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CHICO'S REVENGE.

Chico was a Pueblo Indian boy. His home was a small, flatroofed adobe in an Indian village on the Rio Grande in New Mexico.

He was fourteen, and a very bright, active lad. At the Mission school near the village he had learned to read and speak the English language well; here, too, he had learned about Christ, His gentleness and self-sacrificing life, and Chico wished to become brave and good like Him.

One warm morning in Midsummer, Chico took a large basket -one that his own father had made—and went to the mountains to gather wild red raspberries for his sick mother. The bushes that lined the canyon were heavy with the dainty wild fruit, and he was not long in filling his basket.

As he refreshed himself at the clear spring up in the mountain, he remembered how his mother had been wishing for some good crackers to eat.

"I know," he said to himself, his dark eyes beaming; "I'll take these berries down to Modus' store, and trade them for crackers and sugar. Then I'll come back here and pick some more berries to take home. I'll surprise her, and make her glad, too."

So saying the Pueblo lad put a strong stick under the basket handle, and, elevating the load to his shoulder, started down the mountain. The thought of the good things which he would get in exchange for his wild fruit made him happy.

Sam Modus was a white man, who had a small country store about three miles from the village where Chico lived. Tired and warm from his long walk, the Indian boy entered the store and placed his basket of fruit on the counter.

"What have you there?" asked the storekeeper, laying aside

a newspaper and coming forward.

Modus was a sharp-eyed, gruff-speaking man, and the sensitive lad shrank back half-timidly.

"What have you there, I say?"

"Berries from the mountain," answered Chico, coloring beneath the searching eyes of the country merchant.

"Oh, some mountain raspberries!" beginning to eat from the basket. "They're fine. What do you want for them?"

"Some crackers and sugar," returned Chico, looking with natural boyish longing at the pretty striped sticks of candy in the glass jars on the shelf. "I can do without candy, though," he quickly told himself. "But mother is sick. She must have some

thing nice to eat."

"Are you Jose Pisano's boy ?" abruptly asked the storekeeper. "Yes, sir," said Chico.

"I thought so," Modus returned, taking up the basket of

raspberries. "Well, boy, your father owed me thirty cents when he died last Spring, and I'll just keep these and call it square."

"Don't keep the basket," cried Chico in alarm. "My mother will miss it so. It is the last one my father made. Keep the berries, but let me have the basket."

"No, I won't let you have the basket," Modus answered gruff-
"That's the way with you Indians. You are always trying

ly.
to get out of paying your debts."

Chico knew that statement to be untrue, and his dark face flushed with indignation. He was well enough posted, too, on the markets of the territory to know that his raspberries were worth much more than thirty cents. He gathered courage to tell the storekeeper this, but Modus only laughed scornfully. "The account has been running so long, that I must have a little interest," he said.

"Please let me have a few crackers for my mother," pleaded Chico. "She is sick, and-"

"There, there! Go home, and let's have no more whining here. Folks will be coming in to trade soon, and I don't want any scene," said Modus with a frown.

Chico said no more, but, walked away with very bitter feelings toward the unjust merchant.

"I'll pay him back," said the Pueblo lad, his eyes flashing angrily. "Some time there will be a chance. Then, white man,

look out!"

The vengeful fires of his race filled Chico's heart, and as he went moodily homeward he thought only of revenge. But he did not want to take his angry spirit with him to the abode where his mother lay sick, so he sat down on a rock by the river until he should be calmer.

While he sat there, Miss Thompson, his teacher, came down the path, a basket on her arm. She greeted him kindly. Then noticing his anger-clouded face, she said, "What has vexed you, Chico? You do not look like the sunny-faced boy that was in my class yesterday."

Chico hung his head and was silent. Miss Thompson seated herself on the rock beside him, and by degrees drew from him the story of how he had been wronged by the storekeeper in the valley.

"But I'll pay him back," cried the Indian boy, warming up again. "Just let me find him in some tight place. Then will come my revenge."

"No, Chico, do not say that," said Miss Thompson firmly but kindly "No matter how much you may have been wronged, do not let ill-feelings drive out the good in your heart. Do not think of revenge. It is not noble; it is not like Him who suffered all wrongs that were heaped upon Him without even a murmur. To

be like Him, we must love those who treat us badly, and return good for evil, always."

Chico listened attentively, for he loved the kind lady who had given up her pleasant home and good friends to teach and work among his people. His dark thoughts were put to flight before

the light of her sweet countenance.

"Now, Chico, let us go on to the adobe and see your mother," said his teacher, rising. "I have a basket of food for her. I am sure she will like some of the nice currant jelly which my sister sent me from my old home.”

And Chico's mother did enjoy the nourishing dainties brought by the gentle woman, and began a steady improvement from that day. The boy was so happy over his parent's recovery that he almost forgot how he had been wronged by the storekeeper. But when he missed the pretty basket-the last thing made by his father before his death-his heart would fill with bitterness towards the man who had kept it.

As the Autumnal equinox drew near there were unusually heavy rains in the mountains of New Mexico, and the streams began to murmur with their fullness of water. One afternoon Chico was walking along the bank of the Rio Grande, watching the rapid rising. It was a fascinating sight to the Pueblo lad. He had never before seen the river so high. The waves were huge, dark, foaming volumes, that rushed and roared past him as if in awful anger.

But suddenly an object afloat on this torrent caught his keen eyes. He soon discovered that it was a small boat with a single occupant being swept madly on the river. As the boat was dashed swiftly to a point opposite him, Chico recognized the man clinging in white-faced terror to the edge of the doomed craft. It was Modus, the merchant, at the mercy of the wild flood.

That morning, before the river had risen so angrily, he had left his store in charge of his brother, and entering his boat had gone to trade some baskets and pottery at an Indian village several miles above his home. This was done in order to get ahead of a rival trader, who was coming on the next day to trade with the Indians. Having transacted the business which had brought him to the Indian village, Modus started back in his boat. But the river was now a torrent; his oars were torn from his hands, and he was soon at the mercy of the roaring water.

As Chico gazed at the terror-stricken merchant in his boat, his heart beat with strange agitation. Would it be worth while to try to rescue this man? Did he really care to risk his life for such a one? Could he ask for a greater revenge than to see the miserly old merchant sink beneath those dark waves? These questions chased each other in rapid succession through the Indian lad's mind. He had longed for revenge, and now the opportunity to take it had come.

But a swift reaction of conscience took place. If he let his enemy drown, without putting forth one effort to save him, would he ever forget it? No, no! That white face would always rise up and deny him peace. Then the thought of all Miss Thompson's good teachings, and his face flushed guiltily as a full sense of the awful wickedness of such a revenge came to him.

"Yes, I will return 'good for evil,' I will try to save him," Chico quickly decided.

But even while he was making this noble, brave resolution, a dead pin tree drifted down the river and upset the little boat. The next moment Modus was struggling wildly in the water. He could not swim, and he believed he must sink.

"Cling to the tree!" shouted Chico.

The man heard, and, grasping a large limb as it brushed past him, he was able at last to draw himself on top of the floating tree. The man's wild struggles in securing a firm hold on the tree swept it around out of the mad current. Presently it was caught by eddying waters and turned towards a broad irrigating ditch, used by the Indians to carry water to their grain fields and vineyards.

Then Chico snatched his lariat from his pony that was grazing near by, and tossing one end of it to Modus, he said:

“Tie it around your waist, and I'll draw you to the bank." The merchant did so, but he was too utterly exhausted from terror and struggling in the flood to help himself further; and had it not been for the strong arms of the Pueblo boy he would never have reached the bank alive.

"Why, Chico," exclaimed his teacher, whom he met while hurrying towards his mother's adobe, "what has made you so wet ?"

"I have been taking my revenge," he said with a smile.
"Your revenge?" she asked.

"Yes, on Mr. Modus."

"Oh, Chico!"

"Yes, I've pulled him out of the river," and he gave her a full account of the rescue.

"That was a noble revenge; the only kind to take on our enemies good for evil!" she said encouragingly.

The next morning he found his father's basket, filled with

many good things, before the door of the adobe.

This was the way the gruff merchant had taken to thank him for his generous revenge.-A. H. Gibson.

Memory Gem.

"Therefore all things whatsoever you would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them."

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Heber C. Kimball was very prominent in the early history of our Church. He was a man of great power and influence; remarkable for his wonderful faith and the gift of prophecy which he possessed. The story of his life is a very interesting one and all the boys and girls belonging to our Church should read and study his history. But now, we will just tell you about some of his prophecies and their fulfillment.

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The Prophet Joseph called Bro. Kimball on a mission to England, saying to him: "Brother Heber, the Spirit of the Lord has whispered to me: 'Let my servant Heber go to England and proclaim my Gospel, and open the door of salvation to that nation." Some months before this call Heber C. Kimball and Willard Richards, who were very dear friends, were talking together, when Heber was filled with the spirit of prophecy and he predicted that he (Heber) would be called to Europe on a mission.

"Shall I go with thee?" enquired Willard.

"Yea, in the name of the Lord, thou shalt go with me when I go," Heber replied.

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