uncle Harding's surprise at seeing two great girls instead of
little Louisa and Emma; and aunt Harding's smiles, and her hopes that
there would be found an equal improvement in matters of more
importance.

The morning after she came, when Mrs. Harding began to unpack her
boxes, Louisa and Emma caught sight of many pretty and curious things
which she told them were intended as presents for themselves. "But
before we proceed any further," said she, as the girls were beginning
to express their thanks and pleasure, "I wish to inquire about the
parting keepsake which I gave to you; and I should be glad to see how
each book has been treated, that I may know the real value which you
set upon the gift."

Louisa and Emma both ran to fulfill their aunt's desire. To speak the
truth, Louisa was now in hopes of having all the praise. She quickly
brought in her handsome Bible, still wrapped in the soft white paper,
and in all the gloss of newness: not a mark upon the rich purple
binding, not a speck upon the bright gilt leaves. Emma, too, brought
hers, but with a more timid look; the neat brown silk cover was faded
and worn--she had thought of making a new one only the day before--and
the brightness was gone from the leaves, and the binding seemed rather
loose, for the book opened easily, and there were some pages, less
white than others, which looked as if they had been often read. To
Louisa's surprise, Mrs. Harding laid down her book without saying a
word, while, as soon as she took Emma's Bible into her hand, she
smiled with pleasure, although tears came into her eyes. "_This_ book
has been valued as it ought to be," said she; "it has been used with
care, but often used, so that I trust it has been found a guide and a
help to heaven. But yours, Louisa"--and she pointed to the beautiful
Bible which lay upon the table--"yours has been laid aside, like the
talent which was buried in the earth. It has been of no benefit to
your soul, for you seem hardly ever to have looked to it for
instruction; as if its real worth consisted in outside ornament, you
have been careful to keep that from injury, but have never sought or
cared for the treasure that is within. But dry your tears, my dear
Louisa," added aunt Harding kindly. "I am not angry, for I know that
your mistaken care was in some measure caused by your love for me.
I am only sorry that my parting present has not been of the use which
I intended. But it is not yet too late for you