e that. If it was a different _kind_ I'd
give it to him, of course."

"Yes, if it wasn't pretty and had nothing about it that you liked, you'd
give it to him, I suppose; and if the bird couldn't sing, and had dark,
broken feathers so that no child would care about it, you'd give it to
Faith, no doubt."

Gladys felt her face burn. She knew this was the truth, but oh, the
entrancing bird, how could she see it belong to another? How could she
endure to see Ernest take from his pocket this watch and show people its
wonders!

"Selfishness is a cruel thing," said Vera. "It makes a person think she can
have a good time being its slave until all of a sudden the person finds out
that she has chains on that cannot be broken. You think you can't break
that old law of selfishness that makes it misery to you to see another
child have something that you haven't. Poor, unhappy Gladys!"

"Oh, but this bird, Vera!" Gladys looked down at the little warbler. What
did she see! A shriveled, sorry, brown creature, its feathers broken. She
lifted it anxiously. No song was there. Its poor little beady eyes were
dull.

She dropped it in disgust and again picked up the watch. What had happened
to it? The cover was brass, the picture was gone. Pushing the spring had no
effect.

"Oh, Faith and Ernest can have them now!" cried Gladys. Presto! in an
instant bird and watch had regained every beauty they had lost, and
twinkled and tinkled upon the astonished child's eyes and ears until she
could have hugged them with delight; but suddenly great tears rolled from
her eyes, for she had a new thought.

"What does this mean, Vera? Will they only be beautiful for Faith and
Ernest?"

"You asked for them to enjoy the blessing of giving, you know, not to keep
for yourself. Beside, they showed a great truth when they grew dull."

"How?" asked Gladys tearfully.

"That is the way they would look to you in a few months, after you grew
tired of them; for it is the punishment of the selfish, spoiled child, that
her possessions disgust her after a while. There is only one thing that
lives, and remains bright, and brings us happiness,--that is thoughtful
love for others. There's nothing else, Gladys, there is nothing else. I am
Vera."

"And I have none of it, none!" cried the unhappy child, and rising, she
threw herself upon the bed, broken-hearted, and sobbed and sobbed.

Ellen heard her and came in from the next room.

"What is it, my lamb, what is