“I won’t take any more,” Johnnie Jones, said between his sobs, “it is bad medicine.”

“Yes, indeed,” Mother told him, “you must take it every time you cry, just as the doctor said, because we can’t continue to have a cry-baby in the house.  You must take another dose now unless you can stop crying without it.”

“I’ll stop,” said Johnnie Jones, and he did.

Mother poured some of the medicine into another bottle to send to Miss Page at kindergarten, and then placed the rest on the mantel where Johnnie Jones could see it.

It was remarkable how quickly the little boy was cured of his bad habit.  After he had taken but three doses of the bitter medicine he learned to stop and think when anything failed to please him.  Then, instead of allowing himself to cry, he would often manage to laugh, which was much more sensible, and much pleasanter for the people near him.  Soon he began to realize what a foolish little boy he had been, and at last he made up his mind to be, instead of a cry-baby, a big, brave boy.  And that is what he was, all the rest of his life, bright and sweet and brave, so that everyone loved to be with him, grown folks as well as the children.

* * * * *

Johnnie Jones and the Man Who Cried “Wolf” too Often

Some time passed by before people began to realize that Johnnie Jones was no longer a cry-baby.  On that account he had a very unpleasant experience one day.

The children were playing horse on the sidewalk, and Johnnie Jones as one of the horses, was being driven by Sammy Smith.  All went well until they reached a rough place in the pavement.  Here Johnnie Jones tripped and fell, scraping his leg against a sharp stone, and straining and bruising his arm quite badly.  It happened so quickly that none of the children saw that he was hurt, and so did not pity him when he began to cry.  They were so accustomed to hear him cry over every little trouble, that they thought nothing of his crying then.  If they had known he was really hurt, they would have been kind and helped him up.  As it was, they merely told him not to be such a cry-baby and ran off and left him.

Just then Father came by on his way home, and when he saw Johnnie Jones leaning against the fence, crying, he thought, too, that the little boy had become a cry-baby again.  If he had seen Johnnie Jones fall, he would have picked him up and carried him home in his arms; but not knowing that the little boy was really hurt, he took hold of his hand, and walked home with him.  Johnnie Jones was trying his best not to cry, but I think the bravest boy in the world might not have been able to keep back the tears, with such a sore leg and arm.

As they entered the house, Mother said:  “Oh little son! crying again?”

When she had heard of the accident, she told Johnnie Jones that she was sorry, and would try to help him after lunch.  But as soon as she saw that he could eat nothing at all, she asked Father to carry him upstairs, where she examined the injured leg and arm.  When she found them so badly scraped and bruised, she was greatly distressed.