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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:23:04 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20436-h.zip b/20436-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e7c0101 --- /dev/null +++ b/20436-h.zip diff --git a/20436-h/20436-h.htm b/20436-h/20436-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ff0448d --- /dev/null +++ b/20436-h/20436-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1233 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sunshine Factory, by Pansy + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + a[name] { position:absolute; } + a:link {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:visited {color:#0000ff; background-color:#FFFFFF; + text-decoration:none; } + a:hover { color:#ff0000; background-color:#FFFFFF; } + + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sunshine Factory, by Pansy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sunshine Factory + +Author: Pansy + +Release Date: January 24, 2007 [EBook #20436] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUNSHINE FACTORY *** + + + + +Produced by David Newman, David Edwards, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img_01.jpg" alt="Cover Page" width="500" height="769" /></div> +<p> </p> +<h1>SUNSHINE FACTORY.</h1> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>BY</h4> +<h2>PANSY.</h2> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/img_02.jpg" width="200" height="203" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h2>BOSTON:</h2> +<h2>D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY,</h2> +<h3>FRANKLIN ST., CORNER OF HAWLEY.</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>COPYRIGHT BY</h4> +<h3>D. LOTHROP & CO.</h3> +<h3>1878.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_03.jpg" width="500" height="289" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>SUNSHINE FACTORY.</h2> + + +<p>"Oh, dear! it always <i>does</i> rain when I want to go anywhere," cried +little Jennie Moore. "It's too bad! Now I've got to stay in-doors all +day, and I know I shall have a wretched day."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so," said Uncle Jack; "but you need not have a bad day unless +you choose."</p> + +<p>"How can I help it? I wanted to go to the park and hear the band, and +take Fido and play on the grass, and have a good time, and pull wild +flowers, and eat sandwiches under the trees; and now there isn't going +to be any sunshine at all, and I'll have to just stand here and see it +rain, and see the water run off the ducks' backs."</p> + +<p>"Well, let's make a little sunshine," said Uncle Jack.</p> + +<p>"Make sunshine," said Jennie; "why how you do talk!" and she smiled +through her tears. "You haven't got a sunshine factory, have you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm going to start one right off, if you'll be my partner," +replied Uncle Jack.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_04.jpg" width="500" height="334" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<p>"Now, let me give you three rules for making sunshine: First, don't +think of what might have been if the day had been better. Second, see +how many pleasant things there are left to enjoy; and, lastly, do all +you can to make other people happy."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll try the last thing first; and she went to work to amuse +her little brother Willie, who was crying. By the time she had him +riding a chair and laughing, she was laughing too.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Uncle Jack, "I see you are a good sunshine-maker, for +you've got about all you or Willie can hold now. But let's try what we +can do with the second rule."</p> + +<p>"But I haven't anything to enjoy; 'cause all my dolls are old, and my +picture-books all torn, and—"</p> + +<p>"Hold," said Uncle Jack; "here's a newspaper. Now let's get some fun +out of it."</p> + +<p>"Fun out of a newspaper! Why, how you talk."</p> + +<p>But Uncle Jack showed her how to make a mask by cutting holes in the +paper, and how to cut a whole family of paper dolls, and how to make +pretty things for Willie out of the paper. Then he got a tea-tray and +showed her how to roll a marble round it.</p> + +<p>And so she found many pleasant amusements; and when bedtime came she +kissed Uncle Jack, and said:</p> + +<p>"Good-night, dear Uncle Jack."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, dear little sunshine-maker;" said Uncle Jack.</p> + +<p>And she dreamed that night that Uncle Jack had built a great house, +and put a sign over the door, which read:</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Sunshine Factory,</b></span></p> + +<p class="center"><i><b>Uncle Jack and little Jennie</b></i>:</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/img_05.jpg" width="350" height="186" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/img_06.jpg" width="350" height="356" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>MOLLIE'S THANKSGIVING.</h2> + + +<p>She was on the way to the grocery. She had a broken-nosed pitcher, and +was going for two cents' worth of molasses. Her face was bright, but +it grew sober as she passed grandfather. His white head was bowed over +his hand, and the blue old eyes were dim with tears. Mollie stopped +and laid a little hand lovingly on his white head.</p> + + + +<p>"It will be a nice dinner, grandpa;" she said, and her voice was sweet +and loving.</p> + +<p>"We've got a little meal, and a little sour milk, and I can make a +lovely johnny-cake, and there are two cents for molasses to eat it +with, and there are two potatoes to roast, and maybe I can get an +apple to bake for sauce. Grandpa I think it will be a nice +Thanksgiving dinner."</p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_07.jpg" width="500" height="649" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<p>"Poor darling!" said grandpa, wiping his eyes, "you are something to +be thankful for, if the dinner isn't. But I wasn't thinking of dinner, +Mollie. I know it will be good if you get it. Grandfather was thinking +of his little boy Dick. It was on a Thanksgiving day that he went +away, seventeen years ago to-day. It makes old grandfather think of +him whenever the day comes round; though there isn't often a day that +I don't think of him, for the matter of that."</p> + +<p>"But he's a going to come back on Thanksgiving day, you know; and what +if this should be the very day. Grandfather, I'm going around by the +depot after my molasses, then if I meet him, I can show him the way +home."</p> + +<p>But grandfather only shook his head. "It's a pretty thought, child, +and I'm glad you've got it to help you through the days; but your +Uncle Dick will never come home again. I feel it all through me that I +will never see him on earth."</p> + +<p>"And I feel it all through me that you <i>will</i>. Why I <i>know</i> he'll +come. This morning when I prayed for him to come to-day for sure, I +most heard the angel saying, 'Yes, Mollie, he shall.'"</p> + +<p>Grandfather smiled and sighed. "You've almost heard him a many times +before," he said; "but keep on listening, dear, it keeps your heart +warm; and we'll eat our Thanksgiving dinner, and thank the Lord for +it, and be as happy as we can, for there's many a body has no dinner +to eat. I'm sure I don't know where ours is to come from to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Mollie shook her brown head. "Now, grandpa, you are not to coax me to +keep these two cents and go without our molasses. I've set my heart +on a Thanksgiving dinner. I told Jesus I loved him very much for +sending these pennies; and we don't want our to-morrow's dinner till +to-morrow comes. I'm going now for the molasses, and I shall go around +by the depot;" and she kissed her grandfather on his white hair, on +his nose, on both sunken eyes, and kissing her hand to him as she ran +across the street, she was soon out of sight.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_08.jpg" width="500" height="689" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<p>"I wonder which street I would better go?" she said, stopping at the +corner, and looking each way with a wise air. "If one only knew which +street Uncle Dick <i>might</i> take in coming from the depot, one would +know how to decide. I don't see why grandpa should think I am foolish +in talking so; of course if Uncle Dick is alive, he will come home +some day, and it <i>might</i> be to-day. What if I have said so a good many +times, it is true every day, and will be till he comes. I most know he +is alive, for people always hear, some way or other, when their +friends die. I'm going down Allen Street; that's the shortest road +from the depot;" and she turned the corner so suddenly that she ran +right against this tall man who had a large valise strapped over his +shoulder, and a satchel by the hand.</p> + +<p>"Softly, softly, my lassie," he said, as Mollie stopped out of breath. +"You nearly tipped me over, to say nothing of yourself. Perhaps while +you are finding your breath, you can tell me where to find Marham +Street."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I can; I just came from there. I live on that street. It +is a good long way from here, and you turn up and down about every +lane you come to. If you will wait till I go to the store for my +molasses, I can show you the way. The store is just down that block, +and across the road."</p> + +<p>"All right; go ahead. I'll follow. So you are going after molasses, +for mother to make a Thanksgiving cake, I dare say."</p> + +<p>"No, sir," said Mollie, and her voice took a sober tone, and she shook +her brown head with a sigh. "I haven't got any mother; she died when I +was a little bit of a girl. I live with grandpa, and we never have any +cake; we are too poor; but we are going to have a Thanksgiving dinner +for all that. I will have that little, when it only comes once a +year. We have two lovely big potatoes roasting at the fire, and I know +how to make perfectly splendid johnny-cake, and we are to have this +molasses to eat with it, because it is Thanksgiving. I did mean to +have a dessert, like grand folks. I was going to have two apples and +make some lovely apple-sauce, but I had to give that up. Perhaps by +next Thanksgiving, Uncle Dick will come home, if he doesn't come +to-day, and then maybe we can have dessert too."</p> + +<p>"Are you expecting Uncle Dick to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; we expect him every day, but mostly on Thanksgivings, for it +was then he went away."</p> + +<p>"Where did he go to?"</p> + +<p>"Out to Australia, sir; ever so many years ago; seventeen years ago +to-day. Grandfather thinks he is lost, but I don't."</p> + +<p>Mollie was so busy picking her way across the muddy street that she +didn't see the start the man beside her gave, nor the red blood that +rolled over his dark face as he said: "What is your grandfather's +name?"</p> + +<p>"Elias Miller, sir; and he is the best man on the street; oh I guess +he's the best in the city. I do wish Uncle Dick would come home and +take care of him. If he knew how much he was needed he couldn't help +it."</p> + +<p>"He'll come," said the tall man, striding on very fast; "which is the +way? Oh, you want the molasses;" and while they waited in the store, +he picked out a dozen rosy apples and had them put up; Mollie watching +with eager eyes. What if he should be going to give her one of them to +pay her for showing the way. If he did, grandpa should have his +dessert.</p> + +<p>The end of this story is one that is very hard to write.</p> + +<p>How can I tell you in a few lines about the walk home, and about how +the tall gentleman carried the molasses, and said he would step in and +see grandpa a minute, and how grandpa's eyes, dim and old as they +were, yet knew in a minute that his own boy Dick stood before him, and +how they talked and laughed, and cried, and had a wonderful dinner; +every one of the twelve rosy apples bubbled into sauce; nor how they +moved the next day out of that street entirely into the nicest of +little houses, and how roasted potatoes and apple-sauce came to be +every day matters to Mollie, and how she made the dearest little +housekeeper in the world. You see it can't be done; it sounds like a +fairy story, but Mollie knows that it all happened.</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/img_09.jpg" width="200" height="138" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_10.jpg" width="500" height="306" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>FISHING.</h2> + + +<p>Stuart Milburn did not feel very good-natured. "The whole world has +gone crazy," he muttered; "anyway this little snipe of a village has. +Why can't they let a fellow alone? I don't want them to look after me, +and I don't feel in need of their interference either. I never saw +such a time; I can't turn in any direction but some old maid will ask +me something stupid; and the girls are as bad, and the boys are +worse."</p> + +<p>Now, what do you suppose all this was about? You will be surprised +when you hear, for no doubt you think from his picture that Stuart was +a sensible boy.</p> + +<p>The truth of the matter was just this: Stuart's home was in the city, +but he had come to the country to spend the summer vacation at his +uncle's, and have a good time. In his uncle's family were five +cousins, three boys and two girls. Robert, the oldest, was five years +older than Stuart, and, being a college graduate, Stuart looked up to +him and respected his opinion. He, as well as the others, were +Christians.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_11.jpg" width="500" height="732" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<p>Now, it so happened that when the family of cousins heard that Stuart +was coming to spend the summer, they entered into an agreement to pray +for him every night and morning, and to do every thing that they could +to get him to be a Christian. A most reasonable and unselfish thing, +you will say. What would Stuart have thought of them if they had +possessed any other good thing in this world, and had kept all +knowledge of it to themselves!</p> + +<p>But it was this very thing that had vexed him, and sent him off alone +with Tiger, that summer morning, instead of joining the cousins in +their fun. And yet they had been very pleasant about it all; they had +not tried to force him into doing anything that he did not want to +do. I hardly know what made him so absurd.</p> + +<p>"Stuart," his Cousin Will said, "I wish you were going to Yale with me +this fall."</p> + +<p>"I wish I were, with all my heart, old fellow," said Stuart, with the +utmost heartiness. "I worked like a Jehu to get ready to enter, but I +didn't accomplish it; never mind, just you look out for me next fall. +I'll be there as sure as my name is Milburn."</p> + +<p>"Stuart," his Cousin Robert said, a little later, as they were coming +up the walk together, "I wish you were going this road to heaven with +me," and Stuart answered nothing and looked annoyed and wished his +cousin would let him alone. Now, if you see any sense to that you see +more than I do.</p> + +<p>As to the "old maids" there was only one of them in his uncle's +family, and as she was his own mother's own sister, and he had often +been heard to say that she was the very best old aunty that a fellow +ever had, one would think he might have excused her for wanting him to +go to heaven where his mother had been waiting for him for three +years.</p> + +<p>However he didn't. It was her softly spoken sentence as they rose from +prayers that morning: "I prayed for you all the time, Stuart," that +had sent him off in a pet with his fishing rod over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You may go along," he said to Tiger; "thank fortune you can't talk; +if you could no doubt you would ask me to go to prayer-meeting +to-night. What a preaching set they are! I wish I had known it, and I +would have steered clear of them and gone home with Randolph. Well, +I'll have one good day; there isn't a house within four miles of the +point where I am going, and fishes can't preach. I will live in rest +for one morning. We will have some good rational enjoyment all by +ourselves, won't we, Tiger? And carry home a string of trout for Aunt +Mattie, to pay her for looking so sober at us this morning."</p> + +<p>Saying which he snapped his fingers cheerily at the dog, and sent him +in search of a ground squirrel, and made believe that he was perfectly +happy. What do you suppose came into Stuart's mind and heart before +he had held his rod in the water ten minutes, and followed him up with +a persistent voice all the morning? Nothing so very new nor strange, +nothing but what he had known ever since he was a little boy five +years old, and had stood at his mother's knee, one summer Sunday +morning, and said it to her; it was just this little verse: "Follow +me, and I will make you fishers of men."</p> + +<p>It was wonderful with what a clear voice that seemed to be said over +in his ear. He looked around him once, startled, half expecting to see +some one, and once he muttered: "I was mistaken, I see, about the +fishes; they have caught the preaching fever, and can do it as well as +any of them."</p> + +<p>But afterwards there came a wiser thought; those were the words of +Jesus Christ; what if he were repeating them in his ear. Did he really +and truly want him, Stuart Milburn, to follow him?</p> + +<p>"Pshaw," said Satan, "that was said to the fishermen at Galilee +hundreds of years ago." Still came the mysterious sentence: "Follow +me;" "fishers of men!" he said over aloud; "what a strange idea. Worth +while, though, to catch men. I should like to be able to lead people. +They wouldn't be led, though, I suppose any more than I will."</p> + +<p>Over and over sounded the verse, "Follow me." Stuart grew very grave. +The moments passed; a fish jerked and wriggled at the end of his line +in vain; he did not notice it. Tiger jumped at his heels and talked +loudly in his way, but the fisher paid no attention. An important +question was being settled.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he jerked out his rod, threw back the fish into the water and +wound up his line.</p> + +<p>"Come, Tiger," he said; "let's you and I go to the woods and find the +boys; I have made up my mind to 'follow.'"</p> + +<p>Up in her own little room at home, his Cousin Sarah, who was just +Stuart's age, and thought he was almost perfect, locked her door and +prayed this prayer:</p> + +<p>"Dear Jesus: He has got vexed at us all and gone off fishing, by +himself. Don't let him have a good time at all; don't let him have any +more good times until he finds them in thee."</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/img_12.jpg" width="350" height="138" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_13.jpg" width="500" height="240" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>RAY'S MORNING.</h2> + + +<p>There is a little nestling among the bed-clothes, and then a ringing +voice says: "Well, mamma, here I am; good-morning. Shall I tell you a +nice pretty story this morning, while you comb your hair?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, indeed."</p> + +<p>"Well, once there was a man named Peter, and a naughty king named +Herod put him in prison. Prisons are great big stone houses with iron +windows, where they put naughty men. Peter wasn't naughty, but King +Herod was; and he fastened him to two soldiers; he put chains around +his wrists, you know, and then around each soldier's wrist. Then they +locked the doors and locked and bolted the great big gate, and went +away. Peter went to sleep; and in the night he heard some one say to +him, 'Get up, Peter, quick; and put on your cloak and come with me.' +Then Peter opened his eyes, and there stood an angel; then he hurried +and put on his cloak and his belt, and they went out, he and +Jesus—the angel was Jesus hisself, you know—and they went by the +soldier, and the soldier didn't say a word; and Peter wondered and +wondered how they would get through that big gate that was locked up +so tight; but when they came to it, open it swung—there didn't +anybody touch it at all—then they went through and went down the +street, and pretty soon Peter turned around to say something to Jesus, +and he was gone! He had gone back to heaven, I suppose.</p> + +<p>"Down street a little ways there was a woman lived, and her name was +Mary, and she had a prayer-meeting at her house; ever so many people +came to prayer-meeting, and they prayed to Jesus to take care of Peter +and let him get out of prison. Peter knew there was a prayer-meeting, +so he thought he would go to it; and he knocked at the gate (they had +to knock at the gate when they went to see Mary), and a girl named +Rhoda went to see who was there; and instead of letting him in, she +ran back and said: 'Oh, don't you think, Peter is at the gate.' Then +the folks said: 'Why, no, he isn't; Peter is in prison, and the door +is locked, and the soldiers have the keys. You are mistaken.' But she +said: 'No, I ain't mistaken; I <i>know</i> it is Peter.' So they 'sputes +about it and Peter kept knocking, knocking, and pretty soon some of +them said: 'Come, let's go see who is knocking, that Rhoda thinks is +Peter;' so they went to the gate and there they saw him, and they knew +him and they were so glad to see him; they opened the gate and let him +in, and they all wanted to talk to him at once, but he beckoned to +them to keep still, and then he told them how Jesus came down out of +heaven and woke him up, and got him out of prison. Isn't that a nice +story, mamma?"</p> + +<p>"A splendid story, darling; and every word of it is true. That was +your own Jesus that you pray to, who took care of Peter and helped him +out of prison."</p> + +<p>"I know it am, mamma; I know all about him. Now, shall I tell you +another story?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; I like your stories when they are as nice as this one."</p> + +<p>"Well, now listen; this is my other story and it is all true:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Neighbor Phinney had a turnip,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it grew behind the barn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it grew and it grew, an'<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it ne'er did any harm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'And it grew, and it grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As, until it could grow no better,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Farmer Phinney took it up<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And put it in his cellar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'And it lay, and it lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until it began to rot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his daughter Sarah took it up,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And put it in a pot.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'And it boiled, and it boiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As long as it was able;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his daughter Mary took it up,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And put it on the table.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Then Farmer Phinney and his wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When they sat down to dine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They ate, and they ate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And they thought that turnip fine.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"There, isn't that a nice story, mamma?"</p> + +<p>Mamma, feeling a tremendous distance between that story and the last +one, concludes that it is time to give the boy his morning bath, and +kiss his little tongue into quiet for a few minutes.</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_14.jpg" width="500" height="136" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_15.jpg" width="500" height="230" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>NETTIE'S VISIT.</h2> + + +<p>It was July, and the great city was very hot. Day after day the fiery +sun rose and blazed away with all his might on the dusty pavements and +heated houses. All the people too who could were leaving the city.</p> + +<p>But the poor were obliged to stay, no matter how the sun beat down +into their narrow streets and small stifling rooms. There had been no +rain for a long time; many people were sick and dying, and the world +looked very dark to some of them. Mrs. Holmes lived high up in the +topmost rooms of a tall block of buildings. Her rooms were small and +hot, for the sun shone into her windows and upon the roof all the long +day. She was a seamstress and a widow with one little daughter, +Nettie.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Holmes was very sad and troubled, for Nettie had not been well +all the spring, and now she seemed like a little wilted flower; no +strength, nor appetite, though mamma denied herself everything that +she could to get nice little things to tempt her darling. The doctor +had said she must have change of air, must go into the country. He +might just as well have said she must go to Europe, for Mrs. Holmes +had no dear old home in the country waiting to welcome her; no uncles, +aunts and cousins, writing "When will you come?" So she sat through +the long afternoon and tried to sew as well as she could with the +heat, and the flies, and her sad thoughts.</p> + +<p>Nettie was lying on the bed asleep, her little face as white as the +pillow.</p> + +<p>"She is going to slip right away from me, and leave me alone," the +poor mother groaned to herself. "Oh, Father in heaven, help me!" she +cried. "Show me what to do for my dear little daughter." The help was +nearer than she thought.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," said Nettie, sitting up very suddenly, "I had a nice dream; I +guess I was in the country, for there were trees all around, and +green grass, and birds singing; and such beautiful flowers! Are there +any flies there?" she said, as she brushed a troublesome one from her +face.</p> + +<p>The tears came in her mother's eyes, for she remembered dimly the +pleasant cool rooms, darkened by blinds and shade trees, where +scarcely a fly dared set it's foot, but that was long ago.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bertrand lived in the city, too, and she was a widow also. The +difference between her and Mrs. Holmes was that Mrs. Bertrand had a +great deal of money, and lived on the broad avenue, in a stone house, +with marble steps. She lived there winters, but as soon as the first +warm days came she packed all her handsome dresses into her trunks, +and started for her house in the country, a lovely spot on the shore +of the bay. There she spent the pleasant summers, rambling over her +beautiful grounds, resting under the shade trees, or sailing on the +bay. Now, she was not selfish and cold-hearted, if she <i>was</i> a rich +lady; she truly loved the Lord Jesus, and loved to do his will. So it +happened that while Mrs. Holmes sat in her attic, and begged the Lord +to send her help, that Mrs. Bertrand sat in her beautiful home, gazing +out on the blue waters, and off to the misty hills and rosy sky. Her +heart swelled with thankfulness, and she asked the Lord what to do +next for him. How easy it is for God to answer people's prayers, if +they would only believe it!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_16.jpg" width="500" height="888" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<p>She sat and thought a long time of different persons, wondering what +she could do for them. But the thoughts that came oftenest, and would +not go away, were of poor sick little Nettie, and her sad young +mother.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'll do it," she said; "I wonder I had not thought of it +before." Then she went to her writing desk, and wrote a letter and +sent it off.</p> + +<p>Now let us go and hear it read.</p> + +<p>"A letter for me!" said Mrs. Holmes. "How strange! Who would write to +<i>me</i>?"</p> + +<p>The letter was from Mrs. Bertrand, and it said: "I want you and Nettie +to come right away and spend the summer with me. I am sure the fresh +air will cure her." But that was not all. There was money enough sent +to pay their expenses, and buy them each a traveling dress, and some +other things.</p> + +<p>I can't tell you much about how Nettie screamed for joy, and how her +mother cried, then both laughed, and both cried; but I know that not +long after two very happy beings dressed in gray, took the morning +boat and were brought safely to Mrs. Bertrand's door. Then how they +rode and sailed, and took long rambles, and gathered flowers, and +thought the time spent in sleep was wasted.</p> + +<p>The favorite seat was in the balcony, where Nettie could watch the +sea-gulls come and go, and where you may see them all this minute, +Nettie, and her mother, and Mrs. Betrand, with her basket of flowers. +Nettie's cheeks are getting round and rosy, and it is hard to say who +is happiest of them all; but Mrs. Bertrand must be, because you know +it says: "It is more blessed to give than to receive."</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><span class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img src="images/img_17.jpg" width="500" height="216" alt="Illustration" /></span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_18.jpg" width="500" height="396" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>WARREN'S VERSE.</h2> + + +<p>He is a little bit of a fellow. He can't read any more than a mouse +can; but he is very fond of standing in this way, beside his mother, +while she points to the words and pronounces them; then it is easy to +read them.</p> + +<p>Last Tuesday morning he was reading this verse: "A fool despiseth his +father's instruction: but he that regardeth reproof is prudent." +There were two listeners to this lesson. Warren's father in the study +was having a great hunt after some papers, but in his haste he +couldn't help stopping to listen to the sweet little voice repeating +the long words.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," he called at last, "seems to me that is a long verse, and one +almost beyond the little man's understanding isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Mamma laughed. "I think so," she said. "But the trouble is Warren +doesn't; his sister Laura has been learning this verse, and he wants +to."</p> + +<p>In the little reading-room opening from the study, Uncle Warren, a gay +young chap who was boarding at his sister's, listened and laughed over +the words that sounded so queerly, coming from the baby lips. Over +and over they were repeated: "A fool despiseth his father's +instruction: but he that regardeth reproof is prudent." As he listened +Uncle Warren's handsome face grew sober, he was writing letters, and +many papers were strewn before him. He took up one of them and read it +over:</p> + +<p>"Dear old fellow:—You have buried yourself in your sister's arms long +enough. Don't be tied to her apron-string; come down to-night, we are +going to have a real jolly time in Joe's room. Mum is the word."</p> + +<p>Uncle Warren laid it down again and took up another. It read:</p> + +<p>"Don't allow yourself to be caught in places where everything is to be +kept secret. When boys begin to keep their pleasures from their best +friends, it generally shows there is something wrong. I've been a +little worried about your evenings. I hope you will be prudent as to +how you spend them. Remember you are your father's only son."</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_19.jpg" width="500" height="877" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<p>Over the first reading of this letter, Warren had said, "Poh! +Fiddlesticks! He thinks I am a baby," and laying it down had begun a +reply to the other, that read thus: "Dear Dick:—I'll be on hand, +though I don't suppose our governors would like it much."</p> + +<p>Little Warren, in the other room, went on struggling with the long +words, "A fool despiseth his father's instruction: but he that +regardeth reproof is prudent." How exactly to the point it was, even +about the prudent part. It startled him a little. He tore Dick's +letter into little bits, while he listened and thought. Then he took +up his father's letter once more and read it over slowly; then with a +sudden decided movement, he tore the letter he was writing into +halves, and put it into the waste basket, and rapidly wrote this in +it's place: "Dick:—I can't come. My father wouldn't approve; neither +will yours. In haste, Warren."</p> + +<p>Then he went out and kissed little Warren on his nose, on his eyes, on +his chin, three times for each; and that was all that either the +little boy or his mother knew about the work that had been done in the +library.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/img_20.jpg" width="500" height="292" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + + + + +<h2>BROWN TOMMY.</h2> + + +<p>Not Tommy Brown, but Brown Tommy. He was all in brown from tip to toe. +His hair was brown by nature, and the sun had browned his face and +hands. His eyes were a lovely dark brown. He went on a journey on the +cars with his mamma, and this is the way he was dressed. He had a +brown merino dress, kilt skirt and jacket, with rows and rows of +brown buttons all over it; there were two pockets in the jacket; his +brown cloth gloves were peeping out of one, and the corner of his +handkerchief, that hung out of the other, had a brown flower on it. +His stockings were all brown, and his waterproof cape that was hanging +on his shoulders was just the color of his stockings. Then he had a +Centennial hat, three-cornered, such as old soldiers used to wear a +hundred years ago; it had a long brown plume on it. This was Brown +Tommy.</p> + +<p>How did he act? Well, not so nicely as he looked, I am sorry to say. +On the cars, in the seat before him, was a lady who tried to talk with +him, but he saw fit not to answer any of her questions. She seemed to +think he was a timid little boy, who must be coaxed into knowing her; +so she talked on, in a pleasant winning voice. At last she turned to +his mamma, and said: "Your little boy <i>can</i> talk, I suppose, or is he +too young?" Just that moment, up spoke Brown Tommy, and what he said +was: "Did you ever count all the buttons on your dress, or don't you +know how to count so many?" This seemed to astonish the lady very +much. Her dress was trimmed in the new fashion, with rows and rows of +buttons, and Tommy, who is rather mixed up in his counting, seemed to +think that it would take a very smart woman to count them all. Having +once found his tongue, he kept on pouring out the questions till the +lady must have wondered what had become of his timidity. He asked her +what was the name of the place where she lived, and how many churches +there were, and whether she went to church every Sunday, and whether +she sat as still as a mouse. By the time they reached their journey's +end, Brown Tommy and the lady knew each other very well; at least, he +knew all about her. She said she had never been asked so many +questions before in her life.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 337px;"> +<img src="images/img_21.jpg" width="337" height="128" alt="Illustration" /> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sunshine Factory, by Pansy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUNSHINE FACTORY *** + +***** This file should be named 20436-h.htm or 20436-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/4/3/20436/ + +Produced by David Newman, David Edwards, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sunshine Factory + +Author: Pansy + +Release Date: January 24, 2007 [EBook #20436] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUNSHINE FACTORY *** + + + + +Produced by David Newman, David Edwards, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + SUNSHINE FACTORY. + + + + BY + PANSY. + + + + + + BOSTON: + D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, + FRANKLIN ST., CORNER OF HAWLEY. + + + + COPYRIGHT BY + D. LOTHROP & CO. + 1878. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration] + + + + +SUNSHINE FACTORY. + + +"Oh, dear! it always _does_ rain when I want to go anywhere," cried +little Jennie Moore. "It's too bad! Now I've got to stay in-doors all +day, and I know I shall have a wretched day." + +"Perhaps so," said Uncle Jack; "but you need not have a bad day unless +you choose." + +"How can I help it? I wanted to go to the park and hear the band, and +take Fido and play on the grass, and have a good time, and pull wild +flowers, and eat sandwiches under the trees; and now there isn't going +to be any sunshine at all, and I'll have to just stand here and see it +rain, and see the water run off the ducks' backs." + +"Well, let's make a little sunshine," said Uncle Jack. + +"Make sunshine," said Jennie; "why how you do talk!" and she smiled +through her tears. "You haven't got a sunshine factory, have you?" + +"Well, I'm going to start one right off, if you'll be my partner," +replied Uncle Jack. + +[Illustration] + +"Now, let me give you three rules for making sunshine: First, don't +think of what might have been if the day had been better. Second, see +how many pleasant things there are left to enjoy; and, lastly, do all +you can to make other people happy." + +"Well, I'll try the last thing first; and she went to work to amuse +her little brother Willie, who was crying. By the time she had him +riding a chair and laughing, she was laughing too. + +"Well," said Uncle Jack, "I see you are a good sunshine-maker, for +you've got about all you or Willie can hold now. But let's try what we +can do with the second rule." + +"But I haven't anything to enjoy; 'cause all my dolls are old, and my +picture-books all torn, and--" + +"Hold," said Uncle Jack; "here's a newspaper. Now let's get some fun +out of it." + +"Fun out of a newspaper! Why, how you talk." + +But Uncle Jack showed her how to make a mask by cutting holes in the +paper, and how to cut a whole family of paper dolls, and how to make +pretty things for Willie out of the paper. Then he got a tea-tray and +showed her how to roll a marble round it. + +And so she found many pleasant amusements; and when bedtime came she +kissed Uncle Jack, and said: + +"Good-night, dear Uncle Jack." + +"Good-night, dear little sunshine-maker;" said Uncle Jack. + +And she dreamed that night that Uncle Jack had built a great house, +and put a sign over the door, which read: + +SUNSHINE FACTORY, + +_Uncle Jack and little Jennie_: + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + +MOLLIE'S THANKSGIVING. + + +She was on the way to the grocery. She had a broken-nosed pitcher, and +was going for two cents' worth of molasses. Her face was bright, but +it grew sober as she passed grandfather. His white head was bowed over +his hand, and the blue old eyes were dim with tears. Mollie stopped +and laid a little hand lovingly on his white head. + +[Illustration] + +"It will be a nice dinner, grandpa;" she said, and her voice was sweet +and loving. + +"We've got a little meal, and a little sour milk, and I can make a +lovely johnny-cake, and there are two cents for molasses to eat it +with, and there are two potatoes to roast, and maybe I can get an +apple to bake for sauce. Grandpa I think it will be a nice +Thanksgiving dinner." + +"Poor darling!" said grandpa, wiping his eyes, "you are something to +be thankful for, if the dinner isn't. But I wasn't thinking of dinner, +Mollie. I know it will be good if you get it. Grandfather was thinking +of his little boy Dick. It was on a Thanksgiving day that he went +away, seventeen years ago to-day. It makes old grandfather think of +him whenever the day comes round; though there isn't often a day that +I don't think of him, for the matter of that." + +"But he's a going to come back on Thanksgiving day, you know; and what +if this should be the very day. Grandfather, I'm going around by the +depot after my molasses, then if I meet him, I can show him the way +home." + +But grandfather only shook his head. "It's a pretty thought, child, +and I'm glad you've got it to help you through the days; but your +Uncle Dick will never come home again. I feel it all through me that I +will never see him on earth." + +"And I feel it all through me that you _will_. Why I _know_ he'll +come. This morning when I prayed for him to come to-day for sure, I +most heard the angel saying, 'Yes, Mollie, he shall.'" + +Grandfather smiled and sighed. "You've almost heard him a many times +before," he said; "but keep on listening, dear, it keeps your heart +warm; and we'll eat our Thanksgiving dinner, and thank the Lord for +it, and be as happy as we can, for there's many a body has no dinner +to eat. I'm sure I don't know where ours is to come from to-morrow." + +Mollie shook her brown head. "Now, grandpa, you are not to coax me to +keep these two cents and go without our molasses. I've set my heart +on a Thanksgiving dinner. I told Jesus I loved him very much for +sending these pennies; and we don't want our to-morrow's dinner till +to-morrow comes. I'm going now for the molasses, and I shall go around +by the depot;" and she kissed her grandfather on his white hair, on +his nose, on both sunken eyes, and kissing her hand to him as she ran +across the street, she was soon out of sight. + +[Illustration] + +"I wonder which street I would better go?" she said, stopping at the +corner, and looking each way with a wise air. "If one only knew which +street Uncle Dick _might_ take in coming from the depot, one would +know how to decide. I don't see why grandpa should think I am foolish +in talking so; of course if Uncle Dick is alive, he will come home +some day, and it _might_ be to-day. What if I have said so a good many +times, it is true every day, and will be till he comes. I most know he +is alive, for people always hear, some way or other, when their +friends die. I'm going down Allen Street; that's the shortest road +from the depot;" and she turned the corner so suddenly that she ran +right against this tall man who had a large valise strapped over his +shoulder, and a satchel by the hand. + +"Softly, softly, my lassie," he said, as Mollie stopped out of breath. +"You nearly tipped me over, to say nothing of yourself. Perhaps while +you are finding your breath, you can tell me where to find Marham +Street." + +"Yes, sir, I can; I just came from there. I live on that street. It +is a good long way from here, and you turn up and down about every +lane you come to. If you will wait till I go to the store for my +molasses, I can show you the way. The store is just down that block, +and across the road." + +"All right; go ahead. I'll follow. So you are going after molasses, +for mother to make a Thanksgiving cake, I dare say." + +"No, sir," said Mollie, and her voice took a sober tone, and she shook +her brown head with a sigh. "I haven't got any mother; she died when I +was a little bit of a girl. I live with grandpa, and we never have any +cake; we are too poor; but we are going to have a Thanksgiving dinner +for all that. I will have that little, when it only comes once a +year. We have two lovely big potatoes roasting at the fire, and I know +how to make perfectly splendid johnny-cake, and we are to have this +molasses to eat with it, because it is Thanksgiving. I did mean to +have a dessert, like grand folks. I was going to have two apples and +make some lovely apple-sauce, but I had to give that up. Perhaps by +next Thanksgiving, Uncle Dick will come home, if he doesn't come +to-day, and then maybe we can have dessert too." + +"Are you expecting Uncle Dick to-day?" + +"Oh, yes; we expect him every day, but mostly on Thanksgivings, for it +was then he went away." + +"Where did he go to?" + +"Out to Australia, sir; ever so many years ago; seventeen years ago +to-day. Grandfather thinks he is lost, but I don't." + +Mollie was so busy picking her way across the muddy street that she +didn't see the start the man beside her gave, nor the red blood that +rolled over his dark face as he said: "What is your grandfather's +name?" + +"Elias Miller, sir; and he is the best man on the street; oh I guess +he's the best in the city. I do wish Uncle Dick would come home and +take care of him. If he knew how much he was needed he couldn't help +it." + +"He'll come," said the tall man, striding on very fast; "which is the +way? Oh, you want the molasses;" and while they waited in the store, +he picked out a dozen rosy apples and had them put up; Mollie watching +with eager eyes. What if he should be going to give her one of them to +pay her for showing the way. If he did, grandpa should have his +dessert. + +The end of this story is one that is very hard to write. + +How can I tell you in a few lines about the walk home, and about how +the tall gentleman carried the molasses, and said he would step in and +see grandpa a minute, and how grandpa's eyes, dim and old as they +were, yet knew in a minute that his own boy Dick stood before him, and +how they talked and laughed, and cried, and had a wonderful dinner; +every one of the twelve rosy apples bubbled into sauce; nor how they +moved the next day out of that street entirely into the nicest of +little houses, and how roasted potatoes and apple-sauce came to be +every day matters to Mollie, and how she made the dearest little +housekeeper in the world. You see it can't be done; it sounds like a +fairy story, but Mollie knows that it all happened. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + +FISHING. + + +Stuart Milburn did not feel very good-natured. "The whole world has +gone crazy," he muttered; "anyway this little snipe of a village has. +Why can't they let a fellow alone? I don't want them to look after me, +and I don't feel in need of their interference either. I never saw +such a time; I can't turn in any direction but some old maid will ask +me something stupid; and the girls are as bad, and the boys are +worse." + +Now, what do you suppose all this was about? You will be surprised +when you hear, for no doubt you think from his picture that Stuart was +a sensible boy. + +The truth of the matter was just this: Stuart's home was in the city, +but he had come to the country to spend the summer vacation at his +uncle's, and have a good time. In his uncle's family were five +cousins, three boys and two girls. Robert, the oldest, was five years +older than Stuart, and, being a college graduate, Stuart looked up to +him and respected his opinion. He, as well as the others, were +Christians. + +[Illustration] + +Now, it so happened that when the family of cousins heard that Stuart +was coming to spend the summer, they entered into an agreement to pray +for him every night and morning, and to do every thing that they could +to get him to be a Christian. A most reasonable and unselfish thing, +you will say. What would Stuart have thought of them if they had +possessed any other good thing in this world, and had kept all +knowledge of it to themselves! + +But it was this very thing that had vexed him, and sent him off alone +with Tiger, that summer morning, instead of joining the cousins in +their fun. And yet they had been very pleasant about it all; they had +not tried to force him into doing anything that he did not want to +do. I hardly know what made him so absurd. + +"Stuart," his Cousin Will said, "I wish you were going to Yale with me +this fall." + +"I wish I were, with all my heart, old fellow," said Stuart, with the +utmost heartiness. "I worked like a Jehu to get ready to enter, but I +didn't accomplish it; never mind, just you look out for me next fall. +I'll be there as sure as my name is Milburn." + +"Stuart," his Cousin Robert said, a little later, as they were coming +up the walk together, "I wish you were going this road to heaven with +me," and Stuart answered nothing and looked annoyed and wished his +cousin would let him alone. Now, if you see any sense to that you see +more than I do. + +As to the "old maids" there was only one of them in his uncle's +family, and as she was his own mother's own sister, and he had often +been heard to say that she was the very best old aunty that a fellow +ever had, one would think he might have excused her for wanting him to +go to heaven where his mother had been waiting for him for three +years. + +However he didn't. It was her softly spoken sentence as they rose from +prayers that morning: "I prayed for you all the time, Stuart," that +had sent him off in a pet with his fishing rod over his shoulder. + +"You may go along," he said to Tiger; "thank fortune you can't talk; +if you could no doubt you would ask me to go to prayer-meeting +to-night. What a preaching set they are! I wish I had known it, and I +would have steered clear of them and gone home with Randolph. Well, +I'll have one good day; there isn't a house within four miles of the +point where I am going, and fishes can't preach. I will live in rest +for one morning. We will have some good rational enjoyment all by +ourselves, won't we, Tiger? And carry home a string of trout for Aunt +Mattie, to pay her for looking so sober at us this morning." + +Saying which he snapped his fingers cheerily at the dog, and sent him +in search of a ground squirrel, and made believe that he was perfectly +happy. What do you suppose came into Stuart's mind and heart before +he had held his rod in the water ten minutes, and followed him up with +a persistent voice all the morning? Nothing so very new nor strange, +nothing but what he had known ever since he was a little boy five +years old, and had stood at his mother's knee, one summer Sunday +morning, and said it to her; it was just this little verse: "Follow +me, and I will make you fishers of men." + +It was wonderful with what a clear voice that seemed to be said over +in his ear. He looked around him once, startled, half expecting to see +some one, and once he muttered: "I was mistaken, I see, about the +fishes; they have caught the preaching fever, and can do it as well as +any of them." + +But afterwards there came a wiser thought; those were the words of +Jesus Christ; what if he were repeating them in his ear. Did he really +and truly want him, Stuart Milburn, to follow him? + +"Pshaw," said Satan, "that was said to the fishermen at Galilee +hundreds of years ago." Still came the mysterious sentence: "Follow +me;" "fishers of men!" he said over aloud; "what a strange idea. Worth +while, though, to catch men. I should like to be able to lead people. +They wouldn't be led, though, I suppose any more than I will." + +Over and over sounded the verse, "Follow me." Stuart grew very grave. +The moments passed; a fish jerked and wriggled at the end of his line +in vain; he did not notice it. Tiger jumped at his heels and talked +loudly in his way, but the fisher paid no attention. An important +question was being settled. + +Suddenly he jerked out his rod, threw back the fish into the water and +wound up his line. + +"Come, Tiger," he said; "let's you and I go to the woods and find the +boys; I have made up my mind to 'follow.'" + +Up in her own little room at home, his Cousin Sarah, who was just +Stuart's age, and thought he was almost perfect, locked her door and +prayed this prayer: + +"Dear Jesus: He has got vexed at us all and gone off fishing, by +himself. Don't let him have a good time at all; don't let him have any +more good times until he finds them in thee." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + +RAY'S MORNING. + + +There is a little nestling among the bed-clothes, and then a ringing +voice says: "Well, mamma, here I am; good-morning. Shall I tell you a +nice pretty story this morning, while you comb your hair?" + +"Oh, yes, indeed." + +"Well, once there was a man named Peter, and a naughty king named +Herod put him in prison. Prisons are great big stone houses with iron +windows, where they put naughty men. Peter wasn't naughty, but King +Herod was; and he fastened him to two soldiers; he put chains around +his wrists, you know, and then around each soldier's wrist. Then they +locked the doors and locked and bolted the great big gate, and went +away. Peter went to sleep; and in the night he heard some one say to +him, 'Get up, Peter, quick; and put on your cloak and come with me.' +Then Peter opened his eyes, and there stood an angel; then he hurried +and put on his cloak and his belt, and they went out, he and +Jesus--the angel was Jesus hisself, you know--and they went by the +soldier, and the soldier didn't say a word; and Peter wondered and +wondered how they would get through that big gate that was locked up +so tight; but when they came to it, open it swung--there didn't +anybody touch it at all--then they went through and went down the +street, and pretty soon Peter turned around to say something to Jesus, +and he was gone! He had gone back to heaven, I suppose. + +"Down street a little ways there was a woman lived, and her name was +Mary, and she had a prayer-meeting at her house; ever so many people +came to prayer-meeting, and they prayed to Jesus to take care of Peter +and let him get out of prison. Peter knew there was a prayer-meeting, +so he thought he would go to it; and he knocked at the gate (they had +to knock at the gate when they went to see Mary), and a girl named +Rhoda went to see who was there; and instead of letting him in, she +ran back and said: 'Oh, don't you think, Peter is at the gate.' Then +the folks said: 'Why, no, he isn't; Peter is in prison, and the door +is locked, and the soldiers have the keys. You are mistaken.' But she +said: 'No, I ain't mistaken; I _know_ it is Peter.' So they 'sputes +about it and Peter kept knocking, knocking, and pretty soon some of +them said: 'Come, let's go see who is knocking, that Rhoda thinks is +Peter;' so they went to the gate and there they saw him, and they knew +him and they were so glad to see him; they opened the gate and let him +in, and they all wanted to talk to him at once, but he beckoned to +them to keep still, and then he told them how Jesus came down out of +heaven and woke him up, and got him out of prison. Isn't that a nice +story, mamma?" + +"A splendid story, darling; and every word of it is true. That was +your own Jesus that you pray to, who took care of Peter and helped him +out of prison." + +"I know it am, mamma; I know all about him. Now, shall I tell you +another story?" + +"Oh, yes; I like your stories when they are as nice as this one." + +"Well, now listen; this is my other story and it is all true: + + 'Neighbor Phinney had a turnip, + And it grew behind the barn; + And it grew and it grew, an' + And it ne'er did any harm. + + 'And it grew, and it grew, + As, until it could grow no better, + Then Farmer Phinney took it up + And put it in his cellar. + + 'And it lay, and it lay, + Until it began to rot; + And his daughter Sarah took it up, + And put it in a pot. + + 'And it boiled, and it boiled, + As long as it was able; + And his daughter Mary took it up, + And put it on the table. + + 'Then Farmer Phinney and his wife, + When they sat down to dine, + They ate, and they ate, + And they thought that turnip fine.'" + +"There, isn't that a nice story, mamma?" + +Mamma, feeling a tremendous distance between that story and the last +one, concludes that it is time to give the boy his morning bath, and +kiss his little tongue into quiet for a few minutes. + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + +NETTIE'S VISIT. + + +It was July, and the great city was very hot. Day after day the fiery +sun rose and blazed away with all his might on the dusty pavements and +heated houses. All the people too who could were leaving the city. + +But the poor were obliged to stay, no matter how the sun beat down +into their narrow streets and small stifling rooms. There had been no +rain for a long time; many people were sick and dying, and the world +looked very dark to some of them. Mrs. Holmes lived high up in the +topmost rooms of a tall block of buildings. Her rooms were small and +hot, for the sun shone into her windows and upon the roof all the long +day. She was a seamstress and a widow with one little daughter, +Nettie. + +Mrs. Holmes was very sad and troubled, for Nettie had not been well +all the spring, and now she seemed like a little wilted flower; no +strength, nor appetite, though mamma denied herself everything that +she could to get nice little things to tempt her darling. The doctor +had said she must have change of air, must go into the country. He +might just as well have said she must go to Europe, for Mrs. Holmes +had no dear old home in the country waiting to welcome her; no uncles, +aunts and cousins, writing "When will you come?" So she sat through +the long afternoon and tried to sew as well as she could with the +heat, and the flies, and her sad thoughts. + +Nettie was lying on the bed asleep, her little face as white as the +pillow. + +"She is going to slip right away from me, and leave me alone," the +poor mother groaned to herself. "Oh, Father in heaven, help me!" she +cried. "Show me what to do for my dear little daughter." The help was +nearer than she thought. + +"Mamma," said Nettie, sitting up very suddenly, "I had a nice dream; I +guess I was in the country, for there were trees all around, and +green grass, and birds singing; and such beautiful flowers! Are there +any flies there?" she said, as she brushed a troublesome one from her +face. + +The tears came in her mother's eyes, for she remembered dimly the +pleasant cool rooms, darkened by blinds and shade trees, where +scarcely a fly dared set it's foot, but that was long ago. + +Mrs. Bertrand lived in the city, too, and she was a widow also. The +difference between her and Mrs. Holmes was that Mrs. Bertrand had a +great deal of money, and lived on the broad avenue, in a stone house, +with marble steps. She lived there winters, but as soon as the first +warm days came she packed all her handsome dresses into her trunks, +and started for her house in the country, a lovely spot on the shore +of the bay. There she spent the pleasant summers, rambling over her +beautiful grounds, resting under the shade trees, or sailing on the +bay. Now, she was not selfish and cold-hearted, if she _was_ a rich +lady; she truly loved the Lord Jesus, and loved to do his will. So it +happened that while Mrs. Holmes sat in her attic, and begged the Lord +to send her help, that Mrs. Bertrand sat in her beautiful home, gazing +out on the blue waters, and off to the misty hills and rosy sky. Her +heart swelled with thankfulness, and she asked the Lord what to do +next for him. How easy it is for God to answer people's prayers, if +they would only believe it! + +[Illustration] + +She sat and thought a long time of different persons, wondering what +she could do for them. But the thoughts that came oftenest, and would +not go away, were of poor sick little Nettie, and her sad young +mother. + +"Yes, I'll do it," she said; "I wonder I had not thought of it +before." Then she went to her writing desk, and wrote a letter and +sent it off. + +Now let us go and hear it read. + +"A letter for me!" said Mrs. Holmes. "How strange! Who would write to +_me_?" + +The letter was from Mrs. Bertrand, and it said: "I want you and Nettie +to come right away and spend the summer with me. I am sure the fresh +air will cure her." But that was not all. There was money enough sent +to pay their expenses, and buy them each a traveling dress, and some +other things. + +I can't tell you much about how Nettie screamed for joy, and how her +mother cried, then both laughed, and both cried; but I know that not +long after two very happy beings dressed in gray, took the morning +boat and were brought safely to Mrs. Bertrand's door. Then how they +rode and sailed, and took long rambles, and gathered flowers, and +thought the time spent in sleep was wasted. + +The favorite seat was in the balcony, where Nettie could watch the +sea-gulls come and go, and where you may see them all this minute, +Nettie, and her mother, and Mrs. Betrand, with her basket of flowers. +Nettie's cheeks are getting round and rosy, and it is hard to say who +is happiest of them all; but Mrs. Bertrand must be, because you know +it says: "It is more blessed to give than to receive." + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + +WARREN'S VERSE. + + +He is a little bit of a fellow. He can't read any more than a mouse +can; but he is very fond of standing in this way, beside his mother, +while she points to the words and pronounces them; then it is easy to +read them. + +Last Tuesday morning he was reading this verse: "A fool despiseth his +father's instruction: but he that regardeth reproof is prudent." +There were two listeners to this lesson. Warren's father in the study +was having a great hunt after some papers, but in his haste he +couldn't help stopping to listen to the sweet little voice repeating +the long words. + +"Mamma," he called at last, "seems to me that is a long verse, and one +almost beyond the little man's understanding isn't it?" + +Mamma laughed. "I think so," she said. "But the trouble is Warren +doesn't; his sister Laura has been learning this verse, and he wants +to." + +In the little reading-room opening from the study, Uncle Warren, a gay +young chap who was boarding at his sister's, listened and laughed over +the words that sounded so queerly, coming from the baby lips. Over +and over they were repeated: "A fool despiseth his father's +instruction: but he that regardeth reproof is prudent." As he listened +Uncle Warren's handsome face grew sober, he was writing letters, and +many papers were strewn before him. He took up one of them and read it +over: + +"Dear old fellow:--You have buried yourself in your sister's arms long +enough. Don't be tied to her apron-string; come down to-night, we are +going to have a real jolly time in Joe's room. Mum is the word." + +Uncle Warren laid it down again and took up another. It read: + +"Don't allow yourself to be caught in places where everything is to be +kept secret. When boys begin to keep their pleasures from their best +friends, it generally shows there is something wrong. I've been a +little worried about your evenings. I hope you will be prudent as to +how you spend them. Remember you are your father's only son." + +[Illustration] + +Over the first reading of this letter, Warren had said, "Poh! +Fiddlesticks! He thinks I am a baby," and laying it down had begun a +reply to the other, that read thus: "Dear Dick:--I'll be on hand, +though I don't suppose our governors would like it much." + +Little Warren, in the other room, went on struggling with the long +words, "A fool despiseth his father's instruction: but he that +regardeth reproof is prudent." How exactly to the point it was, even +about the prudent part. It startled him a little. He tore Dick's +letter into little bits, while he listened and thought. Then he took +up his father's letter once more and read it over slowly; then with a +sudden decided movement, he tore the letter he was writing into +halves, and put it into the waste basket, and rapidly wrote this in +it's place: "Dick:--I can't come. My father wouldn't approve; neither +will yours. In haste, Warren." + +Then he went out and kissed little Warren on his nose, on his eyes, on +his chin, three times for each; and that was all that either the +little boy or his mother knew about the work that had been done in the +library. + +[Illustration] + + + + +BROWN TOMMY. + + +Not Tommy Brown, but Brown Tommy. He was all in brown from tip to toe. +His hair was brown by nature, and the sun had browned his face and +hands. His eyes were a lovely dark brown. He went on a journey on the +cars with his mamma, and this is the way he was dressed. He had a +brown merino dress, kilt skirt and jacket, with rows and rows of +brown buttons all over it; there were two pockets in the jacket; his +brown cloth gloves were peeping out of one, and the corner of his +handkerchief, that hung out of the other, had a brown flower on it. +His stockings were all brown, and his waterproof cape that was hanging +on his shoulders was just the color of his stockings. Then he had a +Centennial hat, three-cornered, such as old soldiers used to wear a +hundred years ago; it had a long brown plume on it. This was Brown +Tommy. + +How did he act? Well, not so nicely as he looked, I am sorry to say. +On the cars, in the seat before him, was a lady who tried to talk with +him, but he saw fit not to answer any of her questions. She seemed to +think he was a timid little boy, who must be coaxed into knowing her; +so she talked on, in a pleasant winning voice. At last she turned to +his mamma, and said: "Your little boy _can_ talk, I suppose, or is he +too young?" Just that moment, up spoke Brown Tommy, and what he said +was: "Did you ever count all the buttons on your dress, or don't you +know how to count so many?" This seemed to astonish the lady very +much. Her dress was trimmed in the new fashion, with rows and rows of +buttons, and Tommy, who is rather mixed up in his counting, seemed to +think that it would take a very smart woman to count them all. Having +once found his tongue, he kept on pouring out the questions till the +lady must have wondered what had become of his timidity. He asked her +what was the name of the place where she lived, and how many churches +there were, and whether she went to church every Sunday, and whether +she sat as still as a mouse. By the time they reached their journey's +end, Brown Tommy and the lady knew each other very well; at least, he +knew all about her. She said she had never been asked so many +questions before in her life. + +[Illustration] + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sunshine Factory, by Pansy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUNSHINE FACTORY *** + +***** This file should be named 20436.txt or 20436.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/4/3/20436/ + +Produced by David Newman, David Edwards, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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