et together.

"If you cut up such violent capers," said the kind mother, laughing,
"at the first part of my information, it may be dangerous to tell you
what the author replied."

"Oh no, do tell us!" cried the children. "We'll be as still as our
shadows;" and while they made violent efforts to look grave and stand
quiet, their mother told them that the author had consented, the six
books were to be written, and she would buy them the very first day they
were published. "Perhaps," she continued, "mind, only perhaps, I may get
them for you _before_ they are ever printed."

"Why, how, mamma?" they both asked.

"Well, suppose you make some very good resolutions--let me see," and
she took a pencil out of her pocket, and drawing a sheet of paper toward
her, began to write:

"1st. To endeavor to say your prayers morning and evening without a
_wandering thought_.

"2d. To try to keep faithfully 'the Golden Rule.'

"3d. To obey your parents immediately, without asking 'why?'

"4th. (A little rule, but very important.) To keep your teeth, nails,
and hair scrupulously clean and neat.

"5th. To bear disappointments cheerfully.

"There, I think that will do. They are all hard rules except the fourth.
I do not keep them well myself, my dear children. No one can, without
constant watchfulness and prayer for help from above; but you can try,
will you?"

"I will, mamma," said Helen, in a low, earnest tone, her blue eyes
filling with tears.

"And you, George, will you?"

"Yes, mamma, I will try. I can't be a very good boy, as you know. I get
so tired of being good sometimes, that I feel like jumping over the
house to get the badness out of me, instead of sitting down quietly and
thinking about my duty, as papa says I must. When papa locked me up in
his dressing room last summer, and I kicked the door as hard as ever I
could, which made him call out that I should stay there two hours
longer, I was mad enough, I tell you! but I did not cut my name with a
knife on his rosewood bureau _because_ I was angry. It was because I was
almost crazy with doing nothing but think what a bad boy I was. That
made me worse, you see. The best way to punish me is to see you crying
about my conduct. I can't stand that," and the boy put his arms round
his mother's neck, and kissed her fondly.

"My dear boy," said his mother, returning the caress, "there is One whom
you grieve more than me. I wish you would think oftener of that. I know
tha