A TALK WITH THE LITTLE FOLKS.
WHAT if I could have all the little ones of the family around me this afternoon! What a large company it would make! There would be blue eyes, black eyes, and gray eyes,—all wide open with wonder; and how busy you would be, getting acquainted! Perhaps, though, when you were tired of other amusements, you would ask, as all the little people do, who know me, "Now, Miss, do tell us a story." So here it is:—
It was raining the other day, one of those cold, ill-natured, driving storms, that makes you feel all out of sorts, you know.
The first school-bell was ringing, and a little fellow of perhaps five or six years, was trudging down the street, struggling against the wind and rain, which seemed too much for his slender strength.
He was a little orphan child, who had lately been adopted by a kind neighbor. While we were pitying him, we saw his adopted sister, a girl of not more than ten years, turning back from the schoolhouse, which she had reached before him. She came running down the street, and meeting him, took off her cloak, and put it around him, leaving herself entirely unprotected from the storm. Then, thinking, no doubt, that he was too wet to go to school, she wrapped him up in a motherly fashion, and took him home. I have thought much of this generous little member of the family, and have wondered how many more there are like her. She is worth a dozen whining, babyish girls who want all the good things themselves. I wonder whether she will carry the same noble spirit up to womanhood, or allow her own self to be the great object of which she thinks and for which she lives. Will any of my little friends learn a lesson of generosity from this story?
L.
BE PATIENT.
"I WISH I could go out now and then by myself, without always having my little sister tagging after me." It was a sweet-faced girl who said this, only the face for the, moment was clouded and cross. Another girl came by; she had on a deep mourning dress. As she had heard what I did, I was not surprised to hear her say,
"My little sister is dead." The child who had first spoken, said nothing, but presently she took the chubby hand gently in hers, and seemed to be patient with the little "tagging" sister.