Be Courteous | Page 9

some cold water."
"There is none nearer than the pond," said Joshua, "unless you go to
Graffam's; but they are so piggish, I would choke before I would ask
water of them. The last time I went there, the old woman sent one of
the young ones to tell me that the village folks were an unmannerly set,
and she wanted them to keep their distance. I told the girl to give my
love to her mother, and tell her that she was the sweetest poppy upon
the plain. So you see that it wouldn't do for me to go there again; I
might get my head cracked with one of Graffam's rum-jugs."
"I am not afraid to go," said Mary. "I have no doubt but that the
blueberry parties are a trouble to Mrs. Graffam."
"Mrs. Graffam!" exclaimed Joshua, laughing. "Nobody else calls her
anything but Moll, and her husband, Pete."
Emma now lifted Edwin from his seat upon the rock, and taking his
hand, while Mary brought the bright dipper, they started for the
log-house, which looked in the distance like a black stump.
"It is loving your neighbor better than yourself,"--said the little boy,
looking smilingly up into Emma's face,--"I am sure it is, to come all
this way with me."
"Well, we ought to love our neighbor better than ourselves," replied
Mary, who was walking behind. "We shall, Eddy, if we are like----"
"Like Jesus?" asked Eddy.
"Yes," said Mary. "He didn't love himself at all; but he loved us, even
unto death."
"How wonderful!" said Emma. "Talk some more about him, Mary dear,
if you please."
But they were now at the poor door, which swung upon its wooden
hinges: they were about to knock, when they saw a forlorn-looking
woman come from a dark closet, with a sick child in her arms.
"Poor little thing!" said Mary, going toward her.[*] "What is the matter
with him, Mrs. Graffam?"
[Footnote *: See Frontispiece.]
"He is very sick," she replied, glancing from her to the door, when
Emma courtesied politely, and Edwin pulled off his hat. "Walk in," said
Mrs. Graffam; "my children are all out upon the plain, but you can help
yourselves to seats." Then turning to Mary she said again, "He is very
sick, and I cannot tell what is the matter with him, unless it is want

of----." Here she paused, and after a time added, "He is losing all his
flesh, poor thing!"
"Yes," said Mary, "he looks as my dear little sister did just before she
died!"
"When did she die?" asked Mrs. Graffam.
"Just as the grass was getting green," said Mary. "It was a fit time for
her to die, Mrs. Graffam; for she was born in the spring, and it seemed
exactly as though the sweet bud had to go back to the summer-land
before it could bloom."
"And if your little baby dies, Mrs. Graffam," said Eddy, "he will be a
flower in God's garden; won't he, Mary?"
"Yes," whispered Mary, while the poor woman's face flushed, and her
lip quivered. Mary glanced at Edwin, and remembered her errand.
"Mrs. Graffam," said she, "I know that the blue-berry parties must be a
great trouble to you, and we would not have come here for water, only
Eddy is not very well."
"You are welcome to as much water as you want," interrupted Mrs.
Graffam, "and so is any one who can treat us with civility. We are very
poor, it is true, and that is not our greatest misfortune either; but it is
hard to be despised."
While Mary was gone for the water, Emma sat looking at the sick baby,
and noticed, that though the weather was warm, its skeleton limbs
looked blue and cold. She was going to advise the mother to wrap it in
flannel, when the thought that perhaps the poor woman had none,
prevented her speaking: for Christian courtesy never says to the poor
"Be ye warmed and clothed," while it provides not the things which are
necessary; and fortunately Emma thought it time enough to speak of
what the poor child needed, when she had supplied that need. Edwin
was greatly refreshed by his drink of cold water, and kissing the sick
child, he thanked Mrs. Graffam, and was ready to go.
"There is a good old lady living with my mother," said Emma, "who is
used to sickness, and might know what to do for your babe, Mrs.
Graffam; shall I ask her to come with me, and see you?"
"I shall be glad to see anybody," was the reply, "who is like you or your
little friends;" and bidding the poor woman a good-by, they went back
to the plain.
Henry Boyd remembered his promise to Mrs. Lindsay, and