It’s Homeschool Story Time: Week 6. Welcome!
In today’s story, a little boy named Harlis gets to walk to Sunday school by himself with his donation for the very first time.
On the way there, another boy tempts him to spend his money on treats.
What will Harlis do?
Let’s find out.
Going Alone
by Florence Maule
“I’m afraid you will have to go alone this morning, Harlis,” said mamma. “My head is getting worse instead of better. You think it will be all right for Harlis to go, don’t you, papa?”
Mrs. Wentworth looked up inquiringly into the face of a tall man who had just entered the room.
“Certainly. He is big enough, and knows the way. Why not let him go?” her husband answered.
Harlis was quite proud to hear that opinion, and adopting something of his papa’s emphatic tone, he said, “Of course, I’m big enough, mamma. Willie Nelson goes every single Sunday alone, and he isn’t only two weeks older than I am. You needn’t worry a bit. I’ll take Esther, too, if you want me to. I’ll take care of her.”
Mamma smiled a little as she answered, “No, dear, I thank you just the same, but Annie will take care of Esther this morning. If I let you go alone, you must promise to go straight to Sunday school.”
“Yes, mamma,” answered Harlis, very willingly.
Proudly he walked down the street. He felt sure everyone was noticing him. One of the newsboys ran past him and shouted, “Hello, little chap!” and grinned.
Mamma had said, “Be a good boy, Harlis,” before he left home. He couldn’t help feeling how foolish it was for her always to say that, but he excused her with the thought that it was probably mamma-like to be a little anxious and worried about such things.
“Harlis! Harlis!”
Harlis was just entering one of the chief business streets through which he had to pass to reach the church. He turned and saw Willie Nelson running as fast as his little legs could carry him to catch up.
“All alone?” Willie asked.
“Yes.”
“So’m I. My mamma can’t come to Sunday school. She makes me go, though. I don’t care much. Let’s go this way.”
“No. I can’t. Mamma said for me to go just the same way I always did. I promised.”
“Did you? My, I go the way I want to. This is just as good as any,” he added cheerfully. “Let’s look in here. Ain’t that fine?”
It was a display in the candy shop they were looking at. Across the window, hung from the gas jet by ribbons, was a huge candy cane.
“See that,” said Willie, pulling out from his pocket a five-cent piece. “Know what I am going to do with it?”
“Take it to Miss Beatrice for the poor little girl she told about.”
“No, sir. Going to get some candy. Five cents don’t get much, though. Not the best kind. That costs money.”
Harlis put his hand in his pocket and quickly pulled it out. But the action did not escape Willis’ sharp eyes.
“You got any?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Let’s see. Oh, a nickel! Thought maybe it was just a penny. What a lot ten cents would get. What kind do you like best?”
“I like chocolate best.”
“Do you? Why, so do I. Say we get some?”
“I don’t believe mamma would like it. She said we mustn’t buy things on Sunday.”
“She’ll never know. That’s nothing bad, either.”
When the collection basket was passed around, Harlis looked almost ready to cry. “Did you forget your money?” said Miss Beatrice, pleasantly. Harlis so seldom came without it that it was noticeable.
“Yes’m,” answered the little boy, almost without thinking what he was saying. He was so uncomfortable, and Willie was making eyes at him.
“Never mind, bring it next Sunday,” said Miss Beatrice, noticing the flushed face and telltale eyes, and not understanding quite what it meant.
If mamma had not been sick, the trouble would surely have come out earlier, because mamma would have seen in a minute that something was wrong. After the late dinner, there was nothing to do but cuddle up in the corner of the sofa with his books. Just as it was growing dark, papa came down from the sick room. He found Harlis with his head buried in the sofa cushion.
“What’s the matter?” said papa briskly, picking up his little boy. “Lonesome? Too bad! Thought you went to Aunt Lucy’s with Esther.”
“I didn’t want to,” said Harlis, breaking out in big, shaking sobs.
Papa knew something was wrong, then, and by degrees the story came out.
Papa said very little, for he seemed to understand the real suffering Harlis had already gone through because of his wrongdoings.
“But the nickel was mine,” said Harlis, as he and mamma were talking it over.
“Was it?” said mamma. “What did I give it to you for?”
“For the poor little girl.”
“You can put it back, but you must earn it,” she said.
“Oh, I will! I will!” Harlis was only too glad to do this. “And I’ll never do so again, mamma.”
And his mamma felt sure he never would.
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Many blessings,
