/* _Volume 14, Number 3._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO. _November 20, 1886._ */ THE PANSY. [Illustration: “I DID IT WITH THE NEW KNIFE!”] UNCLE WILL’S JACK-KNIFE. /* GRANDPA sat in his big arm-chair, At the close of a long, bright day, Gathered closely about him Robbie, Martie and Say. “So you want another story! What shall it be to-night?” And Grandpa stroked Say’s shining head Till it glowed in the fading light. Chorused the sweet-voiced trio, “Tell us something we don’t know: Tell us something that happened Ever so long ago.” “Well,” said Grandpa slowly, “I thought of something to-day, Something that really happened, But ’tis more for the boys than Say— “Something about my own little boy, Your grave good uncle Will, He preaches to us each Sunday, And the people all keep still. The thing he wanted most to own, When he was a little boy, Was a big jack-knife, with four shining blades, That was his dream of joy. “And I meant to give him a beauty For a grand birthday surprise; I wanted to see his pleasure, The laugh in his great blue eyes, But I didn’t tell him, of course not, And to get it he saw no way: Once I heard him say so sadly, ‘When I get it I’ll be gray.’ “Now there was a good old carpenter Who lived not far away, And Will used to go quite often, ’Mong the shavings and chips to play— That good old man is in Heaven This many and many a year, But I can see him as plainly now As, children, I see you here. “Such a knife as my Willie wanted Was always by his side; Sometimes it was under the shavings— Seemed almost in play to hide. Now I must tell you a sad, sad tale: One day my little Will, When the old man went to his dinner, Crept there so sly and still, “And _stole_ the knife he wanted, And carried it away In his little inside pocket— O sorrowful, sorrowful day! But do you think he was happy? Ah, no! and again, ah, no! He could not use it or show it, And nobody must know. “So he grew sadder, and sadder, My pitiful little man! And shrank from me and his mother, And was thin and pale and wan, Till one day he told me the story With many a bitter tear, And laid the knife before me, And sobbed on my shoulder, here. “Then I told him he must carry it, And tell the dear old man How he stole it, and he was sorry. It was hard, but he said, ‘I can.’ Then I told him his Heavenly Father, He had sinned against Him too; And Will asked Him to forgive him, And I think Our Father knew.