"They Say."


IF you had peeped into the windows of Mrs.

Clyde's sitting-room one rainy evening in

 November, you would have seen Charlie and

Bertie Clyde on the floor in front of an open

fire. Their playthings, consisting chiefly of

spools, were scattered around them. They

had over a hundred in all, of different sizes,

representing heroes, soldiers, clergymen, 

Robinson Crusoe, George Washington, and 

others.

They were fond of playing church, and would

mount their favorite preacher on a box for

the pulpit, and have their Sunday-school, the

most orderly school I ever witnessed.




As they were resting, and thinking what to

play next, Bertie suddenly spoke up, "They

say John Floyd's going to be thrashed!"

"Why, Bertie Clyde, what do you mean?"

and Charlie's eyes glared in the flickering

firelight.

"Well, they say he took the money out of

the master's desk, and lied about it, too," 

answered Bertie.

"Who told you, Bert Clyde?"

"Zeke; and they say he was there before

school, and tried to run away when he saw

the master coming."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Charlie," it's too bad!"

then, his eyes flashing, he added, "I don't

believe it."

"They say he will lose the prize, and will

never come back to school."

"I don't believe it, and never will," cried

Charlie.

"They say so, and don't you suppose they

know?" and Bertie grew rather red in the

face, and then added, "They say the master

was awful angry, and will thrash him hard;"

and Bertie gave the fire a hard knock with

the tongs, as if the half-burnt stick were John

and he the master.

Just then a quiet voice from the sofa said,

"Come to me, my children." The boys

started; they had forgotten their grandmother's

presence. Dear heart! Seventy-six

summers and winters had passed over her

head, and left their impress on her form and

features, but her heart was as young as ever,

and the boys loved her, and listened to all she

said.

So when grandma asked, "Who told you

this, Bertie? " he answered, "Zeke Miller."

"Who told Zeke Miller?" "Sam Lewis."

"And who told Sam?" "Little Pete who

lives round the corner with his blind aunt."

"Yes," said grandma; "and who told

Pete?"

"Oh! I don't know," sighed Bertie. "Zeke

said they said "

"There, there," cried grandma, "don't

say any more. You remind me of the story

of 'Chicken Little,' who led herself and her

companions into trouble by her story that the

sky was falling, when it was only a rose-leaf

that fell on her."

Then assuming a more serious air, grandma

went on: "Do either of you know who

they say is? Bertie has quoted him five or

six times within the last ten minutes. He is

a most contemptible character, never speaking

for himself, but always through the mouth of

another. Creeping into our hearts and homes

so stealthily, he is our guest before we know

it, whispering evil reports in our ears, and

then leaving us to quote at our pleasure. He

works more mischief in an hour than can be

repaired in a year. 'They say ' never speaks

the truth. 'The poison of serpents is under

his tongue.' When you quote 'They say,'

dear children, you utter a falsehood. You

will find no such personage in the Scriptures.

Our Saviour has given us this rule: 'Let

your communication be Yea, yea; Nay, nay;

for whatsoever is more than this cometh of

evil.' Better cut out that 'unruly member,'

the tongue, than use it peddling mean reports

concerning your neighbors. Grandma knows

all about little John Floyd. The money is

where the master left it, and this poor little

boy has been made wretched by the false

'”They say:"—





Child's Paper.