Chapter II: Tod’s “persecute.”

“The servant is not greater than his Lord. If they have
persecuted me, they will also persecute you.”

Tod came home from school one day, his eyes red and swollen, his clothes dusty and tumbled; with him came Maybee, fierce, angry, revengeful.

“They’re such dre-eadful boys!” she sputtered,—“such mean, hateful, wre-etched boys! I wish I could pound ’em! I wish they’d catch the measles or lock-jaw, an’ mos’ pretty near die! I wish—”

Aunty laid one hand over the angry lips.

“Let’s wait till we feel pleasanter,” she said. “Run up to the bath-room, both of you, and then into the nursery for a nice play with baby. After that we’ll hear about those ‘dre-eadful’ boys.”

“It was some of those new ones and Tom Lawrence. You see, Tod wouldn’t, and they hung him right straight up. It’s just that way always when folks try to be good! they’ll make fun, and I wish—”

But aunty playfully drove the little talker through the hall and up the stairs.

Half an hour later two clean, happy-faced children came into the cool back-parlor, and nestled down beside her.

“Well, what is it?” she said.

“Wam, we play marbles, you know,” began Tod.

“Big boys an’ all,” interpolated Maybee.

“Yes; and my beat ’em—”

“_Who_ beat?” asked mamma.

“My—me—no, _I_ beat ’em,” amended Tod, who was learning the nominative case; “an’ then they wanted to play for keeps, an’ I said my mamma wouldn’t ’low it; and they laughed real loud and teased me to put up my new dime ’gainst Tom’s knife, you know; _and_ I said I couldn’t ’cause it was wicked, _and_ then they said ‘Pish!’ and ‘Pho!’ and spwinkled sand in my hair, and made b’lieve pweach, and then somefin fell out of Joe’s pocket,—I mos’ know it was Mr. Blackman’s pencil, what he scwews out of a hole when he w’ites; but Tom said I must pwomise to say it wasn’t if anybody asked me; an’ I couldn’t, ’cause it would be a lie; an’ then they put a wope awound my neck and tied it up in a twee. It scairt me some.”

“I saw ’em,” said Maybee, her eyes flashing; “but we can’t go one step off our own side, now; and if you say a word to Mr. Blackman, he calls you a tell-tale. I’m glad he’s going over to the ’cademy; we’ll have a woman-teacher, and I guess she’ll ’tend to things and not be flustrated to bits, neither.”

“But what became of my little boy?” asked aunty rather anxiously. “Did he stick bravely to the right?”

“I wasn’t vewy bwave,—I cwied,” said Tod, carefully examining his thumb, “‘cause they kep’ pulling; but I didn’t pwomise, an’ then the bell wung—”

“But the minute school was out they went at it again,” broke in Maybee, unable to wait Tod’s slower utterance. “An’ Tom followed us coming home and told Tod to get right down on his knees and say his prayers. It _is_ nice to pray, isn’t it, Aunt Sue? and all good folks do, don’t they? and God tells us to, doesn’t He? But when they talk about it so, they make you feel perzactly as if it wasn’t nice at all, and they always will, if you are trying to be good; they’ll just poke fun at it and make you feel awful. And then they shut Tod in Mis’ Lynch’s yard and fastened the gate. I wouldn’t let Tod go to that school another single day.”

“_I_ would,” said aunty, stroking the downcast face beside her.

“Well, then, he’d better not say much more about being good.”

“He’d better not _say_ much about it, only when it’s necessary, but I hope he’ll _be_ just as good as he knows how.”

“An’ be laughed at, an’ screwed round, an’ hung up?” queried Maybee, with wide-open eyes.

“I am sorry the boys were so unkind, but it is better to bear it than to do wrong. I don’t really think they meant to hurt you.”

“It hurts ’nough to be scairt, and poked fun at, _I_ think.”

“Yes; but whose little servants are you trying to be? Who tells you to be brave and honest and truthful?”

“Jesus,” said Tod, softly.

“Well, once, when papa was a little boy,”—how eagerly the four little ears listened!—“he went a long journey, away up into Vermont, with his father and mother, Grandma Smith, you know. They missed their way one night, and had to sleep in a log cabin, with only dry bread and cold johnny-cake for supper. The little boy looked pretty sober; there wasn’t much johnny-cake, and dry bread he didn’t fancy at all. Their host, who had given them the best he had, said, possibly, by going a quarter of a mile, he could get the boy a drink of milk. Theddy’s eyes began to shine; but he happened to look around, and there was mamma eating her dry bread without a drop of tea or coffee to moisten it. ‘I can eat dry bread too, if my mamma does,’ he said, bravely, putting away the johnny-cake, and taking the dryest crust on the plate.”

“Oh, wasn’t he nice!” cried Tod, clapping his hands.

“I mos’ know _my_ papa would have done perzactly so, only he wasn’t there,” remarked Maybee.

“I think so, too,” said aunty. “And should not all Jesus’ little boys and girls be willing to suffer, if He did?”

“Not—to—be—crucified?” inquired Maybee, huskily.

“Yes, if need be; but Jesus suffered many other things. The Jews used to stone Him and tell stories about Him and call Him names; and don’t you remember, when He was before Pilate, how they spit in His face, and put a crown of sharp thorns on His head, and mocked Him and struck Him—”

“Boys just like Tom Lawrence, do you s’pose?”

“Yes, I suppose the men and boys then were very much like the men and boys now; and you remember Jesus told His disciples if they persecuted Him, they would also persecute them.”

“Well, but did they?”

“Yes; all the disciples were treated very unkindly, and most of them put to death by those same wicked Jews.”

“Folks don’t do so now?” said Maybee, rather anxiously.

“Not in our own land; but they sometimes laugh at those who follow Jesus, and try to frighten them out of being good.”

“Is that being _persecuted_?” asked Maybee, in astonishment.

“’Tisn’t but a little mite of a persecute, when we fink about Jesus’s, is it, mamma?” said Tod. “I don’t mean to even cwy, next time.”

“And remember,” added aunty, this time stroking Maybee’s rosy cheek,—“Jesus never answered back nor wished any evil upon His persecutors. He pitied them and asked God to forgive them.”

“Yes’m,” said Maybee, drawing a long breath. “I guess—I’d better not think ’bout that Tom Lawrence any more.”