Fourth-of-July celebration, for which he had planned so long? It would be a great sacrifice, indeed. Unconsciously he felt in his pocket, where, secure in a little purse, lay the folded five-dollar bill that his father had given him. Was it his duty to give those Slimski boys an outing with that five dollars? He loved the noise of fireworks as well as any lad. But, on the other hand, there was Johnny, with his poor little withered leg. Rodney gave a troubled sigh and looked up at his aunt. She had risen and was putting on her bonnet to go to the evening service at the mission. When she was ready, she turned and, placing her hands on her nephew's shoulders, said, "When in doubt, look to Christ and ask Him to guide you to do what is right. God bless you, Rodney. O, are you coming with me?" While they were walking along the street, and even after the meeting had begun, the troublesome question kept recurring to the boy. Should he gratify himself by wasting his money, or should he really benefit himself by helping some one less fortunate? When they returned to the evangelist's, Rodney was still sad and undecided. But, remembering his aunt's words, he knelt by his cot and asked to be led to do what was right. God answered his prayer by keeping him awake and making him think. When the clock struck eleven he was still listening to his conscience. Fifteen minutes later he turned over heavily, sighed, and gave his pillow a thump. "I'll do it!" he said. At twenty-five minutes after eleven he rose, tiptoed across the carpet, and paused at the door between his aunt's room and his own. "O, Aunt Margaret," he whispered, "are you awake?" "Yes," she whispered back; "why?" "Because I'm going to spend that five dollars by taking Johnny and Frankie home with me," he said. "God bless you, little man, I knew you would." As long as they live, John and Frank will remember those two delightful weeks (which lengthened into four) that they spent at Rodney's home. They played in the brook to their heart's content, went berrying, and helped a man do his haying. They fed the chickens, rode around with a neighbor's horse, and did many other delightful things that they had never dreamed of doing. Even the big, sheltering hills gave them joy. They had never seen a hill before. And, best of all, the hue of health soon bloomed on their little pinched cheeks. Rodney says that if he lives to be two hundred, he doesn't expect to celebrate a more glorious Fourth than when he gave the Slimski boys a vacation. On that particular day his mother gave a select party for seventeen children out under the apple trees. Rodney was somewhat embarrassed when his friend Sidney inquired when he was going to shoot off his "Roaming" candles and things. But as every one praised him and no one ridiculed him, he was soon as happy as the boys he had helped. BENJAMIN KEECH.
Randolph, N. Y.