下载掌阅APP，畅读海量书库
立即打开
LESSON 31
BEN and May were twins; that means that they were of the same age. May was not so tall as Ben was, and she was not so strong; but May thought more, learned more, and did more than Ben.
Ben could jump down one step of the stair at a time. When he held by the top of the rail, he could jump two steps at a time. Ben was proud that he could jump more than May could.
When Ben and May were just four years old, Ben thought that he would soon be a big boy, fit for school. He loved to talk, and he loved to boast, and so Ben said things which no wise boy would have said.
“I can jump—I can jump a great way!” cried Ben. “Now that I am four years old I can jump down four steps at a time, and not hold at all by the top of the rail!”
“Oh no, dear Ben,” said May; “we must not try such a great jump as that. We must wait till we are tall and strong.” For May was too wise to boast.
“I can jump four steps at a time—I am sure that I can!” cried proud Ben. “I can do much more than you can; for you are but a girl, and I am a boy—a big, strong boy. Just look now how I can jump!”
Ben ran up the four steps, and looked down from the high place on May with a smile. “Just look how I jump!” he cried once more.
Ben jumped down the four steps, but, as you may think, he came down on his nose, and not on his feet! Oh, how his nose was hurt! how fast it bled!
Poor Ben roared with the pain. He roared loud; he roared like a bull. May ran to help him up; and so did Aunt Jane, who had heard his loud roar, though she was in her own room, with her door shut. She could have heard him through two or three doors.
Aunt Jane washed Ben’s poor nose, and bound up his face, when she had put some oil on it to make it well. But it did not get well for a long time. The poor nose was nearly as big as a pear, and as red as the comb of a cock, for more than a week!
Do you not hope that the pain taught Ben to boast less, and to think more? You see that he was not yet a wise boy, though he was four years old. We may hope that poor Ben got more sense in his head by the time that he came to be five.
— A. L. O. E
Love not to talk,
Love not to boast;
Grief comes to him
Who brags the most.
