Mrs. Bertram sat reading a book one morning, or trying to. It was
not easy to do so, for her little boy, Roger, was out in the hall
playing with his drum. Suddenly the drumming ceased, and in a
moment Roger rushed into the room crying as if his heart would
break.
"I've burst it. I've burst it," he sobbed.
"Your drum asked his mother. "How did you do that?"
"I was beating it with the poker and the tongs and--"
"With the poker and tongs!" exclaimed his mother. "Why, where
were your drum-sticks?"
Then Roger stopped crying, and hung his head with shame.
"Where are your drum-sticks?" asked his mother, again.
"I--I--don't know," sobbed Roger.
"Have you lost those, too?" said Mrs. Bertram. She needed no
words for answer. Roger's manner was quite enough. "You know,
dear, what I said would happen the next time you lost anything."
"Yes," said Roger, "I you said I must give away all my toys to
some little boys who would take care of them."
"Yes," said his mother. "I see you remember. I shall send them
all to-night to the Children's Hospital."
"But, mama," said Roger, "if I don't have any toys to take care
of, how can I learn to take care of them?"
Mrs. Bertram had to turn away so that Roger should not see her
smile.
"I shall have to think of some other way to teach you to be
careful. Now go and bring me all your toys."
Roger went out of the room to do as his mother said. When he had
gone, Mrs. Bertram sat thinking until he came back.
"I have decided that I want you to dust the library every
morning."
Roger looked astonished. "Boys don't dust," he said.
"Sometimes," said his mother, smilingly. "Your Uncle Fred had to
dust his own room when he was at West Point. Now if you dust the
library every morning for two months faithfully, and do not break
a single ornament, I shall know you have grown careful in one
way, and that may help you to be careful in another."
The next morning Roger began his work. At first he disliked it
very much, but after a while he grew very particular. It was not
pleasant to be without any toys, and he determined to earn them.
The day when his trial of two months would be up, would be
Christmas Day. He did not know if his presents this year would be
toys or useful things. All his mother had said about his work
was, "My dear, you are improving."
Christmas night came, and with it a beautiful tree. Imagine
Roger's delight when he saw on and about it new skates, a new
sled, a new violin and a new drum.
And up in the highest branches, in letters of gold, these words:
"For the boy who has proved he can be careful when he tries."