CHARLEY FORDER AND HIS SISTERS.

Now, there are some of you boys that don’t care very much about your sisters. You may not like to own it, and would not, perhaps, confess it if you were asked, yet it is so; for I know you, though I have not seen you. You don’t care to kiss them night and morning; but if they are loth to go without this affectionate salute, then you merely put up your cheek to be operated on, and look quite like a martyr while it is being done. You are too grand to play with them, although they are quite willing to let you have your own way; they would always be the horses, and let you drive, or let you have first “turn” at any game you like to suggest. But no; girls are such “muffs” at any sensible games; all very well for tea-parties and skipping-ropes. They can’t give backs for leap-frog, they have no idea of throwing a ball, and they could no more spin a top than make one.

You don’t care to take baby out in your arms, though your sister, perhaps, has had her all the afternoon, and is really very tired; for though they call her “Toddles,” she has no idea of walking at present.

You don’t like even to go out to walk with your sisters, ever since the day when you were prevented going out walking with Tom Hawkins and Harry Wilkins, having promised your mother you would take the girls. I knew how ashamed you felt when you met your school-fellows, and they shouted out, “There’s a big girl! Take care of the baby, Dick!”

Now, young gentleman, I advise you to get out of these ways as soon as possible. You are now at a very disagreeable age, and when you are a little older you will wonder you could ever have been so “uppish.” I don’t doubt you will get over all this nonsense when you go out in life, and have to leave home; then you will miss the many little acts that your eldest sister, just about your own age, used to perform.

Dressing hurriedly of a dark winter’s morning, there goes a button! Never mind, let’s pin the shirt. Not long after, stooping down, or lifting a heavy parcel, or something else, gives you a hint about your substitute for a button, by a sudden prick, that makes you think of dear old Susy and her nimble fingers.

Going errands in the snow and wet, you feel your toes uncommonly cold; you put them up close to the fire in the shop while you are waiting to be served, or you do the “double shuffle” with your feet over a railing or on the pavement; but something better might be done if only Susy had your stockings, and darned these great holes through which your toes project.

Sooner or later, boys, you would think you had been very foolish in not having valued your sisters more. Well, never mind; they will soon forget any little want of attention, and we will cease to remind you what awkward customers you once were—that is, if you try and make up for it.

Ah! Charley Forder cared for his sister, I can tell you. “But who was Charley Forder!” Well, listen.

He was the eldest child of his parents, who lived at Lingford, a small town on the sea-coast.

His father was a sailor in the navy, and was now away on a four-years’ voyage to the Pacific. Mrs Forder had enough to do to look after her family, and help support them, by taking in plain needle-work; but Margaret, who was now ten years old, and a big girl for her age, was able to help her mother in minding her younger sisters. Charley, who was sixteen, had been a sailor boy for some two years; but his father, wishing him to be nearer home than he was likely to be, had entered him in the merchant service; and he was apprenticed to a firm whose vessels called in at Lingford.

His mother was very sorry to part with Charley, as he was a real comfort to her. He was always willing to rock the cradle, or look after little “Puss,” as he called his second sister; and then, when all the work was done, he would go out for a run with them on the down, or else stroll down to the beach, and watch what was going on. He and Margaret used to talk like grown-up people in their plans for helping their mother, for they knew that there was only what she earned and father’s half-pay to maintain them all.

“I tell you what ’tis, Madge, I shall leave here, and be doing something for myself, and for you all,” said Charley, one day, on the beach.

“And so shall I, Charley; why, I’m bigger than Susan Carter, and she’s in a place, and gets a shilling a week, and does not cost her mother anything, ’cos her missus gives her her old clothes.”

“No, that won’t do; you must stay at home and look after the little ones, so that mother will have more time for her work, and I’ll be off; that will be one less to keep.”

And the matter was talked over, and a letter written to the father; and when his consent was gained, after several months’ interval, Charley joined a schooner that was engaged in the fruit trade, and went between Valencia and London. The vessel was just going out for a cargo, and it was expected she would call in at Lingford. It would be a good opportunity for Mrs Forder to get up some clean linen for Charley, and also something out of the way of junks of salt pork and biscuit for him to eat. The children had the bundle of clothes and the tin of good things in readiness on the beach, and waited for the “Stirling Castle” as she came round the point. It was a windy day, so Margaret thoughtfully set baby on a rock, with her back to the sea, not minding how she herself was blown about; and little “Puss” was too intent on seeing Charley to think of herself at all.

At last a vessel hove in sight, and neared the land, a boat put off for the shore, with Charley in her, bearing a letter to one of the partners, which he was to deliver, to wait an answer, and then return at once.

The lad had just time to run in to his mother and thank her for her kindness, after embracing his sisters on the beach. Poor boy! he was obliged to tear himself away. He tried to be merry, and told Madge she had given him a smack when she kissed him, but perhaps he should have a schooner some day; but it was with a heavy heart he left them.

That evening the fresh meat was taken with salt tears trickling down his face, yet he felt happy when he rose from his knees and turned into his hammock.

Good-bye, Charley—God bless you!