CHAPTER VII.
OSCAR'S STRUGGLES.
NO little girl or boy will suppose that Oscar, after all the years he had been sullen, disobedient, and revengeful, could become good in a day, or even a week. To be sure, by the kindness of Mrs. Monson, he had learned something of what his Saviour had done for him, and what he must himself do in order to please God; but there were still many ugly weeds which needed rooting out of his heart.
His new friends were greatly interested in him; but they were not always at hand to remind him how wrong it was to speak disrespectfully to his parents, or to be cruel to animals.
One morning, soon after Oscar's visit to Charley, Mrs. Russel was startled by hearing a great noise from the barn-yard; and, rushing to the door, she saw her son chasing the cat among a brood of young chickens, while the poor, frightened hen screeched and ran about trying to protect her little ones under her wings.
Oscar stood laughing at the distress, when his mother screamed out,—
"You good-for-nothing boy! Aren't you ashamed of yourself to act so? Here, kitty, kitty, come away. There, she knows enough to let the chickens alone, if you would behave yourself. Come out of that yard, or I'll start right off and tell Mrs. Monson you're a worse boy than ever."
"No you wont tell her any such thing!" yelled Oscar, his face flaming with passion. "You just mind your own business. The chickens are mine; father gave 'em to me."
Mrs. Russel started forward to strike the boy, who stood defiantly before her; but, suddenly remembering her resolution to command her own temper, she let her hand fall to her side. Without another word she went into the house.
"Whew!" exclaimed Oscar, beginning to come to his senses. "I wonder why she didn't give me a cuff."
He sat down on the step of the barn door. If you had seen him, you would have thought he was counting the pretty yellow chicks, he gazed so intently at them, as they picked up the dough from the board. But he was not. He had forgotten they were before him. The poor boy was thinking about himself; and presently one, two big tears came rolling down his brown cheeks, and he looked very sad.
"I wish she had licked me. How could I forget so soon? I might just as well give up. It's no use for me to try and be good, like Charley. Oh, dear! I wish I hadn't forgot. I wish old Tom had been in the pond, and then I wouldn't have chased her in here. I wonder whether ma will tell of me. If Mrs. Monson knows it, she wont let Charley play with me any more."
All at once he stopped crying, and his face brightened. What do you think made him look pleased?
He remembered something that Mrs. Monson had said, the last time she talked with him. Charley was holding his hand all the time and gazing lovingly in his face. It was this,—
"Oscar, you may find it hard to conquer your temper. Perhaps sometimes you will forget. But God is watching you every moment, and when he sees that you try to be a good boy; that you keep from lying, and endeavor to honor your parents, he will help you. If ever you are discouraged, you must put up a little prayer to him; and, though he lives in the sky, and has thousands of angels bowing before him, he will certainly hear and answer you."
Oscar sat very still, thinking of all this; and the chickens had made a hearty meal, and were taking a nap under their mother's wings, when he said, aloud,—
"I mean to pray, now."
He did not kneel down. You know he had never been taught, as you have been, to kneel at his mother's side and pray; but he covered his face in both his hands, and began to repeat, as well as he could remember, Charley's prayer,—
"O God! I know I've been awful wicked. I'm real sorry, God, that I forgot. I do want to be a good boy. I don't like being ugly and cross and naughty all the time, as I used to be. Will you help me be like Charley, who is good and happy all the time? Will you help mother be good, too? For I know she's trying real hard."