For fiction readers who feel cheated out of their usual Mormon fiction, I’ve programmed several stories to post throughout this afternoon and evening.

From the Relief Society Magazine, February 1963 –

The Same Mistake Twice

By Gary L. Kissler

“It certainly has been a cold spring!” said Father as he came in from milking the cows.

Mother, who was busy putting supper on the table, nodded in agreement. She took the bucket of milk from him and started to strain it.

Jeff was sitting in the corner, busily turning the pages of the catalog, wondering how he was going to spend the money from his first real job.

“Jeff?”

“Yes, Papa?”

“You forgot to close the gate into the haystack when you fed the animals. They were all in the stack yard happily tearing it down when I went out.”

“I’m sorry, Papa.”

“It sure does waste a lot of hay,” said Father. He took his coat off and sat at the table, his face red from the cold wind.

“You’ll have to forgive Jeff,” said Mother. “He is so excited about helping Mr. Engles in the feed store after school he hasn’t been thinking too good lately.”

“I forgive him,” said Father, “but this is the second time this week that he’s done the same thing.”

Suddenly he smiled. “Well, there is no cause for us to get upset. We still have plenty of hay to last the winter. Call your brothers, Jeff, this looks like a real good meal.”

As soon as supper was over, Jeff got the catalog again. It fell open by itself to the bicycle section. For the tenth time he read the description under the bicycle. It had a three-gear transmission, chrome wheels, front and back wheel brakes, and was so light the catalog said that you could pick it up with one hand!

Wouldn’t that be a wonderful bike to ride to school!

He closed his eyes. He could see a circle of his friends around him the first time he took it to school, standing and admiring the new bike. …

“Got all your money spent before you’ve earned it?” Father was standing over him with a smile.

“I was looking at this bicycle,” admitted Jeff. “I’ve ridden one of those bikes with gears— they sure are nice.”

“Yes, I would imagine. I bet you can go up hills pretty good— say, sixty dollars is a lot of money!”

“Yes, I know,” said Jeff slowly. “But I’ve wanted a bicycle for a long time.”

“I know. Son,” said Father, “save your money and go ahead and get it if you want. I know how it feels to want something badly.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Jeff closed the catalog and stood up. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry about the gate. I was thinking about the bicycle, and I just forgot.”

“I understand. They say you should never make the same mistake twice, and that you should learn by each mistake.

“Have you learned anything?”

“I think so. I won’t do it again.”

It was a cold spring that year. A fierce wind blew almost constantly. On Friday the bishop called Jeff and asked if he would help build some fence on the church farm the next day. Without hesitation he accepted, and he and five other boys spent a cold but rewarding time putting up a straight, tight new fence.

That night after supper Jeff sat happily by the stove. He had some sores on his hands where the barbed wire had cut through his gloves, but he had a warm feeling in his heart.

Mother came by and dropped a white envelope in his lap.

“Mr. Engles gave this to me when I was in town today,” she said. “He said it was for you.”

Jeff opened it and pulled out four crisp green bills – two fives and two ones. A thrill shot through him. His first pay from his first job!

He put them back into the envelope and went into the living room where his father was reading.

“Look what I got today,” he said, trying to appear casual.

Father looked at the money for a minute and said: “Well, well, pretty soon you will be making more money than I do.”

He put the bills back into the envelope and handed it back to Jeff.

“How long is this job going to last?”

“Oh,” said Jeff, “just for five weeks. Then Bob Engles comes home from college for the summer, and he’ll take over.”

“I see, and are you still planning on buying the bicycle?”

“Yes. I figure that if I save all my pay, I’ll have sixty dollars when the job ends— just enough.”

Father rocked back in his chair and looked at him. “It seems,” he said slowly, “you’re planning on being pretty free with six dollars of some one else’s money.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jeff.

“Ten percent of sixty dollars is six dollars. You know that much belongs to the Lord.”

“I thought of that,” said Jeff. “I thought I’d go ahead and buy the bicycle, and then next summer I could earn some money somewhere and pay tithing on all of it. Maybe I could earn money by using the bicycle—” He stopped and looked at Father, who was rocking slowly and listening without expression.

“Jeff, it doesn’t work that way. What if you didn’t get around to making that six dollars next summer? That would be six dollars stolen from the Lord. Would you steal money from Mr. Engles when he was gone?”

“Of course not!” said Jeff.

“Well, I guess that answers that.”

Jeff stood there a moment, and tears came into his eyes. “These cuts hurt,” he said softly, rubbing his hand. “I think I’ll go put some salve on them.” He turned and went into the kitchen.

He was crying to himself as he put the salve on the little cuts. Father was right, of course; he just hadn’t thought of it in that way. But still— why should he have to pay so much of his money when he didn’t get a chance to earn much? And when he had just enough to buy that wonderful bike?

Father came into the kitchen and stood watching him for a moment.

“I understand you were out to the church farm today building fence.”

“Yes.”

“How many hours were you out there?”

“About six hours,” said Jeff.

“Do you feel bad about doing that?”

“No,” said Jeff, “it was almost fun.”

“But you do feel bad about the tithe?”

“Well, I just wanted the bicycle so bad.”

Father picked up mother’s kitchen pencil and slowly carved a new point on it with his knife.

“The second time you left the gate open you said you wouldn’t make that mistake again.”

“I haven’t.”

“You haven’t left the gate open lately, but what was it that caused you to make that mistake?”

“Thinking about the bicycle, I guess.”

“Well, it looks like you are doing it again.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jeff.

“You’re still thinking about the bicycle so much you can’t think about anything else. Look, how did you get the twelve dollars?”

“By working.”

“And what did you do today?”

“I worked,” said Jeff.

“Yet you feel good about working one time and bad about working another?”

Without waiting for an answer his father put the sharpened pencil in its place and went back into the living room.

Jeff felt something go through him.

He took the green bills out of their envelope and looked at them again. They were the same, but they looked different.

Before they had been pieces of paper telling him he could buy something. Now they were telling him he had worked— yet he still had the opportunity to turn some of that time spent in filling feed sacks into service to the Lord.

It was one of those rare moments when he felt as if he had discovered something of great importance.

He put the money back into the envelope and put it into his pocket. Thinking of money as a payment for time spent made it easy to give the Lord what was his. Thinking of money as things he could buy for himself made it hard. It was funny, since it was the same money.

He shook his head in wonder. It was the difference between a warm feeling in his heart or a cold grudge. It was as simple as that!

Smiling, he went in to his father.

“Papa?”

Yes, Jeff?”

“You were saying the other day that someone was going to have to go over the fences on the place and replace all the rotted posts. I’ll do it for ten dollars.”

“That is a pretty big job. It would probably take you most of two or three Saturdays. Think you can do it?”

“I think so.”

“Good! It’s a deal!”

Father stood up, and they shook hands.

Jeff looked at the clock.

“I think,” he said, “I have just enough time to fill out the order for that bicycle before bedtime.”