a more
favorable explanation.

We do not think that any of our young readers will approve the conduct of
either of the children. Undoubtedly, Johnny was wrong not to have been more
careful how he threw his lash about. Anna had as much right to be in the
room as he had, and if Johnny wanted to whip his top, it was his place to
do it so cautiously as not in the least to endanger his sister's face and
eyes; and he deserved to have his top taken from him as a punishment for
his carelessness and indifference; and no doubt this was done by his
mother.

And Anna was wrong, likewise, for permitting her angry feelings to so carry
her away as to lead her to hurt her brother, in revenge for what he had
done to her. So, you see, Johnny's wrong act was the cause of a still
greater departure from right in his sister. If Johnny had loved his sister,
he would have been much more careful how he used his whip; and if Anna had
loved her brother, she would never have been tempted to strike him or pull
his ear, even if he had hurt her.

It is a very sad thing for little brothers and sisters to quarrel with each
other.

"Birds in their little nests agree,
And 'tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family,
Fall out, and chide, and fight."

We hope, among all our little readers, there is not a brother and sister
who have quarreled--who have ever called each other hard names--or, worse,
who have ever lifted their tiny hands to hurt each other.

THE FAVORITE CHILD.

[Illustration: THE FAVORITE CHILD.]

In a very pretty little village not many miles from N----, in Connecticut,
lived Susan Meredith. She was the youngest of three sisters, the eldest of
whom could not be more than twelve or thirteen years of age. A year or two
before the period when our history of this little group commences, the
mother had gone to her rest.

Weighed down with a sorrow too heavy to be borne, and of a nature too
delicate to be confided to others, she sank under it while in the noon of
life, and died commending her children to God. Susan--little Sue, as she
was frequently called--young as she was, remembered a thousand incidents
connected with the departed one, and seemed, so late as the time at which
our story begins, to be never happier than when her mother was the theme of
conversation.

There was something remarkable in this. One reason for it might have been,
that the surviving parent of these s