p. 454 | THAT AWKWARD CHILD

Seventh-day Adventist Missionary Society · Oakland, California · Oct 6, 1881

THAT AWKWARD CHILD.

"Do turn out your toes, Maria," said Mrs. Ames, as Maria, her eleven-year-old daughter, came in from school, a great pile of books in her hands and a tired look on her face. "And do try to stand up straight, and keep your shoulders back. Why can you not move and walk like other girls?"

The child's countenance took on a sullen expression, but she made no reply. Seating herself at the window, she began to prepare her lessons for the ensuing day. Aunt Phebe, a benevolent old lady who was aunt to every one in the neighborhood, observed this, and said:—

"Maria, dear, do you need to study to-morrow's lesson immediately? Can you not be out-doors awhile, on this lovely afternoon?"

"I do take a walk about dusk," Maria answered pleasantly; everybody answered Aunt Phebe pleasantly, for good nature has a winning way of its own. "But I cannot afford to lose any of the light, and the days are growing so short."

Aunt Phebe said no more. Sixty years' experience had taught her the lesson which some of us are very slow to learn, that nothing is so entirely wasted as unnecessary talk, advice, and admonition. But she thought a good deal, though she was silent, and once or twice as Mrs. Ames said querulously, "Do Maria, sit up! Do Maria, keep your feet still! Maria I cannot endure such clumsiness; you must assume a more ladylike position," etc., a pained expression crossed her placid countenance. When at last the books were closed, and the little girl, for whom a companion had called, had departed to take her daily twilight exercise on the block and around the corner, the dear old lady ventured on a word of reproof to the mother.

"Elizabeth, you will pardon me, but I fear you are making Maria unhappy. And she is a very attractive child!"

"Attractive, Aunt Phebe! How can you say so? You see for yourself how big and ungainly she is growing, and she never knows what to do with her hands and her feet. If I were her stepmother, people would say that was why I was so clear-sighted to her defects, but she is my own child, and a very great trial she is to me. I love her, but she mortifies me."

"She is obedient, truthful, and faithful to her duties, is she not?"

"Oh! yes; but then, Aunt Phebe, her disposition is so sullen. She pouts when I find fault with her, and that puts me quite out of patience."

"Well, dear, if you would find fault less frequently, and only in private, you might not have the sullenness to complain of. A sensitive nature cannot bear to be blamed in the presence of others. Another thing you must remember, your daughter is growing very rapidly, and some of her attitudes, and angularities, and her awkward changes of position must be set to that account. Nature suggests these movements as easeful and reposing. Seriously, I would be more careful, if I were in your place, about wounding her by too constant criticism. As she emerges from the chrysalis of her present awkwardness, many things will arrange themselves, and many little ungraceful habits will drop away. Do not let Maria have the memory of an unhappy childhood."

Are not many, who have laid upon themselves the responsibility of caring for young people, making the mistake of Mrs. Ames? In their anxiety to do the very best things for their children, and to have them excel in everything which is desirable, they keep up an incessant monotony of deprecation, and reproach. Meanwhile the boys and girls, burdened with multiplied tasks, soul and body receptive together, and both developing every day, are perhaps petulant, and fractious, as they will not be in a few years when the forces of their being are more harmoniously adjusted. Perhaps they lack grace of movement, and ease of manner. They are quite probably conceited and vain, or, it may be, touchy, and sullen. Be patient, and watchful, and always tenderly loving, dear mothers, and your reward will come by-and-by when the husks of the present hour fall away from the ripening fruit.—Christian Intelligencer.