THE ‘COMMODORE.’

New Zealand Graphic, Volume V, Issue 48, 29 November 1890, Page 19

THE ‘COMMODORE.’

‘O, mamma Terry, I've ’most smashed my thumb ! <>h ! Oh dear !' cried Winfred, bursting into the sitting-room like a small tornado.

‘ Oh, hush. Win I If you haven’t been blown to pieces by a dynamite bomb, run over by an engine, or fallen out ot a seven story window, there is no reason for howling so,’ said Thad, his big brother, looking up from his Greek. ‘ Do be quiet, vs inny,’ said sister Ruth, ‘ or you'll have a policeman and all the neighbours in here to know who is being killed ’’ ‘ But it hurts awfully ’.’ cried Winfred. T guess you'd cry I

At that moment the bewitching strains of a hand-organ were heard in the street. Winfred ran to the window, ami was perfectly quiet until the monkey and organ moved on, then he took up his doleful crying where he left off ■ Winfred,' said his mother, trying to -peak patiently, ‘ what is the trouble now f

‘ I hurt my finger,’ said the little boy. ‘ Come here and let me see it.’ Winfred held up his fat little fingers, and looked at them with a puzzled expression on his face. ‘ I s' pose it was this finger—or else, maybe, it was my thumb, I’ve most forgot which,’ he said, looking somewhat ashamed.

‘The injury must have been very slight, Winfred,’said Mrs Terry, ‘or you would not have forgotten so soon. You have a very bad habit of crying over every trifle and it makes it very unpleasant for all of us. Besides, dear, habits, like threads, can be easily broken when they are little, but they grow stronger year by year, until they are like huge cables. How sad it would be, when you are a man, if you should cry every time you -tubbed your t<re, or got a sliver in your finger.’ Winfred s face grew very hot with shame. ‘ Course I shan't cry when I’m a man I’ he said. ‘ I fear you will, unless you break yourself of the habit now,’ said his mother. ' You used to Ire a brave little boy, but for the la-t year you have grown more and more baby i-h. I really feel ashamed of you, Winfred.’ ■ Maybe I shan't cry any more,’ -aid the little boy, with his arms round his mother’s neck. Nevertheless, he hail three more ‘ crying -jrell-' before bed-time. The next day there was great rejoicing in the house, for Uncle Chester came home. Uncle Chester wasla sailor, and hail been away on a long voyage. Every one liked the kind, jolly sailor, but Winfred thought him the greatest hero in the world. Uncle Chester brought them all present- from distant lands —shells and rare curiosities, but to Winfred he brought a beautiful jjreen parrot, with brilliant red feathers around his neck. He was caller! ‘ The < 'ommodore. ’ This parrot could talk very nicely. < >ne day when Winfred began crying because he had not been helped twice to strawberries, the parrot called out, ‘ My word, what a baby. Ha : Ha!’

Winfred stopped crying at once, and it «as a very long time before he cried again. But whenever the boy began to cry the parrot screamed in a mocking tone. ‘ What a baby ! ha ! ha ’.’ and very soon Winfred did not dare to cry anymore.

‘ That parrot is worth his weight in gold,’ said Thad one day. *V\in has not had a good cry tor weeks; but what bothers me is to know who taught the commodore that phrase that has such a wonderful effect.’ ‘lt is my opinion,’ said Ruth, * that mamtva and Uncle Chester know more about it than any of us.’ Do you think she was right ?