The Old Castle and Other Stories | Page 9

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 age, about fifty years ago. It will be a good lesson for us all, to see
what God helped one brave little girl to do.
Agnes Green was nine years old, and had five brothers and sisters
younger than herself. Their father was a respectable working man, and
they all lived in a small cottage in a wild valley of the mountains of
Westmoreland. If you take a good map of England, and look in the
north for Westmoreland, you may see Grasmere marked. It is the name
of a beautiful valley and also of a lake and a village in it. Beyond this is
a smaller valley called Easdale, quite surrounded by high hills, with
just one narrow opening into Grasmere. Here, in a lonely cottage, the
Greens lived. In fair weather the older children could go to the
Grasmere school. Their mother did all she could to keep them neat and
comfortable; but she could not afford to have a servant, and so little
Agnes was taught to do many more things than are common at her age.
She was a very good and clever child, and learned to milk the cow,
mend the fire, cook the dinner, nurse the little ones--do all that was
possible for her age and strength. Which of you is at all like her? You
may say, perhaps, that there is no need for you to learn such things. But
you cannot begin too soon to be useful. Had poor Agnes been as
helpless as some of you, she and her brothers and sisters must have
died of cold and hunger in the sad time I am going to tell you of.
One winter day, Mr. and Mrs. Green had business which made them
very anxious to go to a farm-house at some distance from Easdale.
There was snow on the ground, but the morning was fine; and to save a
long road round by Grasmere, they determined to take a short cut right
over the mountains, which they had sometimes done before. So Mrs.
Green made everything straight for the day, bidding Agnes take good
care of the little ones, and expect her and their father back in the
evening before dark; and then both parents kissed the children, and set
out on the journey,