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THE GOOD SISTER.

61

thus she earned sufficient to purchase food and clothing.

A little girl, living alone in a poor cottage', providing entirely for herself', and taking care of her infant brother as if he had been her child', was an affecting sight. Many mothers in the neighborhood brought their children to see her', saying',- "Come and see a girl twelve years old, who conducts herself like a woman', and passes her days and nights in providing for her little brother."

One day, one stormy day, in the midst of a severe winter, when the ground was covered with snow', a famishing she-wolf, followed by five of her young, suddenly entered poor Maria's cottage', and sprung at her little brother. Maria might have saved her own life', had she fled-but she could not leave her brothershe strove to beat back the wolf-she struggled with the hideous creature'-but she could not prevail.

The wolf suddenly made a spring at the throat of the poor girl', and she would have been mangled to death in another moment; but a mountaineer, who was passing, hearing her screams, rushed in', and, with his long pole', felled the ravenous beast to the earth. The old wolf was soon killed', and all the young wolves were caught and bound together for a show. By means of the money which these brought, Maria and her brother realized quite a fortune, and now they live in a pretty cottage, with enough of every thing to make them comfortable.

LESSON XXXII.

THE TRUANTS, OR HENRY AND ELLEN.

THERE were once two children, named Henry. and Ellen. They did not live in Boston' or New York', but in a country village in Connecticut. Ellen was about seven years old, and Henry about six.

One afternoon as they were going to school, Henry proposed to Ellen that, instead of going there', they should go to the woods and pick whortleberries. To this Ellen objected', because it would be wrong', and because their parents had given them no permission to do so.

But, said Henry, we did not âsk them. I dare say they would have no objection. A good many boys and girls are going this afternoon', and why may not we as well go as they'? It is very pleasant to pick whortleberries. I love to ramble in the bushes, and hear the birds, and fill my basket with the delicious fruit.

Ellen still made many objections', but Henry persisted', and, contrary to her knowledge of what was right', Ellen at length consented.

The little pair now turned into a narrow path that branched off from the road to school, and, quickening their pace', they proceeded on their way. At length they came to a long hill', up the sides of which the narrow path led. It then entered some woods`, beyond them were the whortleberry grounds.

and

Henry imagined that he knew the way well, but he was mistaken. Taking a wrong path in the woods, he went gaily along with his little sister, expecting soon to come to the place where they should meet their school mates', who, as Henry had stated', were to be there.

THE TRUANTS, OR HENRY AND ELLEN.

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But after walking a long way, the two children began to feel some anxiety. The woods, instead of opening into the bushy plain, as they expected, grew darker and thicker', and the path, which at first was plain enough', was now winding and indistinct. The ground, too, was broken', the rocks around them were high', and the trees wore a wild and strange aspect.

The two children at length stopped and looked in each other's faces. It was clear that both were occupied by the same fears. They now became conscious that they had lost their way', and determined instantly to follow back the path', and thus extricate themselves from the forest.

Accordingly they turned about', and rapidly passed along over the stones, and roots, and sticks', that obstructed their way. Alas! the poor children instead of getting out of the wood, only went deeper and deeper into it. They fancied' they were going in the right direction', and they ran on over bush and rock in great agitation'; but, in truth', they were going farther and farther from the road.

At length, the path was entirely lost. All around was a thick, tangled maze of trees and bushes. There was no trace or track to guide them. The day was cloudy', the sun was fast sinking behind the hills', and the shadows of evening were gathering among the branches of the forest.

The two children stopped and cried bitterly. It was in vain to attempt to go farther. Poor Ellen's arms were torn and bloody with scratches from the trees', and Henry was nearly exhausted with agitation and fatigue. They sat down upon a large stone in despair. They put their arms about each other's necks', and wept bitterly.

Here they sat, the night fast coming on', with every prospect of a thunder storm. The rain, indeed, be

gan already to fall here and there, in large drops': the lightning flashed faintly in the west', and the thunder muttered solemnly over the far hills.

Their situation was, indeed, pitiable'; alone in the wide forest', without shelter or protection': separated from their parents'; exposed to the coming tempest'; and all this', alas! the consequence of their own fault. It was the recollection of this that added new bitterness to their grief. Oh, said they in one voice`, oh, that we had gone to school, as we ought', and then we should not have been in this fearful wood!

The little wanderers still sat side by side upon the rock', shivering with the chill of the evening', and wet to the skin by the rain', when, at length, they heard a light step, as if something was approaching them. They were exceedingly startled', for they fancied that nothing but themselves, or some wild animal, could be in this lone place.

The step, however, approached nearer and nearer. It came slowly and cautiously forward', as if to start upon them by surprise. Breathless with fear, the children stood up', gazing into the thicket with intense anxiety and apprehension. At length they could easily distinguish the head, and part of the body of a large animal', black and shaggy', which was coming toward them. It was now very near to them'; they could easily distinguish its features', and hear its low growl. Suddenly it sprung upon them. The children shrieked' but it was a shriek of joy!

"It is our good old dōg Tärtär!" said Henry in ecstacy. It was indeed the family dog'; he had discovered the absence of the children', and setting off on their track, he followed them through all their wanderings', till he found them as I have told you.

The old dog now led the way', the children followed', and, in a short time, they were safe at home.

THE LAST GIFT TO THE HEATHEN.

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They confessed their misconduct to their parents', and, having been forgiven, they went to bed, worn out with fatigue', and resolved never again to be guilty of similar errors.

The lesson I would have you draw from this story, my little friends', is this'; disobedience to parents is very apt to bring children into difficulty and danger'; and when in danger, how hard it is to bear up against', not anxiety and fear only', but against the consciousness thet guilt' is added to misfortune. It is comparatively easy to support trials which come upon us while we are in the way of duty'; but it is very hard to endure evils', and with them the added weight of conscious error.

LESSON XXXIII.

THE LAST GIFT TO THE HEATHEN.

LITTLE Albert was a member of a Juvenile Missionary Society, which holds a meeting once a month', and each one brings a cent, as a contribution towards sending Bibles to the heathen. One day, last July, Albert came running home from school in great haste, saying', "Let me get my cents." "Where are you going, my son'?" asked his mother. "O, it is society meeting, mother', and I am afraid I shall be late; come, brother'." "I am not going," said John. "Why not?-you have as many cents as I have." "Well, I have none to spare'," answered John. “I mean to put in two," said Albert, as he ran out, leaving his brother at home. At the meeting, Albert was observed to be very attentive to the exercises'; and he looked so happy that any one might have known that he gave twice as much as he was required to give, be

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