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FOR PARENTS TO READ

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Pacific Press Publishing Company · Mountain View, California · Sep 28, 1904

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 30, No. 38.

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FOR PARENTS TO READ.

“Mother, mother!” cried little Willie, coming in upon me as I sat busily at work, “I have lost my arrow in the grass and can't find it.” He was ready to burst into tears at his mishap.
“I am sorry, dear,” I said, as I went on with my work.
“Won't you go and find it for me, mother?” he asked, with quivering lip, as he laid hold of my arm.
“I am too busy, dear,” I replied. “Go tell Jane to find it for you.”
“Jane can't find it,” said the little fellow in a choking voice.
“Tell her to look again.”
“She looked all over. Won't you come, mother, and find it for me?”
The tears were rolling down his face, but I was too busy embroidering a little linen sack I was making for him, and that seemed of more importance than the happiness of my child.
“There, there! Don't, don't, be so foolish as to cry at the loss of an arrow; I am ashamed of you! Go look for it yourself.”
Willie went crying downstairs, and I heard him in the yard until my patience gave out. “Ellen,” I heard him say, “won't you make me an arrow? Here is a stick.”
“No, indeed; I have something else to do besides making arrows,” said the cook.
I felt vexed at Ellen. She might have done it. If I were not so busy I would make it myself, I thought, and sewed as before. Willie's heart was almost broken, but I was not in a mood to sympathize with him. The loss of an arrow seemed a very trifling thing to me. “Willie,” I called out of the window, “you must stop crying.”
“I can't find my arrow, and nobody will make me one.”
“Go find something else to play with. Come, sir, you must stop crying. I won't have the noise.”
“I can't find my arrow,” he said with quivering lip.
“Well, crying won't find it. Come upstairs.”
Willie ascended to my room. “Now don't let me hear one word more of this. Take better care of your arrow next time.”
There was no sympathy in my tones, for I felt none. I did not think of his loss, but of the annoyance of his crying. The little fellow stifled his grief as best he could, and throwing himself on the floor sighed and sobbed for some minutes. Before long he fell asleep. How instantly do our feelings change toward a child when we find it asleep. Tenderness comes in place of sterner emotions. I laid aside my work, and, taking Willie in my arms, laid him on my bed. Another deep sigh came from him as his head touched the pillow and was echoed in my heart. Poor child! the loss of an arrow was a great thing to him. I wish that I had put away my work for a few minutes and made him a new one. What is a little time taken from my work to the happiness of my child. I wish I could learn to think right at the right time. Dear little fellow, I stood for nearly five minutes over my child. When I turned away I did not resume my work, for I had no heart to work on the little garment.
I went down to the garden, and the first thing that met my eye was the arrow partly hidden by a rose-bush. So easily found! How much would a minute have saved, given at the right time! We learn too late, and repent when repentance does not avail.
The first notice I had of his being awake was his gratified exclamation at finding his lost arrow beside him. His grief was forgotten. In a few minutes he was out shooting his arrow again. But I could not forget it. I was serious for many hours afterward, for the consciousness of having done wrong, as well as having been the occasion of grief to my child, lay with a heavy pressure upon my feelings.—Selected.