iture evidently had seen better
days. By-and-by mother asked for her daughter.

"Gone out on some errands," said the sick lady. "The dear child is an
inexpressible blessing to me," and tears filled her eyes.

"A mother might well be thankful for such a daughter. She is a pattern
_my_ child might safely imitate."

I thought I should be exceedingly glad to see the person my mother was
so willing I should copy.

"She will return soon," said the invalid. "She has gone to carry some
work which she has contrived to do in her leisure moments. The
self-sacrifice of the child is wonderful. She seems to desire nothing
that other girls of her age generally want. A little while ago, an
early friend who had found me out and befriended me as you have
done"--tears came into the speaker's eyes--"sent her a handsome winter
dress. 'O mother,' she said, 'this is too expensive for me, when you
want some warm flannel so.' I told her it was just what she needed. A
few days afterwards she went out and came home with a roll of flannel
and a calico dress. 'See, mother,' she said, 'I shall enjoy this
calico a hundred times more than the finest dress in the world, when
you can have your flannel.' Excuse me for telling it, but you know a
mother's heart. There is her step; she is coming."

The outer door opened. How I longed to see the comer! "A perfect
angel," I thought, "so generous, so disinterested, so good; I should
love her." The latch was lifted. A young girl entered, and my
school-fellow Abby stood before me! I could have sunk into the earth
for very shame. How wicked my pride! how false and foolish my
judgments! Oh, how mean did my fine winter dress appear before the
plain _sixpenny calico_!

I was almost sure my mother had managed all this, for she had a way of
making me see my faults, and making me desire to cure them, without
ever saying much directly herself. This, however, had not come about
by her intervention; God taught me by his providence.

As we walked home, my mother gave me an account of Mrs. G----, an
early friend who made an imprudent marriage. But that story is no
matter here. I will only add, my judgment of people was formed ever
after according to a better standard than the dress they wore, and
that Abby and I became intimate friends.

A WESTMORELAND STORY.

Who among my little readers are not older than ten years? Come and I
shall tell you a story of what happened to six poor children, all
under that