This incident roused Thomas Howland to a distinct consciousness of the danger that lurked in his path, as a young man, in a large city.  He felt, as he had not felt while simply listening to his father’s precept, the value of the word no; and resolved that hereafter he would utter that little word, and that, too, decidedly, whenever urged to do what his judgment did not approve.

“I will be free!” he said, pacing his chamber backward and forward.  “I will be free, hereafter!  No one shall persuade me or drive me to do what I feel to be wrong.”

That conclusion was his safeguard ever after.  When tempted, and he was tempted frequently, his “No” decided the matter at once.  There was a power in it that was all-sufficient in resisting evil.

WILLY AND THE BEGGAR GIRL.

  “An apple, dear mother!”
    Cried Willy one day,
  Coming in, with his cheeks
    Glowing bright, from his play. 
  “I want a nice apple,
    A large one, and red.” 
  “For whom do you want it?”
    His kind mother said.

  “You know a big apple
    I gave you at noon;
  And now for another,
    My boy, it’s too soon.” 
  “There’s a poor little girl
    At the door, mother dear,”
  Said Will, while within
    His mild eye shone a tear.

  “She says, since last evening
    She’s eaten no bread;
  Her feet are all naked
    And bare is her head. 
  Like me, she’s no mother
    To love her, I’m sure,
  Or she’d not look so hungry,
    And ragged, and poor.

  “Let me give her an apple;
    She wants one, I know;
  A nice, large, red apple—­
    O! do not say no.” 
  First a kiss to the lips
    Of her generous boy,
  Mamma gave with a feeling
    Of exquisite joy—­

  For goodness, whene’er
    In a child it is seen,
  Gives joy to the heart
    Of a mother, I ween—­
  And then led her out, where,
    Still stood by the door,
  A poor little beggar-girl,
    Ragged all o’er.

  “Please ma’am, I am hungry,”
    The little thing said,
  “Will you give me to eat
    A small piece of bread?”
  “Yes, child, you shall have it;
    But who sends you out
  From dwelling to dwelling
    To wander about?”

  A pair of mild eyes
    To the lady were raised;
  “My mother’s been sick
    For a great many days
  So sick she don’t know me.” 
    Sobs stifled the rest
  And heaved with young sorrow
    That innocent breast.

  Just then from the store-room—­
    Where wee Willy run,
  As his mother to question
    The poor child begun—­
  Came forth the sweet boy,
    With a large loaf of bread,
  Held tight in his tiny hands
    High o’er his head.

  “Here’s bread, and a plenty! 
    Eat, little girl, eat!”
  He cried, as he laid
    The great loaf at her feet. 
  The mother smiled gently,
    Then, quick through the door
  Drew the sad little stranger,
    So hungry and poor.