I DON’T want to!”
That was what angry little Charlie said when his mamma told him to come into the house. O, shame on a little boy who will speak so. I hope you do not act and speak as Charlie did to dear mamma.
It began to look like rain; thick clouds were coming up in the west, and there was a sound of distant thunder.
Alice brought in her new dolly. She had been playing under the trees with it, and Charlie had been drawing his little cart through the walks; for the day had been warm and sultry, and the children had played in the garden all the afternoon.
Charlie said, “I don’t want to,” when his kind mother called him, and then he ran down the walk so as to get out of her way. At the end of the walk there was a little bridge which crossed a stream and led out into an open field. Beyond the field was a broad belt of woodland, and towards this Charlie ran to hide away. His mother called Mary to go and look for him, and bring the naughty boy in the house before the shower should reach him. But while Mary was looking in the garden, Charlie was wandering farther on through the woods.
Presently there came a heavy clap of thunder, and the rain began to fall in great drops, that speedily became a heavy torrent. Then Charlie was frightened. He did not know where to go. He found that he was lost, and knew not which way to turn so as to find his way home. The rain fell so fast that he was wet to his skin; the water soaked his neck and curls; it got in the sleeves of his jacket as he held up his arms to keep his hat on, and even ran down his little bare legs to his short socks and down into his slippers.
O, what a sight to behold was naughty little Charlie! You would not have thought he belonged to decent people, for he fell many times, and the wet mud smeared his wet clothes; the briars through which he forced his way, tore his hands and legs, and made great rents in the pretty white linen coat in which he had looked so fine. He was mud from head to foot; and now a strong blackberry vine caught in his hat and tore it off from his head, while every moment the rain came down faster and faster.
Aha! Master Charlie! “I don’t want to!” —that was what he said half an hour before; but O, how he did want to come in now! How gladly he would have rushed into mamma’s arms. But he had no knowledge of which way to turn, or which way to find his dear home and his mamma; so he rushed on and on, every moment getting more and more wet and dirty as the mud splashed over him, and the wet leaves rubbed against him, and the prickly branches tore his clothes. At last he came suddenly upon a little stream, into which he slipped and fell, striking his hand against a stone. His poor little hand was very much cut, and began to bleed so profusely that, besides the mud and wet, his clothes were now all smeared with blood.
He could not walk or run any more. He could only sit down on the wet ground, for he felt very sick and faint. He felt so miserable that he thought he was going to die; and when he remembered that the very last words he had spoken to dear mamma were spoken in anger, and that his very last act had been one of disobedience, then he felt wretched indeed. He thought he would pray to God; so he began—
“Now I lay me down to sleep.”
No, he felt that was not right, for he was not going to lie down to sleep at all. He did not know what to say; so he just called out, “O, please, God, help me!” And that was, after all, the best prayer he could have made; for immediately after he added, “O, God, Charlie is sorry for being such a bad boy;” and then he did not remember anything more, for he had become insensible.
When he awoke he found himself in his own little bed, with all his dirty wet clothes taken off, and mamma leaning over him rubbing him. He had been found and brought home; all the family had turned out to look for him, and they were so glad to find him that they did everything now to make him comfortable.
Some days after this papa read in the Bible about the prodigal son; and Charlie said to mamma that night, “I think I know how the prodigal son felt when he wanted to get back.”
“You might know something of the feeling,” mamma replied.
“But, mamma, what made you so glad to get me back; for you know I was so naughty?”
“It was because I loved you so,” said mamma; “and that was why the father was so glad to see the prodigal son, and that also is why God is glad to welcome us back. God loves us. ‘God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’”
ML 08/12/1917