The Family Circle

New Zealand Tablet, 3 February 1916, Page 61

The Family Circle

THE SUNSHINE STORE.

Here are smiles of every kind, And jolly laughs galore, And frolicking fun (much better than pouts) In the Sunshine Store! There are merry'whistles for the boys And for the girls good cheer. Everything for a pleasant time Is found in abundance here. ■

Now wouldn't it be a splendid plan To go to this store, I pray, And buy your actions every morn— Enough to last all day ? . THE PICTURE. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon, but Betty had no idea of letting a little thing like that spoil her party. ' There are lots of things to do indoors,' she said. we were going to have in the leaves that John raked up yesterday.' Betty's party was not so large as it would have been had the sun been shining, but four of her friends were there: Louise, who wore her hair in two braids, tied with big black bows; Lester, a fat little boy with curly hair, whose sailor blouse had stars on the collar; Fred, a taller boy, with closely cropped hair; and Dorothy, whose fluffy hair formed a pretty frame for her red cheeks and bright eyes. All were quite willing to follow any plan that Betty might suggest. And so Betty thought hard. She looked about her, and walked from one room to another. The game must be a new one, and not something that they had all played again and again. What should it be ? In the long hall she sat down on a sofa and looked at a great painting on the wall near by. She had seen it every day—the picture of a young woman and a little boy near a large tree. The young woman was leaning on a large A bird perched on the upraised hand of the little boy. Betty looked at the familiar picture a moment without thinking much about it. But suddenly she cried, ' I have it! Here is the game for this afternoon ! What is the story that the big picture tells ? Let each of us say what we think it isnot all at once, but in turn ! You first, Louise.'

They gathered in front of the painting, and Louise, with her hands on her hips, looked at it hard before she began her story. ' Well,' she said at last, ' I think it is something that happened a long time ago. You can tell that by the way the little boy is dressed, though his sisterl think it is his sister— not look so old-fashioned. They lived in a beautiful house, with a great park all round it. Perhaps it was a castle. They had many pets, and one of them was a wonderful green parrot that their father had brought home from a land beyond the sea. • One day the parrot flew off among the trees of the park. They ran after it, but could not find it, and they both felt very bad. Then the next day the boy was rolling his hoop in the park, and his sister was with him, because he was too young to go far from the castle alone. All at once they heard a whirring noise in the leaves overhead, and the parrot came right down and perched on the boy's hand ! Probably it was hungry, and so-was ready to go back to its cage again. The sister picked up the hoop that the little boy dropped, and just then the camera man caught them— I suppose that it was a painter, for there were no cameras so long ago. I think that is the story of the picture.' 'Good!' cried Betty. 'Now it is your turn, Fred.' -;-; ■■ . -- ..:, ..

' I think they are prisoners,' began Fred, promptly.: ' That is what makes the girl so sad. They live ic a castle, but it is a prison just the same. The girl is a princess and the boy is a little prince. He would be a king some day, but men who do not want him to be king have taken him far from home and put him into prison. They took his sister, too,' and let them play together in the grounds round the castle; but they watch them all the time, so that there is no chance for them to get away or to send word to their own people. But they have a plan to send a message by tying a little note to the leg of the pet -bird. They hope that the bird will fly away arid that some one will find the note and send it to their own country. I think that is the story, and I think that they got away from the prison, and that the little boy became a great king.' ' That is more exciting than the story Louise told, said Betty. What is your story, Lester V ' They are not in a prison at all,' said Lester. ' They are near the ocean. They are watching a ship that has sailed away. Their father is on it, and he is' going on a long voyage to the other side of the world. On his last voyage he brought home the parrot. He has promised the little boy that he will bring home a pet monkey the next time, and he has promised his sister that she shall have silks and jewels and many other beautiful things ; but she does not like to have her father go so far away, and that is why she looks so sad.' " ' Now, Dorothy,' cried Betty, when Lester had finished, ' what do you think is the story that the picture tells?' ' It is different from all the others,' said Dorothy, 'though of course mine may be all wrong. But I believe that is a little girl and not a little boy. They dressed differently in the old times, and I think it looks more like a little girl than a boy. And the young woman is not an older sister, but the mother. Anyway, she looks as old as my.mother does, and it makes the story better to have her the mother. The father had gone off to the war, and the mother is very lonesome. She has taken the little girl out into the park to play with her hoop, and the pet parrot has gone along, too. Ido not believe that it would fly away or that it would carry messages. They have just stopped in the shade of a tree to rest, and pretty soon they will go back home to tea.' When Dorothy ended her story, each of them had something new to add to his or her own story, and each found thing to like in the stories that the others had told. ' I suppose if there were fifty of us here instead of five, each of us would see something different in the picture,' said Betty. ' But it's a good game. Let's take the next picture.' So they passed the rainy afternoon, and not one of them missed the frolic in the leaves. HOW CAEL WON THE PRIZE. The master of a village school once offered a prize to the boy who, by the end of the following week, should bring him the most beautiful thing. The things were to be brought to the school, so that the boys might help the master to award the prize. So the boys spent that week in looking over their toys, pets, and other little possessions. It seemed to them at first that it would be an easy thing to find such treasure for their master, but each day the task became more difficult. They changed their minds again and again, and in the end almost every boy who had attempted the task of selection gave it up. ; When, on the appointed day, the boys assembled at the school, only two of their number carried parcels. Maximilian, who was a very rich boy, walked up proudly to the master's desk and placed on it a casket containing a dazzling jewel which had'once adorned a crown worn by his royal ancestors. All the pupils exclaimed in admiration of this beautiful thing all felt sure that Max would receive the prize*

A fat boy, whose name was Otto, brought up a huge parcel. When the master opened it, there appeared an immense sugared cake. At this sight, the boys' mouths watered; many of them would rather have had Otto's cake than Maximilian's jewel. ' Is there nothing else?' asked the master again. There was no answer. Then in at the door of the schoolroom came little Carl. ' How is it that you are so late, Carl ?' said the master. ' You have never been late before.' 'On my way, sir,' replied Carl, 'I saw a hawk pounce down upon a poor little white dove and carry it off. When I clapped my hands, the hawk dropped the dove and flew away. I picked up the dove, washed its wounds in the brook, then wrapped it in my handkerchief. That is what made me late, sir.' ' Where is the bird now?' ' I left it in the shed.' ' Bring it in.' Carl obeyed. He brought the dove to the master's desk. The eyes of the wounded bird looked up at Carl so imploringly that two big tears rolled down the boy's cheeks on to the dove's back. ' Look at these tears, children,' said the master. ' A tear shed for others is the most beautiful -thing in the world. Love—sympathy— far more precious than jewels or cakes. But I leave the decision to you. To which of these three boys shall we give the prize?' Every voice shouted, Carl! Carl! Carl!' HALL-MARKED SILVER. In England long ago, silversmiths were required to bring their wares to the guild-hall where they were examined. If approved the maker's mark and also the ' King's mark ' — crowned leopard's head were stamped on the pieces. Thus originated the expression ' Hall-marked silver' —a guarantee of quality. A writer says that there are marks to determine the genuineness of man as well as of silverhall-marks of character. The first mark of a gentleman (says the Sacred Heart Review) is gentleness; then he is willing to serve; he has a clean soul; he is honorable. Any boy may be a gentleman and any girl a lady 1 displaying even amid the most sordid surroundings like chivalrous King Arthur, the white flower of a blameless life.' The writer might have added that King Arthur served ' God and our Lady ' —hence his chivalry, his nobility of soul. VAIN LABOR. Some years ago the members of an archaeological society had a gathering at the home of a certain one of their number. While they were roaming about the house, the host called the attention of his guests to an old clock, a great favorite of his. He told his friends of his great attachment to this ancient timepiece, and grew quite pathetic at certain points in his remarks, which he brought to a close by saying, in a voice full of emotion: ' Gentlemen, I have wound up that clock every night for more than forty years.' He had evidently made an impression on his visitors, when one old fellow, who had ■ been carefully examining the clock, turned the tide of feeling evoked by the story by saying, dryly. * ' Well, I always did think you were something of an idiot! That's an eight-day clock!' HE KNEW THEIR WEAKNESS. During the reign of Louis XV. of France, the light chaise came into fashion, and great ladies of Paris were accustomed to drive in them about the city. But beautiful hands are not always strong one; accidents began to occur more and more frequently in the streets. Consequently the King besought the

Minister of Police to do something, since the lives of pedestrians were constantly in danger. 'I will do whatever is in my power,' replied the. Police Minister. Your Majesty desires that these accidents cease entirely?' The King replied, 'Certainly.' The next day, there appeared a royal ordinance that ordered that, in future, ladies under thirty year!" of age should not drive chaises through the streets of Paris. That seems a mild restriction; but it is said that scarcely a woman from that time on drove her own chaise. The Police Minister knew that few women would care to advertise the fact that they were over thirty, and that the rest would probably be too old to drive anyway. HE GUESSED CORRECTLY. An old circus man tells this story : ' The usual crowd of small boys was gathered about the entrance of the tent in a town in Illinois. A benevolent-looking old gentleman standing near by watched them for a few minutes with a beaming eye. Then, walking up to the ticket-taker, he said, with an air of authority: ' "Let all these boys in, and count 'em as they pass." ' The gateman, thinking that the benevolent-look-ing old gentleman was indulging in a bit of philanthropy, did as requested. When the last lad had gone in, he turned and announced: "Twenty-four, sir." ' "Good," said the benevolent-looking old gentleman, as he walked away, "I thought I guessed right."' OF NECESSITY. The father of a family presented himself at an emigration office, and asked for tickets. ' How many are you?' inquired the agent. ' Threemyself, wife, and child.' ' Your age and profession ?' went on the clerk. 'l've just turned thirty; profession, carpenter; my wife, a needlewoman.' ' Thk*ee of you, you said?' inquired the man. ' What about the child—sex and age?' ' Boy ; seven months.' ' Profession ?' ' The father's eyebrows were raised so much that they almost formed Gothic arches on his forehead. ' His profession, I say?' repeated the agent. The astounded father paused just a moment longer wondering where red tape would stop; then, as if inspired, he said : ' Bachelor !' CONDENSED ESSAYS. Philosophy reconciles us to the misfortunes of others. The less work a man does the more he tires others. The height of some men's ambition is to pull other men down. Truth is stranger than fiction because there's less on the market. Don't wait until you are broke before you begin to mend your ways. Many a man has found himself in a tight place because he didn't remain sober. It's easy to convince the lone man at an afternoon tea that there is no place like home. A man seldom wants to arbitrate unless he is morally certain of his inability to lick the other fellow.