THE BOY WHO STOLE THE NAILS.

BY REV. MOSES BALLOU.


I remember well, that, when I was quite a little boy, a circumstance
occurred which I shall probably never forget, and which, no doubt, has
had some little influence on my life at many different periods since. I
will relate it; and I wish all my young readers would remember the
story.

My father was somewhat poor. He had no salary for preaching, except for
a few months, perhaps not five hundred dollars for forty years of pulpit
labor. He maintained his family chiefly from a small farm, and, there
being several children, we were deprived of many little things that
wealthier parents are accustomed to furnish for theirs. We had few
presents, and those chiefly of necessary articles,--school-books, or
something of the kind; while toys, playthings, and instruments of
amusement, we were left to go without, or take up with such rude and
simple ones as we could manufacture for ourselves.

I wanted a small box very much. A handsome little trunk, such as most of
my young readers probably have, was too much to hope for, and a plain
wooden box, even, I had no means to purchase.

I went without for a long time, and at last determined that I would try
to make one. But the materials,--where was I to obtain them? True, my
father had pieces of thin boards that would answer, but there were
nails, and hinges, and a lock wanting. Where were these to come from?