The Little Boy who Slept in Church

Southland Times, Issue 21773, 30 July 1932, Page 18

The Little Boy who Slept in Church

—First Prize— Ah, yes, I remember that time when young Johnny—the dear little fellow that he was—fell asleep in church. At the time, I was nearing the age of sixty, and had been vicar of the district for almost twenty-five years. As you may imagine, I had grown very much attached to all the inhabitants of the little village where I resided, and each individual had a separate place in my heart. Let me get back to the subject, however. It was in the summer, on a dull, still day, that the occurrence, unmentionable as it was in the eyes of the village women, came to pass. Poor little Johnnny, one of the boys from the Orphans’ Home, came trooping into church with the dozen or more boys who attended, looking paler and more miserable than ever. I noted how haggard he looked, and although I meant to see him afterwards, somehow it slipped my memory until later, when I was accidentally reminded. My sermon was, perhaps, a little “dry” to the young people and it was slightly longer than usual, for at my age, I am inclined to wander from the subject. In the course of delivering my sermon I had occasion to glance towards the open windows, beneath which the boys sat, very solemn and innocent-looking. Suddenly I became aware that one of them was asleep -and that it was Johnny! He was breathing gently, and a quiet smile shone over the pallor of his face. Very foolishly, I am sorry so say, I allowed my astonishment to overcome me. Such a crime had never before been committed in my church! For a moment I experienced a thrill of displeasure, but the next second this was replaced by a softening of my heart. Jhe poor lad. I was thankful that he had found rest at last. I recovered my equilibrium quickly, and continued, hoping my embarrassment had not been noticed. _ + Not so it proved, for no sooner was the ceremony ended than I saw that Johnny was receiving a preliminary scolding from the stern-visaged matron. Poor boy—but then my attention was claimed .by some other people. It was the day on which I paid my regular visit to the Orphanage. After I had talked with the boys, and when they had finished showing me all their pieces of workmanship, I commented upon the absence of Johnny I was brusquely informed that he was being punished for an offence (I guessed what the offence was), and that Johnny begged to have a talk with me. I was taken to a cell—it was too small to be called a room—and sitting by the window was the forlorn offender. On my entrance, I saw the wee fellow’s lip begin to tremble, but as soon as we were alone I patted him reassuringly on the head. “Come, come, sonny! We are all apt to make mistakes. Tell me your trouble!” This seemed to cheer him, so that I could just imagine what those stone-hearted women had been saying to him. Forthwith he made a confession of his misdeed, which had become great y magnified by worrying, ending with a sincere apology. I did my best to brighten him, and almost succeeded, but he became despondent when I pointed out that I was not the one to whom he owed an apology. He feared that he might not be forgiven for his sin, and it needed a great deal o persuasion before he was certain that he could obtain remission. As I remarked previously, I was growing on in years, and I did not know but what, any day, my call would come. That night I felt a keen desire to pass once more down the aisle of my beloved church. I went out into the warm night, and the earth was fragrant under the moons care. I toomy stick and walked the distance to the church, which was always open at that time of the year. . . , , I went in softly, closing the door behind me. The inside of the church was quiet and peaceful; a shaft of moon-light had lost its way in there, so that I was able to see quite plainly. Slowly I turned my footsteps once more in that direction—my hand caressed the wooden pews, and each little scratch seemed to stand out as an incident in my life. Ah, how I loved it al . A sound caught my ears—why, it was the sound of a childs sob. Sure y —yes! The moonlight lighted by a curly head in a seat, and I heard the word “Forgive.” More sobbing followed, a long-drawn sigh— Mother There was a note of welcome and relief in that word; then the curly head sank back. I moved forward then, for I knew that Johnny would have to make an explanation for his leaving the house. I was thankful that he ha taken my advice; and now he was asleep, his mind at peace. e cou not, however, spend the night there, so I gently tried to wake him. But not until five minutes had elapsed did I realize why Johnny did not wake-his trials were over he had fallen into an eternal sleep in church -3/- and 4 marks to Cousin Constance Fox (15), 94 Earn street, Invercargill. Second Prize. Tommy was an ordinary boy, and, like ordinary boys he was fond of all outdoor games and sports. He was especially fond of fishing and he got into many troubles at home through being away with his rod and hue when he should have been doing something else. He was out beside a q stream one evening, looking for likely places to fish when he next went rt, when he saw, just at the edge of a deep hole in the stream, a great big trout the biggest he had ever seen. It was lying basking in the evening sunshin , its tail gently waving to and fro. Tommy’s eyes opened wide in wondei and if he had been asked at the moment to wish for the thing he wanted most in the world, he would have wished to catch that fish. It was too late to go home for his rod and get back, as he knew he would not be : allowed to go out again so late; but he determined to come and fish in that spot ne rlav till he caught that fish. But alas! the next day was Sunday, and Tommy’s parents were very strict as to what should be done, or not done, on Sundays. One thing which must be done was to go to church, which Tommy disliked, while one o f the things which must not be done was that which he liked best of all fishi g. Tommy lay awake a long time that night planning and schemm how he could get away to that stream with his rod and line and at last hit o a plan. Go to church he must, of course; but he would hide his tackle so that he could get it when he came out. He could easily find an excuse for being absent while he was at the river. Early next morning he was up and about. He prepared his bait and hid it with his rod in a secluded place all ready to pick up as soon as church came out. Church time came and Tommy slipped into a seat at the back, ready to get away quickly. He payed little or no attention to the service his mind being all on that big trout. So, between his inattention and being awake late the night before and up early that morning, it was not surpns g that he fell asleep; neither is it surprising, that he dreamed almost at once that he was by the riverside and there was that big fish. In lus dream he frantically fixed his bait, and threw it into the water. Almost at once the fish took the bait, and away went the line. Tommy prepared to pull it ouL but to his surprise, instead of coming out it pulled him into the water. Down he went to the bottom, and then he was pulled forward swiftly through the water. After travelling at a great rate, and passing all kinds of que fish on the way, he finally stopped. When he looked round he saw, seated on a rock, the fish he hoped to catch; but it was now as large as Tommy himself. Standing round the rock were a number of fierce looking fish nearly as large, all looking menacingly at Tommy. . „ Suddenly a deep voice said, “What is the charge against this boy? “Fishing on Sunday,” said another dreadful voice. “Are you guilty, or not guilty,” asked the big fish on the rock. Tommy could only stammer “G-g-guilty, sir.” .... “What is the punishment?” asked the big fish of his friends. “He must be thrown to the dragon,” said one fish, who seemed to be the leader. . Tommy nearly dropped with fright, and gave himself up for lost. Just as two fishes were about to lay hands on him, a pretty mermai appeared on the scene. “Oh, do give him another chance,” she cried, Im sure he won’t offend again, will you?” she asked, turning to Tommy. Tommy’s “No, miss,” was very sincere, and after a short consultation among the fishes, the big fish informed him that he was pardoned, but warned him against appearing there again. “Take him to the bank again,” said the big fish, and away he was whisked through the water, without even getting another look at the pretty mermaid. . - «tr Just at this point Tommy awoke, in time to hear a voice saying, Hy 263,‘Yield not to temptation.’” It was the minister announcing the last was hardly sure where his dream ended, and reality began, but so impressed was he that his rod and bait lay for four days where he had hidden them, before he had the courage to go for them, and the big fish in the hole was left severely alone, as least as far as Tommy was concerned.

-2/- and 3 marks to Cousin Connie Jellyman (13), Queen street, Otautau.

—Highly Commended. —

I Rev. Fletcher one day had an intruder upon his sacred precincts. It was Tommy. At school Tommy considered it the teacher’s duty to .think for him, but, as there was no teacher in Tommy s ’ vicinity, he submitted this intriguing subject on hand to his own careful and unremitting thought. The subject was one which modem children also stumble over, namely: What would happen to a little disobedient boy if he fell asleep in church? Tommy was not necessarily disobedient. He was mostly fond of probing, investigating, until his statiable curiosity was entirely appeased. This time, even his patience was exhausted, so he turned with hope to the parson, who, no doubt, could answer with sufficient brevity and precision to satisfy Tommy. So Tommy found himself studying the dusty walls, adorned with many books, some biographies on noted evangelists, some on the subject of spiritualism and others an assortment of religious and literary works. Tommy was rather nervous in the august pres-

Salsbury was a little town, wherein lived many noted personages. Perhaps the most august person was the parson. His face was well-known to all Salsbury’s citizens. If a description of him was given, the reader might be able to remember him. He was short, but a certain looseness of his limbs made him appear taller; his was a slight-narrow-shouldered figure. His slightly cadaverous, .scholastic countenance was adorned by a pair of very imposing spectacles which were his sole companions. The Rev. Fletcher, for such was his name, was very often congratulated by influential parents on his apparent ability at teaching children religion. One of his most attentive pupils was Tommy Brown, whose many sensational escapades instilled in his parents a stoical passivity. Tommy always managed to be mixed up. in any mischief that was about, especially in autumn, when orchard-raiding was rife!

ence, but he plucked up courage to say, “Good-morning Mr Fletcher. You have often told us we were not to go to sleep in church; but you have never told us what would happen if we did do so!” “Well, Tommy,” said the parson, ‘as it is a sin to do that, the devil will take you to his world, and might not let you come back again.” Tommy, well satisfied with his morning’s work, returned to his house, and waited there for tl : arrival of his pal and factotum, Ginger Smith. Ginger, exactly half-an-hour later than the appointed time, arrived and after a severe wigging about punctuality, during which Tommy lost a cough-drop, their discussion began. Tommy, with the selfconceit that his investigations gave him, waited patiently for his friend’s eloquent harangue to end, and then, puffing out his cheeks, related his efforts. Ginger was envious when he thought that he too could have asked the parson for the answer. “I’ll tell you,” said Tommy, after a moment’s thought, “what about having no sleep on Saturday night, so that we might go to sleep on Sunday?” Both the plotters waited for Sunday morning. Tommy’s eyelids were heavy with sleep when he came down the stairs on Sunday morning. Mrs Brown, unlike her husband (absorbed in the paper) took an interest in Tommy’s career and said: “Tommy, did you have enough sleep last night?” “Yes, thank you, mother,” mumbled Tommy, nodding his head. Nothing more was said, and Tommy went to church without any further interrogation. Ginger’s case was practically similar. The two arch-plotters quickly mounted the steps and secured seats in an obscure corner of the church, awaiting the moment when they should have their long-wanted nap. Soon the church was full, as was customary in Salsbury, so Tommy and Ginger, well hidden from view, “closed their eyes in peace,” but with dubious thoughts as to the result of their plan. Before long two men, dressed in the raiment of the Jews, led the two quaking lads to a long, rambling house, where there were many men, some wild and passionate of countenance, others belligerent of front but gentle of nature, others hotheaded and despicable, but every one with the stamp of Life on their faces. Tommy and Ginger shuddered at what they saw and heard. Soon they very much regretted their foolishness, for their guides led them through the town. There they saw a boy whipped to unconsciousness, a sight which sent a cold shiver down their spines, and made them glance fearfully at their suave guides, A lunatic murdered a woman who crossed his path, and Tommy said to Ginger _in nothing like his former naive voice, “I think we had better go back now,” but the guides said: “Just one more sight,” and led them down a dark alleyway. Then they branched off to a prison! This made Ginger grip Tommy’s arm, as if to ascertain the nearness of him. “Look,” bade the guides, but there was nothing to hint at any trick. Here faces were as imperturbable as ever, so Tommy and Ginger looked in. They were amazed at the squalid filth and general unsanitary atmosphere of the cell. Hitherto they had seen poverty, but it was as nothing to compare with this. Men sprawled over . each other, wearied by the stuffy air inside. Unearthly odours arose from the four corners of the cell, and Tommy turned to Ginger, “This makes .me sick, let us go home.” Soon the guides took them back; but they found themI selves in church. There was no one else there when they arrived, and it was already darkening. So Tommy and Ginger spent an uncomfortable night in the church, scaring the life out of the sexton, when he came to clean the church in the morning. They resolved to tell no one of their escapade, and, as Tommy was a master hand at dissimilation he invented two very good excuses for them. —2 marks to Cousin James Lynch (13), Main street, Otautau.

“Oh, I’m going for a walk,” declared Jack, rising from his seat at the window. It had rained unceasingly for three days and everybody was in the grumps. “You had better not,” answered his sister, Ethel. “It’s raining too hard.” “I’m not a sook,” replied the boy, “and I don’t care for a bit of rain. Toodle-loo.” With that he was off. Ethel saw him go but did not interfere, “He’s going by the ruined church,” she remarked as she settled down to her painting. Jack had with him a brown-paper parcel in his water-proof pocket. On reaching the ruins he found that the shower had increased to a storm so he took shelter in the church. “I don’t want to carry my eats with me all the time,” he said, and put the parcel in the vestry. He scrambled rather than walked over the uneven floor towards the staircase which led to the top of a tower where the bell used to be rung. The bell had been removed but the iron bar was still there.

Jack looked out of the window and was surprised to see a flash of lightning followed by a peal of thunder. As it was growing dark, Jack went down the steps and digested his biscuits and sat down in one of the pews. His head began to nod—he tried to resist—couldn’t so sleep came. “Let’s take him withus.” “Come on then.”

Jack was pulled off the seat and transferred quickly to a certain stair—the fifth. “What’s this for?” asked Jack.

“We were going to our secret room, when we saw you and thought you would like to come too,” answered a spirit of the church. “See this knob here? You press that and the step flies....

Crash! Jack found himself on the floor of the church.

“I wonder if the knob is really there?” he said aloud remembering his dream. He was wide awake now, the fall having achieved that. He counted the steps, one, two, three, four, five. He found the kriob, pressed it, and looked down. “Oh” he managed to ejaculate. For he found himself on the top step leading down into a fairly large room. It had a safe, a table, and a chair—all wooden.

“This must have been a place for hiding anybody,” he thought. He walked up the stairway and pressed the knob again. The step flew into its place.

“I can keep my treasures in there and come when I want to,” he thought. Then, seeing that it was not raining, he ran home, mighty pleased that he had slept all night in a hard, cushionless, pew.

—2 marks to Cousin Monica Ford (12) 223 Ettrick Street Invercargill.

I know a little boy who loves to go to church. In that I think he is rather unusual, because, as a rule, boys very much dislike church—at least, judging by the small number of boys one sees there.

Well this little laddie of whom I am writing did really love to go, but I am afraid the reason was not just what it should have been. He liked the singing and the beautiful tones of the organ. He listened with rapt attention to the children’s story. Then, when the minister announced his text, came the best time of all—sermon time.

“How strange,” you say, “that a little boy should look forward to sermon time.” Can’t you guess the reason? It was this. He always went to sleep then; and such a lovely sleep it was, all cuddled up in mummy’s soft arms. Is there any better place for a little four-year-old boy to sleep than in