opped to help old Stevenson up the hill with his corn."

"Yes," replied John, "the old man was tired and I thought I would give
him a lift."

"Well, did you get your pay for it?" said Hanson, "for I don't work
for nothing."

"Nor do I," said John; "I didn't help him, expecting pay."

"Well, why did you do it? You knew you would be late to school."

"Because I thought I _ought_ to help the poor old man," said John.

"Well," replied Hanson "if you will work for nothing, you may. _No
pay, no work_, is my motto."

"To _be kind and obliging_, is mine," said John.

Here, children, is a good example. John did not perform this act of
kindness for nothing. He had the approbation of a good conscience--the
pleasure of doing good to the old man--and the respect and gratitude
of his friends. Even the small act of benevolence is like giving a cup
of cold water to the needy, which will not pass unnoticed. Does any
body work for nothing when he does good? Think of this, and do
likewise.

* * * * *

THE TREE THAT NEVER FADES.

"Mary," said George, "next summer I will not have a garden. Our pretty
tree is dying, and I won't love another tree as long as I live. I will
have a bird next summer, and that will stay all winter."

George, don't you remember my beautiful canary bird? It died in the
middle of the summer, and we planted bright flowers in the ground
where we buried it. My bird did not live as long as the tree."

"Well, I don't see as we can love anything. Dear little brother died
before the bird, and I loved him better than any bird, or tree, or
flower. Oh! I wish we could have something to love that wouldn't die."

The day passed. During the school hours, George and Mary had almost
forgot that their tree was dying; but at evening, as they drew their
chairs to the table where their mother was sitting, and began to
arrange the seeds they had been gathering, the remembrance of the tree
came upon them.

"Mother," said Mary, "you may give these seeds to cousin John; I never
want another garden."

"Yes," added George, pushing the papers in which he had carefully
folded them towards his mother, "you may give them all away. If I
could find some seeds of a tree that would never fade, I should like
then to have a garden. I wonder, mother, if there ever was such a
garden?"

"Yes, George, I have read of a garden where the trees never die."

"A _real_ garden, mother?"

"Yes, my son.