uld not do certain
things; but children should be careful to remember that they must
obey, whether they know the reason of the requirement or not.

Bessie Hartwell is about eleven years old. She is generally a good
child, but, like all others whom I have known, she has some faults.
Although she always intends to obey, she does not always obey
instantly. I will tell you a sad accident which befell her in
consequence of this tardiness, and you will see it would have been
much better for her if she had learned to be prompt.

She was travelling with an aunt on a steamboat. She was very happy,
for she was going to visit her grandfather and grandmother, and she
knew she should enjoy herself on the fine farm, scampering about over
the fields, raking the new-mown hay, and riding on the top of the
load.

Bessie always liked to go to the country. Her home was in the city,
where she had only a small yard, not much larger than her
grandmother's capacious kitchen, to play in, and that was surrounded
by a high, close fence, so that she could see only the tiny patch of
grass beneath and the beautiful blue sky above.

Children in the country do not know how to prize their freedom. If
they could be penned up in the city for a few months, as Bessie was
for the greater part of the year, they would learn to appreciate it,
and they would look upon every tree and every blade of grass as a
friend. The chirping of the crickets, the singing of the frogs, and
the warbling of the birds would be thrice welcome music to them. No
wonder Bessie was so happy when she thought of the wide lawn studded
with trees, the orchard rich in apples and pears, the hills down which
she and her sisters could run, and up whose steep sides they must
scramble when the horn sounds for dinner. The country is rich in its
treasures of happiness, and they are bestowed freely and profusely
upon every one "who in the love of nature holds communion with her
visible forms."

It was in the gray twilight of the morning that the steamboat arrived
at the wharf. When they went home, Bessie was awakened, and was soon
ready, with her travelling-bag on her arm, to leave the boat. Her aunt
took her by the hand, to lead her across the gangway. They had but
just stepped upon it, when she started forward to reach her uncle,
who, with an infant in his arms, had just preceded her. Her aunt
called to her to stop. She paid no attention, but passed rapidly on. A
car, laden with baggage,