The Youth's Companion/July 19, 1860/Never Waste Bread
Never Waste Bread.
Children, who always sit down to a table covered with good things, have no idea how many are suffering for the want of a few morsels of food. The following story from the Christian Inquirer may teach them never to waste bread:
{{fine block|“My father was a tenant of the good but unfortunate Lord Pitslisso. It was in the spring of the year ’45, immediately after the defeat of the Prince’s army at Culloden, and when the gentlemen out upon that unfortunate occasion, and many of the Commons, too, were hiding for their lives, and I, then a very young woman, was left in charge of the house—my father and all the servants being engaged at their seed-time, and my mother, who was delicate, being not yet out of bed.
“I was busy preparing breakfast, when a very old, infirm man came to the door, and, in a humble manner, requested to be allowed to warm himself by the fire. He was trembling from cold, and I not only requested him to enter, but hastened to place a chair for him, and make the fire warmer for his use. After sitting some time, he asked if I could give him a little bread and milk, and I immediately brought some, and placed the milk on the fire to take the chill off it.
“As I gave him the bread, a small morsel fell on the floor, and I reached with my foot to put it out of the way, among the ashes, when the old man immediately stopped me. ‘Do not that,’ said he, trembling with cold and emotion, ‘never waste bread! The time has been that I have given gold for a handful of drammock kneaded in a soldier’s bonnet. They that waste bread may fear that they shall one day come to want it;’ and, as he said this, he stooped down and picked up the crumbs I had dropped, and, cleaning it on his bosom, and looking upward, put it reverently in his mouth. I saw, as he stretched forth his hand, that it was fair as a lady’s, and that his linen, though coarse, was clean; and, as soon as I could, without alarming him, I asked him if I could serve him in anything farther, as I thought I heard my mother call.
“I went to her, securing the outer door in passing, for I feared he might be some person in trouble, and told her what I had seen. She immediately sprang up to dress herself, requesting me to stay where I was, and in a few minutes she was in the kitchen, closing the door after her. As I immediately heard her sobbing, I ventured to peep through the keyhole, when I saw my mother on her knees at the old man’s feet, and bathing his hands in her tears. It was Lord Pitslisso.
“After many sufferings from age and illness, and hairbreadth escapes in many disguises, and from living often in holes where scarcely a wild creature could have lived, he had drawn toward his own estates, to live the short period he might be allowed to live, or die among his own people—knowing that, if they could not save him, at least he might have their sympathy.
“He had been driven from a cave in the neighborhood, where he had taken shelter. He was soon after conveyed to Auchirios, where he lived long, and, after many escapes, at last died in peace. Everybody in this neighborhood knew of his residence. The very children would go and peep through the chinks of the garden-door, as he sat reading, but they never breathed his name.
“The farm on which was one of his places of refuge, is called ‘The Farm of the Lord’s Cairn’ to this day, and will never be named without reminding us the cause; nor shall I ever forget the lesson he taught me—‘Never to waste bread.’ ”