came quiet, and went into the nursery, and
asked Clara to come and play with him.

"I cannot come just now, brother Charles," said she; "for I want to
finish this frock that I am making for Giles Bloomfield's little
sister."

"I am sure," said Charles, "if I were you, I would much rather play
than sit still and sew."

"Not if you knew what pleasure there is in doing good," said Clara;
"but if you will wait till I have finished it, you shall go with me
and give it to the poor woman, and then you will see how pleased she
will be, and how nicely the baby will look when she is dressed in this
pretty frock, instead of her old faded, ragged one."

Charles did not know how to amuse himself, so he sat down on his
little stool, and watched his sister while she worked.

When Clara had finished making the frock, she said: "Thank you, dear
nurse, for cutting out and fixing the frock for me." So she threw her
arms round nurse's neck, and kissed her cheek; and nurse put on
Clara's tippet and her new bonnet, and walked with Charles and her to
Dame Bloomfield's cottage.

The good woman took the baby out of the cradle, and laid it on Clara's
lap, and Clara had the pleasure of dressing it herself in the nice new
frock; and the baby looked so neat and pretty, and the poor mother was
so pleased, that Clara was much happier than if she had spent her time
in playing or working for her doll.

While Clara was nursing and caressing the baby, Charles went into the
little garden, where he found Giles Bloomfield, who had just returned
from working in the fields, with a beautiful milk-white rabbit in his
arms, which he had taken out of the hutch, and was nursing with much
affection.

"Oh, what a pretty rabbit!" said Charles. "Giles, will you sell it to
me?"

"No, Master Charles," said Giles, "I cannot sell my pretty Snowball."

"And why not?" asked Charles in a fretful tone.

"Because, Master Charles, the old doe, its mother, died when Snowball
was only a week old, and I reared it by feeding it with warm milk and
bran; and it is now so fond of me that I would not part with it for a
great deal."

So saying, he stroked his pretty favorite, who licked his hand all
over, and rubbed her soft white head against his fingers.

Then Giles said: "My dear Snowball, I would not sell you for the
world."

"But you shall sell Snowball to me," said Charles, making one of his
ugly faces. "I will give you a shilling for her; and if you do not let