“Hurra! hurra!” shouted Ben Field, Joe West, and Willie Prime, throwing up their caps, and giving an extra cheer as they stopped in front of Mrs. Western’s gate.

“What are you hurraing for?” asked Frankie, who stood inside the gate, whistling, with both hands in his pockets.

“Coz you’ve got pants on,” said Ben. “You won’t have to stay in the yard now all the time, just as if you’re a girl.”

“Don’t know,” Frankie said, doubtfully, putting his hand on the latch.

“That’s right, Frank,” said Joe, “come on; we’ll have a game of marbles. I ain’t too big to play with a little fellow, are you, Will?”

Joe was eight and Willie seven years old, and though Frankie was but six, he felt quite as large in his new pants and jacket, as either of them; so he said, with an odd little air of dignity, “I ain’t a little fellow, and I don’t want to play marbles.”

“Of course not,” said Willie, “or you’d wear dresses. I did. I can just remember.”

“He had a dress on yesterday, and a sun-bonnet,” Ben said, with a provoking laugh. “He’s growed a lot since then.”

“Stop laughing at me, Ben Field. Do you see my copper toes,” and one of the new boots was thrust threateningly through the fence.

“Never mind him, Frank,” said good-natured Joe. “Come on, boys, let’s go to the creek and wade.”

“Don’t you want to go too?” asked Willie, seeing Frankie’s wistful look at the mention of the creek. “Oh yes!” he exclaimed, delightedly. “Just wait a minute till I ask mamma;” and off he ran, tumbling down two or three times, and rushing into the house like a small hurricane. Not in the kitchen, nor the sitting-room; “Where is mamma?” he said to himself impatiently. At last he opened the parlor door and found her there, fast asleep on the sofa. “Oh dear!” he thought, discontentedly. “Mamma never’ll let me wake her up, an’ the boys won’t wait, an’ I can’t go.” With a sad face he went back to the gate. “I can’t go. Mamma’s asleep.” He put his hands in his pockets, winked his eyes very fast, and began to whistle. All this to keep from crying, and disgracing his new pants by acting like a girl.

“I don’t believe your mother’ll care one bit. Just to walk to the creek,” said Joe.

“No, of course she won’t,” added Will. “Take off your boots and go barefoot like us boys.”

The temptation to go barefooted was too strong for Frankie, so down he plumped on the grass, and off came the copper-toed boots and clean white stockings. In a few minutes all four boys were running along the dusty road in their bare feet. It seemed very new and funny for a while, but after they had gone half a mile, Frankie began to wish for the cool shade and moist greensward of home. The sun burned his head, and the sand of the road his feet.

“Oh dear!” he said, “ain’t we most there?”

“Tired a’ready!” laughed Ben. “You’re a great boy. Better go home and sit in mammy’s lap.”

In his sorrowful little heart, poor, tired Frankie wished most heartily that he was on his mother’s lap that very minute, but he thought it wouldn’t be manly to say so. He was too tired even to resent what Ben had said, so he kept still and trudged on.

“I know what we’ll do,” said Joe. “Will and I’ll make a chair and carry you. And you, Ben Field, had better keep mighty still, or I’ll settle your case in a hurry.” For some reason, just then Ben thought best to start off in pursuit of a butterfly.

Joe and Willie made a chair of their crossed hands, on which Frankie seated himself, and put an arm around each of the boys’ necks. This mode of traveling pleased him very much, and it seemed but a little while before they reached the creek.

“Ain’t it jolly?” said Joe, as he led Frankie into the clear, cool water.

“Oh! oh! see the fishes! the dear little fishes!” said Frankie, stooping to pick them up. But the gay little shiners knew better than to allow themselves to be picked up, even by such a nice little boy. Losing his balance in his attempts to seize one of them, Frankie had a sudden bath in the creek.

“Oh dear! my new pants and jacket!” was the first thing the wet little fellow found breath to say after Joe and Willie had fished him out of the water and set him on the bank to dry.

“That comes of bringin’ babies along,” said Ben, running down the bank.

That was the drop too much, and Frankie commenced crying, saying, between his sobs, “I want to go home. Oh! please let’s go home.”

So Joe and Will made a chair again for Frankie and started for home, leaving Ben to enjoy his wading alone.

They set Frankie down by the gate, and, picking up his boots and stockings, he went into the house.

“Why, Frankie Western!” exclaimed his mother, as the wet, muddy, rueful little figure stood in the sitting-room door. “Where have you been? Your new clothes are ruined.” And, carrying the speechless little fellow into the kitchen, she soon had him thoroughly washed, and put on one of his old dresses in place of the new pants and jacket which were hung up for future attention.

It was a good deal of water for one day, and the crash towel was rough, and to go back into a dress and apron after wearing pants, was something of a trial, but the poor child was too tired, and too glad to be at home to care much about it. After he was dressed he sat contentedly in his chair till supper-time, then ate his bread and milk and went to bed. It was not long before he was dreaming of fishes and creeks, and muddy pants, nor very long before the morning sun drove away the dreams and opened his eyes. Jumping up, he put on his stockings and boots, but pants and jacket were nowhere to be seen, nothing but the brown gingham dress and apron.

“Mamma, mamma, I want my pants. Please, mamma,” he said, running into the kitchen where his mother was getting breakfast.

“They must be cleaned first. Put on your dress and come to breakfast.” Her voice was so pleasant that Frankie forgot his impatience, and dressed himself quickly and quietly.

After breakfast he was about to run out as usual, when his mother said,

“No, Frankie. Mother wants you to stay in the house this morning. She has something to say to you.”

“But I don’t want to stay, mamma,” and he walked slowly toward the door.

“Frankie must stay.” This was decisive, and he sat down in his chair.

After his mother had finished her work, she took him into the sitting-room, and gave him a seat on a stool by her side.

“Now, Frankie,” she said, “I want you to tell me just what you did and where you went yesterday afternoon.”

Frankie gave a truthful account of his adventures at the creek. Then his mother said, “Did you know you were disobeying your mother, and, more than that, disobeying God?”

“O mamma, I didn’t think, I wanted to go so much,” and Frankie looked as though he wanted to cry.

“I know you wanted to go, but you must do what is right, not what you want to do. I will teach you a verse from the Bible that you must remember whenever you are tempted to disobey your mother. It is this: ‘Children obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.’ Can you repeat it now?”

After a few trials, Frankie could say it without a mistake, and he seemed to understand it, for, when his mother told him that he could run out and play, he put his arms around her neck and kissed her, saying softly, “I’ll remember, mamma, that God tells me to mind you.”