There is a great difference between the dog and the horse, in respect to the interest which they take in any work which they have to do. A horse does not like to work. He never runs to his master to be saddled when his master wishes to go and take a ride. If he runs either way, he runs off. If you wish any time to take a ride in a wagon, and you go into the pasture to find your horse, it is often very hard work to catch him. He knows that you are going to harness him up, and give him something to do, and he does not like to do it; so away he goes, bounding over the pasture, and looking back, first over one shoulder, and then over the other, to see whether you are pursuing him.

It is very different with the dog. As soon as he sees his master take down his hat and cane, he jumps up and runs to accompany him. He desires, above all things, to accompany his master wherever he goes, that he may protect him, and render him any other service which occasion may require.

It is true that a dog does not generally like to be harnessed into a wagon, and draw, but the reason of this probably is, that drawing a load is not a work that he is by nature fitted for. He is not properly built for such work. His shoulders are not fitted to receive a collar, and his feet are not of the right form to take good hold of the ground. The nature and qualities of the dog fit him for other duties, and these duties he is always greatly interested in performing. If his master is a traveler, he is always ready to set out on the journey with him. If his master stays at home, he is always on the watch about the house, guarding the premises, and ready to do any thing that he may be called upon to do. In a word, such duties as he is at all qualified for by his nature and habits, he is always ready to perform with alacrity and with hearty good-will.

What a fine thing it would be for a boy to have a horse of such a disposition—a little black pony, I will suppose—just large enough for the boy to harness and drive! Suppose you had such a pony. You take the bridle, and go out into the pasture for him some day when you feel inclined to take a ride. As soon as you enter the pasture, you call him. Immediately on hearing your voice, he runs out of the thicket where he was lying in the shade, and ascends an eminence near, so that he can see. He looks all around to find where the voice comes from, and when he sees you with the bridle in your hand, he immediately feels proud and happy at the thought of being employed, and he comes galloping toward you, prancing and capering in a very joyous manner.

As soon as he gets near you, he ceases his prancing, and, walking up to you, he holds his head down that you may put the bridle on. As soon as the bridle is buckled, you put the bridle-rein over his neck, and say,

“There! run along, pony!”

So your pony runs along before you, looking back from time to time, first over one shoulder, and then over the other, not to see whether you are pursuing him, in order that he may escape, but to be sure that you are following him, and that he is going the right way. When he gets to the gate, he waits till you come to open it for him; or, if he has ingenuity enough to lift up the latch himself, he opens the gate and goes through, and then waits outside till you come. As soon as you have gone through the gate, he trots off to the barn. He does not know yet whether you are going to put the saddle on, or to harness him into your little wagon. But he is equally ready for either. He looks forward with great pleasure to the thought of carrying you along over a pleasant road, cantering merrily up and down the hills; and he resolves that he will take special care not to stumble or fall with you. Or, if he finds that you prefer riding in the wagon that day, he thinks how pleasant it will be to trot along over the road with you, and give you a good drive. If you stop any where by the way, he waits patiently where you leave him until you come back again. If he is in the wagon, he stands very still, lest he should do some damage to the vehicle by moving about. If he has a saddle on, he walks out to the road-side, perhaps, to crop the grass a little while he is waiting, but he lifts up his head now and then to see if you are coming, in order that he may be all ready to go on again when you wish to go.

It would certainly be a fine thing to have such a pony as that.

But for a man, it is a finer thing to have such a boy as that. I never knew such ponies, but I have often known such boys. They take a special interest and pleasure in being useful, and especially in assisting their father and mother in any thing, no matter what it is, that their father and mother wish to do. They feel proud and happy to be employed, and come always with a ready alacrity whenever they are called upon, and to do what they can do with a hearty good-will.

Boys sometimes take an interest of the wrong kind in what their fathers are doing—that is, an interest which seeks for their own pleasure and amusement, and not for the furtherance of the work. There was a farmer, for instance, once, who had two sons, Lawrence and Georgie. The farmer was building a shed, and when the shed was framed, the carpenters came one afternoon to raise it. Lawrence was away from home when the carpenters came, having gone to mill, but Georgie was very much interested in the raising, and he brought several of the boys of the neighborhood to see it. With these boys he played about among the timbers of the frame, running along upon them from end to end, or jumping over them. He made a great deal of noise in singing to express his joy, and in calling to his companions.

“Georgie,” said his father, at last, “be still, or I shall send you away.”

His father should have sent him away at once, instead of threatening to do so if he was not still.

Georgie was still after this, for he knew that his father would do as he said; but he soon found out other means of making trouble besides noise. He and the other boys went to one of the carpenters, who was boring a hole, and he began to beg the carpenter to let him take the auger and bore it.

“I can bore,” said he.

“I see you can,” said the carpenter, “but I wish you would not come here and bore me.”

The other carpenters who were near laughed at hearing this, and Georgie, not liking to be laughed at, walked away to another part of the work. Here he began to ask questions, such as what this beam was for, and what tenon was going into that mortice, and whether such and such a hole was not bored wrong. All these questions interrupted the workmen, confused them in their calculations, and hindered the work. At last, Georgie’s father told him not to ask any more questions, but to keep perfectly still.

His father would, in fact, have sent him away entirely, were it not that he was wanted from time to time to do an errand, or fetch a tool. These errands, however, he did very slowly and reluctantly, so that he was of little service. Finally, he proposed to the boys that they should make a balancer, and they did so. They put up one short beam of wood upon another, and then, placing a plank across, two of the boys got on, one at each end, and began see-sawing up and down. This was their balancer.

“Isn’t it good fun,” said Georgie, as he went up into the air, “to have a raising?”

“Yes,” said the other boy, who was then down by the ground.

“I hope they won’t get through to-night,” said Georgie, coming down, “and then we can have some more fun to-morrow.”

Just then the upper beam, which supported the balancer, fell off, and the plank, with the boys on it, came to the ground. There was now a great outcry. Georgie’s father and some of the carpenters came to see if the boys were hurt. They were not seriously hurt, but the accident occasioned quite an interruption to the raising.

So Georgie’s father, finding that the trouble which Georgie made him was greater far than any service that he rendered, sent him away.

Now this is not the right way to take an interest in what your father or mother is doing.

Lawrence got back from the mill just as Georgie went away. He immediately came and took Georgie’s place. He stationed himself near his father, so as to be ready to do any thing which might be required whenever he should be called upon. He observed carefully every thing that was done, but he asked no questions. If he saw that a tool was wanted, or going to be wanted, he brought it, so as to have it all ready the moment it should be required. Thus, although he could not do much substantial work himself, he assisted the men who could do it very much, and rendered very effectual service, so that the raising went on very prosperously, and was finished that night, greatly to his father’s satisfaction.

At supper that night the farmer took his seat at the table. His wife sat opposite to him. Lawrence was on one side, and Georgie on the other.

“Have you finished the raising?” said his wife.

“Yes,” said the farmer, “we have finished it. I did not expect to get through. But we have got through, and it is all owing to Lawrence.”

“Did he help you?” asked his wife.

“Yes,” said the farmer; “he forwarded the work, I think, a full half hour, and that just saved us.”

Now that is the right kind of interest to take in what your father and mother are doing.

At another time, one night after Georgie and Lawrence had gone to bed, they heard a sort of thumping sound out in the barn.

“Hark!” said Lawrence; “what is that noise?”

Georgie said he thought it could not be any thing of consequence, and so he shut up his eyes, and prepared to go to sleep. But Lawrence, though he was equally sleepy, felt afraid that something might be the matter with one of the horses; so he got up and went to his father’s room, and told his father about the noise. His father immediately rose and dressed himself, and went down to the barn.

“Georgie,” said Lawrence, “let us get up too. Perhaps we can help.”

“Oh no,” said Georgie, sleepily, “there is nothing that we could do.”

“I can hold the lantern, at any rate,” said Lawrence, “and do some good, perhaps, in that way.” So Lawrence dressed himself and went down stairs, while Georgie went to sleep again.

Lawrence got out into the barn just in time to find that the horse had fallen down, and had got entangled in his halter, so that he was in danger of choking to death.

“Ah, Lawrence!” said his father, “you are just in time. I want you to hold the lantern for me.”

So Lawrence took the lantern, and held it while his father disentangled the halter, and got the horse up. Lawrence, who was much interested all the time, held the lantern in the best possible way for his father to see.

“That’s right,” said his father; “hold the lantern so that you can see yourself, and then you may be sure that I can see.”

That is the right kind of interest for boys to take in what their father or mother are doing.

That was, in fact, the kind of interest that Bruno took. He was always on the watch for opportunities to do good, and when he saw that he could not do any more good, he was extremely careful not to make any trouble.

He would stand or sit silently by, looking on and watching what was going forward with great interest, ready to act the moment that he was called upon, as you see in the opposite engraving. They are driving some sheep to pasture very early in the morning. It was dark when they first came out with the flock, and so they brought a lantern; but the sun has risen now, and it is light. Although it was very early when the men set out with the flock, Bruno was eager to come with them. He has helped to drive the sheep all the way. They have reached the pasture at last, and there is now nothing more for him to do. So he is sitting down to rest, and contemplating with great satisfaction, while he rests, the accomplishment of the work which was to be done, and ready to do any thing more that may be required without a moment’s delay.

In the distance, in the engraving, a river is seen, meandering through a rich and beautiful country, with the beams of the morning sun reflected from the surface of the water.

The satisfaction which results from the faithful performance of duty is a very solid and substantial pleasure. It endures long, and has no alloy. There is something manly and noble in the very nature of it, and he who makes it the end and aim of all his efforts in his search for happiness is sure of a rich reward.

Learn from the example of Bruno, then, to find your happiness in the diligent and faithful performance of duty. “Duty first, and pleasure afterward,” is the true rule for all. They who seek pleasure first, or, rather, who look for their happiness in personal and selfish gratifications, lead a very low and groveling life, and never exemplify the true nobleness and dignity to which the human soul should aspire. Nor do they ever attain to any real or permanent happiness. They experience a continual feeling of self-reproach and self-condemnation which mars all their enjoyments, and adds a fresh ingredient of bitterness to all their sorrows. In a word, they are always dissatisfied with themselves, and he who is dissatisfied with himself can never be happy.

THE END.

HARPER’S
STORY BOOKS

BY
JACOB ABBOTT.

TERMS.

Each Number of Harper’s Story Books will contain 160 pages, in small quarto form, very beautifully illustrated, and printed on superfine calendered paper.

The Series may be obtained of Booksellers, Periodical Agents, and Postmasters, or from the Publishers, at Three Dollars a year, or Twenty-five Cents a Number.

The two Periodicals, Harper’s New Monthly Magazine and Harper’s Story Books, will be supplied at Five Dollars a year, and will be published on the first day of each Month.

The Postage upon Harper’s Story Books, which must be paid quarterly in advance, is Two Cents.

EACH NUMBER COMPLETE IN ITSELF.

PRICE 25 C^ts

HARPER & BROTHERS
FRANKLIN SQUARE, N. Y.