Children’s Story – Heavenly Food

In the early days of mission work in China, there was an elderly man named Li who accepted the gospel. Having learned the truth, he immediately began to share his faith with others. One day, soon after his conversion, he read, “covetousness which is idolatry.” Colossians 3:5. Determined not to fall into any kind of idolatry, he gave away all of his property and lived day to day from the hospitality of the people with whom he was laboring to share the gospel. Not far from Li’s home was a large temple in which lived a cousin who was a priest. From time to time the young priest would visit his old relative, bringing him a small present of bread or millet from his very adequate supply. Each time the old man received the gift, he would say, “My heavenly Father’s grace!” After awhile, this began to annoy the younger man; and he at last said, “Where does your heavenly Father’s grace come in, I should like to know? The millet is mine. I bring it to you. And if I did not, you would very soon starve for all that He would care. He has nothing at all to do with it.”

“But,” replied the old man, “it is my heavenly Father who puts it into your heart to care for me.”

“Oh, that is very well!” interrupted the priest. “We shall see what will happen if I bring the millet no more.”

For a week or two he kept away, although his better nature kept prompting him to care for the old man whom he could not help but respect for the many works of mercy in which he was engaged in helping others.

In the passage of time, old Li’s food supply finally ran out. The day came when he no longer had enough food for one more meal. Kneeling alone in his room, he poured out his heart in prayer to God. He knew very well that his Father in heaven would not, could not, forget him; and after pleading for a blessing on his work and upon the people all around him, he reminded the Lord of what the priest had said, asking that, for the honor of His own great name, He would send that very day his daily bread.

Suddenly the answer came. While Li was still kneeling in prayer, he heard an unusual clamor and cawing and flapping of wings in the courtyard outside, and a noise as of something falling to the ground. He rose up and went to the door to see what was happening. A number of ravens, which are common in that part of China, were flying all about in great commotion above him. As he looked up, a large piece of meat fell at his very feet. One of the birds, chased by the others, had dropped it just at that moment.

Thankfully the old man picked up the unexpected food, saying, “My heavenly Father’s kindness!” Then glancing about him to see what had fallen before he came out, he discovered a large piece of Indian meal bread, cooked and ready for eating. Another bird had dropped that also. There was his dinner, bountifully provided. Evidently the ravens had been on a foraging expedition at the market place; and, overtaken by stronger birds, had let go their prize right over the poor brother’s courtyard. But whose had had guided them to give up their prize right over his small courtyard?

With a thankful heart that was overflowing with joy, the old man started a fire to prepare the welcome meal. While the pot was still boiling, the door opened; and to his delight, who should walk in but his cousin, the priest.

“Look and see,” said the old man, smiling, as he pointed to the pot on the fire.

For some tie the priest would not look, feeling certain that there was nothing inside but boiling water. At length, however, there was the unmistakable smell of cooking meat. Overcome by curiosity, he lifted the lid and looked inside. Great was his astonishment when he saw the excellent dinner being prepared.

“Why,” he cried, “where ever did you get this?”

My heavenly Father sent it,” responded old Li, gladly. “He put it into your heart, you know, to bring me a little millet from time to time; but when you would no longer do so, it was quite easy for Him to find another messenger.” And then Li told his cousin the whole story about the coming of the ravens.

The priest was very much impressed by what he saw and heard, and it eventually led him to also accept the gospel of Jesus Christ. He gave up his comfortable living in the temple and became a teacher. He eventually became a deacon in the church. During the Boxer War that took place in China in 1900, he finally lay down his life for Jesus.

Children’s Story – Armies of the Aliens Put to Flight

Through the centuries, God has worked in many ways to preserve His truth and to protect His people. Sometimes, as when He freed Israel from their Egyptian bondage, He worked with signs and wonders; but at other times, He has used very simple means.

For hundreds of years before the Reformation, there were faithful people of God who lived in the Piedmont valleys of northern Italy. These faithful people were known as the Waldenses. They refused to accept the Roman Catholic religion, and this made them special objects of papal hatred. In 1487, Pope Innocent VII issued a decree, or bull, against them, urging that they must be completely destroyed.

Troops came in by the thousands—eighteen thousand regulars from France and Piedmont who were joined by a large number of rabble hoping to become rich by plundering the homes of these faithful people.

Cataneo was the papal legate, or representative, who led this army in its attack on the valley of Angrogna. As the battle proceeded, the enemy began to break through the line of the Waldenses’ defense, behind which were women, the children, and the aged. Seeing their defenders yielding before the attacking enemy, the Waldensian families fell to their knees and with tears began to cry, “Oh, Lord help us! Oh my God, save us!” This cry of distress caused their enemies to laugh. Seeing the praying company on their knees, one of the chiefs in the papal army, known as Black of Mondovi, cried out, “My fellows are coming—they are coming to give you your answer.” He then raised the visor of his helmet to show that he was not afraid of the people whom he had mocked and ridiculed. At that moment, a steel-pointed arrow struck him with such force that it penetrated his skull between his eyes, killing him instantly. His men, seized with panic, fell back in disorder.

Though they had been driven back, the invaders were not defeated. The next day they returned more determined than ever.

It seemed impossible that the Waldensian people could escape this time, but God was watching over them. He said to their enemies, as He had said to a tyrant many years before, “I will put my hook in thy nose, and My bridle in thy lips, and I will turn thee back by the way by which thou camest.” II Kings 19:28.

As the invaders entered the valley, they threaded their way up the narrow pathway that led along the face of a high wall. The path was so narrow that no more than two men could walk side by side. On one side was the mountain wall stretching upwards, and on the other was a deep ravine through the bottom of which a river flowed.

As the papal army advanced, the Waldenses noticed something that the invaders were completely unaware of. High over the mountain top, a small cloud about the size of a man’s hand appeared. The Waldenses watched as the cloud rapidly grew in size and began to descend to the valley below. In a few moments, it completely filled the narrow valley into which the papal army had come, filling it with the darkness of night. The blinded soldiers could neither advance nor retreat. Terrified, they halted, unable to move.

The Waldenses believed that God was working for them. Climbing quickly to the top of the slopes leading to the valley, they tore loose huge stones and rocks and sent them thundering down into the ravine below. The enemy soldiers, unable to move, were crushed where they stood. Some of the Waldenses then boldly entered the narrow valley, their swords in hand, and began attacking the invading papal army from the front. As they did so, a panic seized the papal army; and they began to flee in the darkness. This proved more disastrous to them than the stones. In their struggle to escape, they jostled against one another; and many of them fell to their death in the chasm far below.

This terrible defeat, coming as it had in so unexpected a manner, brought about the deliverance of the valley. After this battle, the Waldenses had peace in their valley for a number of years. The captain who commanded the invading force was named Saguet de Planghere; and the chasm, into which he fell, after all these centuries, is still called Saguet’s hole.

The Reformation history shows that it was by witnessing and suffering and not by fighting, that the light of truth was caused to shine; but in these experiences of deliverance, we see God’s providence in keeping alive a small band of witnesses in the Piedmont valleys until the time that the Reformation should come.

Children’s Story – Vision of Young People

The visions that were given to Sister [Ellen] White were always given to help people to do the right thing. God wants us to do right.

While Sister White was spending some months in New Zealand in the early days of our work there, she held some meetings in the large city of Wellington. These meetings extended over a period of a number of days, and Sister White was quite weary when the series was completed. There was one young lady present who had just become a Seventh-day Adventist, and she invited Sister White to come to her family home on Parrametta Bay, and spend a few days resting there.

When this young lady returned to her home and told her mother that she had invited Sister White to come and stay at their home, the mother was not very happy. She had not been an Adventist for very long and she felt she was unprepared to entertain the Lord’s prophet. Then too, there were a number of teen-aged children in the family who were not members of the church and naturally, they were doing things Seventh-day Adventists don’t do. But the invitation had already been given to Sister White, and on the afternoon train, she arrived at Parrametta. She was taken to the home located on a large farm overlooking the bay. She was cordially received and as she was quite weary, she went to bed early. In fact, she went to bed before she had met all of the members of the family where she was staying.

That night a vision was given to Sister White and at four o’clock in the morning, she got up and dressed and began to write what had been shown to her. The message was addressed to the mother of this family, for in the vision she had been shown the experience of some of the members of the family.

In the letter, Sister White told about the vision. She said, “The angel of God said, ‘Follow me.’ ” Then she seemed to be in a room in a rough building. She saw several young men playing cards there. They seemed very much interested in the card game and they did not seem to notice that anyone had come into the room. Sister White also saw girls there. They were watching the card game. She heard what the young people said, and she was almost ashamed to be there. She could feel that the atmosphere in the room was not the kind to uplift the mind and make the character noble.

Then Sister White turned to the angel and asked, “Who are these young people, and what does this scene represent?”

The angel said, “Wait—.”

Then she seemed to be in another place. But here were the same young people. They were drinking beer and other alcoholic drinks. She saw what the young people did and heard what they said while they were under the influence of these drinks. Their words were impure, boisterous and boastful. Again, she asked the angel, “Who are these young people?”

The angel answered, “These young people are a portion of the family where you are visiting.” Then the angel went on to say that Satan, the great adversary of souls, the great enemy of God and man was there and in charge of what was going on. Satan and his angels were leading these young people to their ruin.

Then in the vision, Sister White saw the angel step over to one young man and place his hand upon his shoulder and call him by name. As the angel spoke the name, Sister White recognized that it was the family name where she was staying. The angel pointed out the dangers of cardplaying and of gambling and of drinking. The angel plead with this young man to turn from these things and to give his heart to the Lord. All this, Sister White wrote to the mother that early morning hour, even before she had met these young people.

It was expected that Sister White would spend only two or three days at this home, but there came heavy rains and there were landslides which blocked the railroad track and she could not leave for a week or ten days.

The earnest Christian life which Sister White lived in that house made a deep impression upon the boys and girls of this family. They saw that she was not extreme or fanatical. Her counsel was so understanding and helpful. The young people wanted their lives to be like hers. She encouraged them to take their stand for the Lord. Nearly all of the children in this large family accepted the truth and became loyal, earnest Adventists. Some of their grandchildren are in the work of God today.

Based on Ellen G. White’s letter to the mother, and A. L. White’s conversation with some of the children and grandchildren of the family.

Campfire Junior Stories from the days of S.D.A. Pioneers, The Review and Herald Publishing Association, Washington, D.C., 16, 17.

Children’s Story – Who Opened the Prison Door?

Hadewyck smiled as she hurried home along the cleanest street of the cleanest town in Holland.

“Jesus will make our hearts as clean as our town,” she whispered to her friend Elizabeth. “I wish all our neighbors would learn to love Him as we do!”

But in the town of Leeuwarden 400 years ago there weren’t many people who loved Jesus. In fact, most of them scowled at Christians and would not listen when Hadewyck and her friend tried to tell them of His great love.

One day rough soldiers arrested Hadewyck. They grabbed her arms so tightly that they hurt.

“Help me, Jesus,” she prayed as the cruel men rushed her along the street to jail.

“We’ll see if you’ll keep talking about your Jesus,” the jailer said. “I vow you’ll stop when you feel the thumbscrews!”

The key clicked in the lock, and Hadewyck was all alone in the prison cell. “Thank You, Jesus,” she prayed. “Thank You that they did not kill me.”

Sounds from the streets seeped through the keyhole, and Hadewyck counted the days by those noises. She knew when the heavy carts of wheat and corn were being hauled to the weigh bridge. She knew from the noise of the cattle when they were being driven to the market. And often she prayed.

One day as she was praying, a voice called her name. “Hadewyck!”

She looked around. There was no one in the room. Hadewyck kept praying, happy that no one could keep her from talking to Jesus.

“Hadewyck!” There was the voice again!

She looked at the door. It was shut, and there was no one in the room. She closed her eyes to talk to Jesus some more.

“Hadewyck! You must leave here!”

There had been no click of the key in the lock, but the door was open!

Hadewyck quickly drew her cloak around her shoulders and stepped into the street. But which way should she go? Where would she hide before anyone saw her? She stepped into a large church near the jail and walked up and down the aisles with the crowds of other people who were walking there. Then she heard the town drummer calling in the street, and her face turned pale.

“A female heretic has escaped!” the drummer shouted.

“The town gates have been shut,” the excited crowd whispered. “She’ll soon be caught!”

“She’ll feel the thumbscrews!” said a passerby on the street.

“But how did she get out? She must have been a witch to have opened the door!” said the jailer.

Hadewyck was sure from all the talk that she would soon be found in the church. She quietly slipped out.

The town drummer was going past. “A hundred guilders to the man who finds the heretic!” he shouted. “One hundred fifty guilders fine if anyone hides her!”

Surely now someone who knew her would see her and claim the hundred guilders! Where could she go? “Jesus, show me where to hide!”

The priest’s tall house stood beside the church. Hadewyck remembered that the maid who worked there was her friend. She stepped inside. No one heard her as she climbed the stairs. No one heard her as she opened the attic door and closed it softly behind her. She peeped through the window and saw soldiers rushing about. She quickly stepped away from the window, afraid that someone might look up and see her. She leaned against a chest to think.

“Thank You, Jesus, for keeping me safe so far,” she prayed. “Show me what to do next.”

A sound drifted through the attic door. “Maybe my friend is coming. I will listen for her.”

After a while she heard the girl cleaning the hall below. Hadewyck slowly went down the attic steps, stopping often to listen.

“Little one,” she whispered. “Little one!”

The girl looked up and smiled. Hadewyck had always been so good to her.

“Listen carefully, little one. I want you to go to my sister’s home. Please tell her husband to bring a boat to the back of this house for me tonight.”

The girl nodded and scurried down the stairs. Hadewyck heard the slam of a door and listened to the quick steps as they grew fainter.

The afternoon went by. At last it was dark outside, and the streets were quiet. Hadewyck crept down the stairs so carefully that her feet scarcely touched the steps. She walked lightly along the hall to the door that opened on the canal. Her sister’s husband was waiting in the boat. He reached up his hand to help her in the seat. Dipping his oars without a sound, he rowed to a place of safety.

“Jesus opened the prison door for me as He did for Peter,” Hadewyck told him. “He kept people from recognizing me in the church, and He kept me safe in the priests’ house until you came. I do thank Him tonight.”

For many years Hadewyck told people about Jesus’ love, and Jesus always kept her from harm. She lived until she was an old woman, and then she went peacefully to her rest.

Adventure Stories from History, Harvestime Books, Altamont, Tennessee 37301, 411–415.

Children’s Story – The Circling Dove

Many people consider The Great Controversy as having the most powerful influence. Countless stories tell of the book’s impact on people’s lives.

One unusual story about it comes from the Philippine Islands. Regino Balaois had reached the amazing age of 115—at least that is how old he and his friends believed he was. One day Reuben Balosteros, a young colporteur passing through Laguna Province on the island of Luzon, stopped to sell books in Balaois’s little home village of Famyi. Balaois enjoyed sitting in a chair in front of his home and watching the daily life of the village swirl about him. Seeing the ancient man, the Adventist book salesman approached him and soon sold him a copy of The Great Controversy.

After buying the book, Balaois sat down in a shady spot in his backyard and began to read. Having read for a while, he glanced up and noticed something unusual. A white dove had flown into the garden and had begun to circle over the man’s head. Never, he thought, had he seen a bird act quite like that before.

The next day Balaois went out to read again, and again the dove returned, repeating its strange behavior. There must be, he finally decided, some connection between his reading the book and the coming of the bird. He decided to mention the strange event to his friends. “This must be a good book,” he commented, holding up the copy of the book, “because every time I read it, the white dove returns and flies in circles above me. Do you think it is a sign that God has sent the book to teach us?”

Regino Balaois’s age gave him much respect among the villagers, but his tale about the dove naturally caused some doubt among the people. “You’re getting old and seeing things,” someone commented.

“If that is so,” Balaois replied, “then come over to my house and listen to what the book has to say. Watch for yourselves and see if the dove comes when I start reading the book.”

Impressed with the elderly man’s statement, the villagers decided they would come and see what happened. The next day they met in Regino’s garden and silently waited as he began to read. Suddenly someone pointed to the sky. Instantly all heads swiveled in the same direction. To their astonishment they saw a beautiful white dove fluttering and wheeling over the old man’s head. No one could explain the bird’s actions. They could only agree with Balaois’s idea that the power that sent the dove to the garden must approve of their reading the book.

“We must see what the book teaches,” the people of Famyi agreed among themselves. Daily the neighbors came to Regino’s garden and listened to him or another man read from The Great Controversy.

One day as Regino Balaois sat alone reading the book, the dove appeared again. No one had seen it for a while. Suddenly the bird spoke. “Keep the Sabbath,” it commanded.

Instantly he knew what the creature meant—Saturday, the seventh-day Sabbath. He had read about it in the book. Still surprised by the dove’s latest strange deed, Regino summoned his neighbors and told them what had happened, that he believed that God had commanded through the bird that they keep the Sabbath described in the book.

God had a reason for using the dove. Most of the people of the Philippines are Roman Catholic. They believe in miracles and are greatly impressed when they think they see one. Knowing the impact the dove’s actions would have on the villagers of Famyi, God sent it to begin to break the hold of the Catholic Church on the people’s minds. It was the best way of breaking through their superstitions. The miracle of the dove created an interest in the teachings of The Great Controversy and emphasized their importance. The bird’s command helped them to believe in the Sabbath and to have the courage to obey.

Balaois and his friends did not know of a single group that followed the beliefs found in Mrs. Ellen White’s book. They decided to form a church of their own and call it the Church of the Pure Religion. The little group agreed it was a good idea, but one person pointed out that they needed to be baptized. “But who will do it?” another asked.

After discussing the problem among themselves for a while, they decided that Balaois would baptize the man who had helped him read to the villagers. The neighbor, in turn, would baptize Balaois. Then both would baptize the others. The little church had nineteen members. The next time Reuben Balosteros, the colporteur, passed through the area, he visited the group and called in an ordained minister. The minister organized Balaois and his neighbors into the first Seventh-day Adventist Church in the region.

Another miracle connected with the sale of a copy of The Great Controversy took place near Cordelia, California. An Adventist selling door to door sold an English copy of the book to a Catholic Italian immigrant farmer named Oberti. Although Oberti had learned to speak some English, he could not read the language. Oddly, knowing that he couldn’t read the book, he still accepted the delivered copy and paid for it. Oberti put his book on a shelf in the kitchen of his little cabin and returned to work in his cherry orchard.

After dinner that evening he remembered the book. Deciding to look at the pictures, he took it down from the kitchen shelf and opened it. Turning to the frontispiece, he studied it, then flipped past the title page, the publishers’ preface, the introduction, the table of contents, and the list of illustrations, and finally came to the beginning of chapter one. Forgetting that the book was in English, he read the first page and continued on to the next. Suddenly he realized that he understood the English words. Interested in what Mrs. White had to say, he continued reading until he finished the chapter. He went to the second chapter and before many days finished the entire book. God had given him the ability to read the English language.

The ideas Oberti found in the book remained in his mind, and he accepted the teachings of the Seventh-day Adventist Church and joined it. He served as an officer in his local church for many years. In addition, from the day he first started reading The Great Controversy until the end of his life he could read English.

Mrs. White knew the impact her book could have on people. It could reach people who could not be contacted in any other way. The Holy Spirit influenced those who read, convincing them of the truth of what they found. She wrote, “By reading it, some souls will be aroused, and will have courage to unite themselves at once with those who keep the commandments of God.” Colporteur Ministry, 128.

A. Delafield and Gerald Wheeler, Angel Over Her Tent and other stories about Ellen G. White, Review and Herald Publishing Association, Hagerstown, Maryland, 2000, 138–141.

Children’s Story – How a Dog Saved a Ship’s Crew

The noble Newfoundland dog has often been the means of saving the life of a drowning man, but here is a story of one who saved the whole crew of a ship.

A heavy gale was blowing, when a vessel was seen drifting toward the coast of Kent. She struck on the beach and the breaking waves dashed over her in foam. Eight men were seen holding on to the wreck, but no ordinary boat could go to their aid in such a sea; and in those days there were no life-boats on that part of the coast.

The people watching on shore feared every moment that the poor sailors would be washed off the ship and drowned; for although the ship was not far from the land, it was too far for anyone to swim through the foaming breakers.

If a rope could be taken from the wreck to the shore, the sailors might be saved. How could this be done? A gentleman, who was standing on the beach with a large Newfoundland dog by his side, thought he saw how it could be managed. He put a short stick in his dog’s mouth, and then pointed to the vessel. The brave dog knew what his master wanted, and, springing into the sea, he fought his way bravely through the waves.

When he reached the ship, he tried to climb up its side, but in vain. He was seen, however, by the crew, and they made fast a light rope to another piece of wood, which they threw towards him. The wise animal again seemed to understand what was meant, and, seizing this piece of wood, he turned his head towards the shore to carry it to his master. This time the wind and waves helped him on his way; but he was almost worn out when he reached the shore, dragging the rope after him, and laid the piece of wood at his master’s feet.

A stronger rope was then tied to the first one by the sailors, and one end of it was pulled onshore. Along this rope the sailors made their way one by one to the land and in this way every man on board was saved, through the courage and wisdom of the brave dog.

Storytime Treasury, compiled by P. G. Temple, Harvestime Books, Altamont, Tennessee 37301.

Children’s Story – The Boy who Took a Boarder

About 350 years ago, a boy stood at the door of a palace in Florence, Italy. He was a kitchen boy in the household of a rich and mighty official. He was 12 years old, and his name was Thomas.

Suddenly he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and said in great astonishment: “What! Is that you, Peter? What has brought you to Florence? How are all the people in Cortona?”

“They are all well,” answered Peter, who likewise was a boy of 12. “But I’ve left them for good. I want to be a painter. I’ve come to Florence to learn to paint. They say there’s a school here where people are taught.”

“But have you any money?” asked Thomas.

“Not a penny.”

“Then you can’t be an artist. You had better be a servant in the kitchen with me, here in the palace. You will be sure of something to eat, at least.”

“Do you get enough to eat?” asked the other boy reflectively.

“Plenty, more than enough.”

“I don’t want to be a servant: I want to paint,” said Peter. “But I’ll tell you what we’ll do. As you have more than you need to eat, you take me to board, and when I’m a grown-up painter, I’ll settle the bill.”

“Agreed!” said Thomas, after a moment’s thought. “I can manage it. Come upstairs to the garret where I sleep, and I’ll bring you some dinner by and by.”

So the two boys went up to the little room among the chimney pots where Thomas slept. It was a small room, and the only furniture in it was an old straw mattress and two rickety chairs. The walls were white-washed.

Now the food was good and plentiful, for when Thomas went down into the kitchen and foraged, he found abundance that the cook had carelessly discarded. Peter enjoyed the meal, and told Thomas that he felt as if he could fly to the moon.

“So far so good,” said he; “but, Thomas, I can’t be a painter without paper and pencils and brushes and colors. Haven’t you any money?”

“No,” said Thomas, “and I don’t know how to get any. I shall receive no wages for three years.”

“Then I can’t be a painter, after all,” said Peter mournfully.

“I’ll tell you what,” suggested Thomas. “I’ll get some charcoal down in the kitchen, and you can draw pictures on the wall.”

Then Peter set resolutely to work, and drew so many figures of men and women and birds and trees and animals and flowers, that before long the walls were covered with pictures.

At last, one happy day, Thomas came into possession of a small piece of money. I don’t know where he got it, but he was much too honest a boy to take money that did not belong to him.

You may be sure there was joy in the little room up among the chimney pots. Now Peter could have pencils and paper, and other things artists need. By this time the boy had learned to take walks every morning. He wandered about Florence drawing everything he saw: the pictures in the churches, the fronts of the old palaces, the statues in the square, or the outlines of the hills. Then, when it became too dark to work any longer, Peter would go home and find his dinner tucked away under the old bed, where Thomas had put it, not so much to hide it as to keep it warm.

Things went on in this way for two years. None of the servants knew that Thomas kept a boarder, or if they did know it, they good-naturedly shut their eyes. The cook sometimes said that Thomas ate a good deal for a lad of his size.

One day the owner of the palace decided to repair it. He went all over the house in company with an architect and poked into places he had not visited for years. At last he reached the garret, and there he stumbled right into Thomas’s room.

“Why, how’s this?” he cried, astonished at the drawings in the little room. “Have we an artist among us? Who occupies this room?”

“The kitchen boy, Thomas, sir.”

“A kitchen boy! So great a genius must not be neglected. Call the kitchen boy.”

Thomas came in fear and trembling. He had never been in his employer’s presence before. He looked at the charcoal drawings on the wall and then into the face of the great man.

“Thomas, you are no longer a kitchen boy,” said the official kindly.

Poor Thomas thought he was dismissed from service, and then what would become of Peter?

“Don’t send me away!” he cried. “I have nowhere to go, and Peter will starve. He wants to be a painter so much!”

“Who is Peter?”

“He is a boy from Cortona who boards with me. He drew those pictures on the wall, and he will die if he cannot be a painter.”

“Where is he now?”

“He is wandering about the streets to find something to draw. He goes out every day.”

“When he returns, Thomas, bring him to me. Such a genius should not be allowed to live in a garret.”

Strange to say, Peter did not come back to his room that night. One week, two weeks went by, and still nothing was heard of him. At the end of that time a search was made and at last he was found. It seems he had fallen deeply in love with one of Raphael’s pictures that was exhibited in a public building, and had asked permission to copy it. The men in charge, charmed with his youth and talent, had readily consented. They had given him food and a place to stay.

Thanks to the interest the rich official took in him, Peter was admitted to the best school of painting in Florence. As for Thomas, he had masters to instruct him in all the learning of the day.

Fifty years later, two old men were living together in one of the most beautiful houses in Florence. One of them was called Peter of Cortona, and the people said of him: “He is the greatest painter of our time.”

The other was called Thomas, and all they said of him was: “Happy is the man who has him for a friend.”

He was the kind boy who took care of his friend.

Adventure Stories from History, Harvestime Books, Altamont, Tennessee 37301, 407–411.

Children’s Story – Bread Upon the Waters

“Oh! Jacob, now you see how all your hopes are gone. Here we are worn out with age—all our children removed from us by the hand of death, and ere long we must be the inmates of the poorhouse. Where now is all the bread you have cast upon the waters?”

The old, white-haired man looked up at his wife. He was, indeed, bent down with years, and age sat tremblingly upon him. Jacob Manfred had been a comparatively wealthy man, and while fortune had smiled upon him he had ever been among the first to lend a listening ear and a helping hand to the call of distress. But now misfortune was his. Of his four boys not one was left. Sickness and failing strength found him with but little, and had left him penniless. An oppressive embargo upon the shipping business had been the first weight upon his head, and other misfortunes came in painful succession. Jacob and his wife were all alone, and gaunt poverty looked them coldly in the face.

“Don’t repine, Susan,” said the old man. “True we are poor, but we are not yet forsaken.”

“Not forsaken, Jacob? Who is there to help us now?”

Jacob Manfred raised his trembling finger toward heaven.

“Ah! Jacob, I know God is our friend, but we should have friends here. Look back and see how many you have befriended in days long past. You cast your bread upon the waters with a free hand, but it has not returned to you.”

“Hush, Susan, you forget what you say. To be sure I may have hoped that some kind hand of earth would lift me from the cold depths of utter want; but I do not expect it as a reward for anything I may have done. If I have helped the unfortunate in days gone by, I have had my full reward in knowing that I have done my duty to my fellows. I would not for gold have one of them blotted from my memory. Ah! My fond wife, ‘tis the memory of the good done in life that makes old age happy. Even now, I can hear again the warm thanks of those whom I have befriended, and again I can see their smiles.”

“Yes, Jacob,” returned the wife, in a lower tone, “I know you have been good, and in your memory you can be happy; but, alas! There is a present upon which we must look—there is a reality upon which we must dwell. We must beg for food or starve!”

The old man started, and a deep mark of pain was drawn across his features.

“Beg!” he replied, with a quick shudder. “No, Susan, we are—”

He hesitated, and a big tear rolled down his furrowed cheek.

“We are what, Jacob?”

“We are going to the poorhouse!”

“O No, I thought so!” fell from the poor wife’s lips, as she covered her face with her hands. “I have thought so, and I have tried to school myself to the thought; but? My poor heart will not bear it!”

“Do not give up,” softly urged the old man, laying his hand upon her arm. “It makes but little difference to us now. We have not long to remain on earth, and let us not wear out our last days in useless repinings. Come, Come.”

“But when—when—shall we go?”

“Now—today.”

“Then God have mercy on us!”

“He will,” murmured Jacob.

That old couple sat for a while in silence. When they were aroused from their painful thoughts it was by the stopping of a wagon in front of the door. A man entered the room where they sat. He was the keeper of the poorhouse.

“Come, Mr. Manfred,” he said, “the selectmen have managed to crowd you into the poorhouse. The wagon is at the door, and you can get ready as soon as possible.”

Jacob Manfred had not calculated the strength he should need for this ordeal. There was a coldness in the very tone and manner of the man who had come for him that went like an ice-bolt to his heart, and with a deep groan he sank back in his seat.

“Come, be in a hurry,” impatiently urged the keeper.

At that moment a heavy covered carriage drove up to the door.

“Is this the house of Jacob Manfred?”

This question was asked by a man who entered from the carriage. He was a kind-looking man, about forty years of age.

“That is my name,” said Jacob.

“Then they told me truly,” uttered the newcomer. “Are you from the almshouse?” he continued, turning toward the keeper.

“Yes.”

“Then you may return. Jacob Manfred goes to no poorhouse while I live.”

The keeper gazed inquisitively into the face of the stranger, and left the house.

“Don’t you remember me?” exclaimed the newcomer, grasping the old man by the hand.

“I cannot call you to my memory now.”

“Do you remember Lucius Williams?”

“Williams?” repeated Jacob, starting up and gazing earnestly into the stranger’s face. “Yes, Jacob Manfred—Lucius Williams, that little boy whom, thirty years ago, you saved from the house of correction; that poor boy whom you kindly took from the bonds of the law, and placed on board your own vessels.”

“And are you—”

“Yes—yes. I am the man you made. You found me a rough stone from the hand of poverty and bad example. It was you who brushed off the evil, and who first led me to the sweet waters of moral life and happiness. I have profited by the lesson you gave me in early youth, and the warm spark which your kindness lighted up in my bosom has grown brighter and brighter ever since. With an affluence for life I have settled down, to enjoy the remainder of my days in peace and quietness. I heard of your losses and bereavements. Come, I have a home and a heart, and your presence will make them both warmer, brighter, and happier. Come, my more than father—and you my mother, come. You made my youth all bright, and I will not see your old age doomed to darkness.”

Jacob Manfred tottered forward and sank upon the bosom of his preserver. He could not speak his thanks, for they were too heavy for words. When he looked up again he sought his wife.

“Susan,” he said, in a choking, trembling tone, “my bread has come back to me!”

“Forgive me, Jacob.”

“No, no, Susan. It is not I who must forgive—God holds us in His hand.” “Ah!” murmured the wife, as she raised her streaming eyes to heaven, “I will never doubt Him again.”

Storytime Treasury, Compiled by P. G. Temple, (Harvestime Books, Altamont, Tennessee 37301).

Children’s Story – One Minute More

On a bright sunny day while Ned set at the breakfast table he tried to get his mother or sister to tell him where they were all going.

“I’m as much in the dark as you are,” said Carolyn. “I think that mother was afraid I would let out the secret, for she sometimes calls me her little chatterbox. We’re to be ready at ten o’clock sharp.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll know in a few hours. Look, here comes Charley Wood. I promised to show him something in my workshop.” Away ran Ned.

The boys played together until after nine o’clock; and then, instead of going directly to the house, to be on hand promptly at ten o’clock, Ned thought: “Oh, there’s time enough for me to finish my kite.”

Two or three times his eyes were upon his watch; but there were a few minutes to spare, he thought. When he looked again, he was startled to find that it was three minutes past ten. By the time he had his hat and rushed to the front room, he was five minutes late, and no one was there.

He could not believe that his mother would disappoint him for such a little delay, so he called for Carolyn. Then he ran to his mother’s room to see if she were there, then out the front door; but no one was to be seen.

“Why did mother not tell me where she was going? Then I might have overtaken her. Now I don’t know in which direction to go,” mumbled Ned.

It was because of this that his mother had not told Ned where she was going. He was in the habit of trying to make up for lost time by hurrying at the last minute.

Mrs. Gray had planned a visit to her sister, who lived on a farm. Ned and Carolyn had once visited there and had a grand time with their cousins. They played in the hayloft, searched for eggs, helped feed the cattle, and rode the horses to water. They often begged mother to take them again; but she had many home cares and could not get away.

Poor Ned! When he found his mother and sister gone, he was a disappointed boy. Half ashamed to have Jane, the maid, see his tears or know how miserable he was, he went back to his play. He knew that if his mother returned, Carolyn would be sure to run out to the playhouse in search of him, so he stayed out there by himself until dinnertime.

Jane called Ned to dinner. She had lived in the Gray home a long time and knew Ned’s one failing. She had promised Mrs. Gray not to tell him where his mother and sister had gone, until dinnertime. The woman saw the boy with sad, downcast face enter the dining room. Seeing the table set for only one person, Ned was surprised, for his mother rarely stayed away all day.

The boy sat down to his lonely meal, and when Jane came in with a piece of pie, he asked why his mother was not home to dinner.

“Oh, Ned,” she replied, “your mother won’t be back today, or tomorrow either—no, not until Monday morning. She and Carolyn have gone to visit your Aunt Mary.”

This was too much for the youth. Dropping knife and fork, he rushed upstairs to his room, where he flung himself on the bed and cried bitterly.

When he had recovered from the first burst of tears, he remembered his mother’s request “not to forget,” that she should expect him “in the front room at ten o’clock precisely.” Now he understood that she must have started with Carolyn to the station at the very moment the clock hands pointed to the hour. It was a good lesson. He knew his mother had not meant to be cruel to him, and he resolved to improve in promptness.

It was with bright, sunny face, from which all sadness had vanished, that Ned met his mother and sister when they reached home Monday morning. Mrs. Gray saw at once that the hard lesson she had been obliged to teach him had not been in vain.

Storytime Treasury, compiled by P. G. Temple, Harvestime Books, Altamont, Tenessee.

Children’s Story – ‘Neath the Green Earth

In some places the salt is found mixed with earth. Then to retrieve it, water is poured into the salt, melting the salt. The salt water, which is now called brine, is then pumped out and boiled in large kettles till nothing is left but the salt.

In other parts of the earth, salt is found on the surface in large quantities. On the island of Carmen, in the Gulf of California, where there has been a large salt lake, there now remains a solid crust of salt that is several feet thick.

The wonderful “salt tree” grows wild in the northern part of India. Salt can always be found clinging to this tree. The natives gather it and eat it with great relish.

When we meet a friend in this country (America), we say, “How do you do?” but when one Arab meets another, they each produce a piece of salt for the other to touch with his tongue. This act means friendship and welcome. If an enemy eats salt at an Arab’s door, he becomes his friend forever, for by so doing he really asks to be forgiven, and the request thus made is never refused.

I wonder if we always forgive each other as freely as do the Arabs! Uncle Ben hopes that his boys and girls will remember this beautiful lesson. Don’t forget that we ask the Lord to “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us.” (Matthew 6:12.)

What great Teacher said, “Have salt in yourselves, and have peace one with another”? Mark 9:50.

In merry old England, many years ago, the little dish containing the salt was so placed on the table that the rank of the guest could be known. The poorest folks always sat below the salt, and the rich ones above the salt. What a strange custom this was!

Who can tell us about a great feast that will soon be held when the rich and poor, great and small, will sit down together and to which “whosoever will” may come? And what great King will serve the guests at this feast?

Now just see what a wonderful article we are studying about. It is found in great mines, in the sea, in springs, in mountains, on the surface of the ground where salt lakes have been, and also on the salt tree of old, old India. Salt is useful for good for both man and beast.

One of the most valuable uses of salt is to preserve or keep. People of olden times even thought that salt was sacred because of its great power to preserve various articles from decay. Who can tell what Jesus meant when He said, “Ye are the salt of the earth” (Matthew 5:13)?

The Jews at the time of Christ used rock salt, and sometimes salt obtained from the Dead Sea and the marshes.

Travelers tell us that this salt is of poor quality and that when it is left in the sun or is exposed to the air, it loses its saltiness, and is then, of course, good for nothing.

Jesus wants us to be just like the good salt of the earth. He wants us to keep ourselves pure, and to save souls from death by pointing them to Christ, who is “the Way, the Truth, and the Life” (John 14:6). To do this we must have “salt in ourselves,” and never lose our saltiness.

This means we must always have the spirit of Christ in us, and love to do good as He did, and be always willing to speak the kind word and do the kindly deed.

Jesus said, “Salt is good; but if the salt have lost his savor, wherewith shall it be seasoned? It is neither fit for the land, nor yet for the dunghill; but men cast it out. He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.” Luke 14:34. Dear boys and girls, let us hear, and be the real salt of the earth—always ready to help one another, and to speak a word for our dear Saviour who has done so much for us.

Among all the voices of earth the Lord would have us hear His voice. He wants us to hear so that we shall remember it always, and believe just what He says, and do just what He commands. Then His truth will be as salt in us to keep us from sin and sinning.

Excerpts from Uncle Ben’s Cobblestones, W. H. B. Miller, Pacific Press Publishing Association., Mountain View, California, 1904, 29–40.