Cissy and Lily are feeding a little tame sparrow. The poor bird had fallen out of its nest, and the gardener picked it up, and gave it to the children. The little creature sits on Cissy’s finger, while Lily feeds it with bread and milk. It is getting quite tame, puts its little head on one side, and looks at Lily out of its pretty bright eye. The children have had it some days: it can fly a little now, but shows no wish at present to fly away.

“I’m the mother of it,” says Lily, “tos I feed it.” Then she adds, after considering a moment: “Cissy can be father if she likes.”

Cissy, aged nine years, smiles at this remark, and says,—“You don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear child; I can be aunt or grandmamma: Johnny can be father, if he likes.”

Johnny is marching up and down the room with a gun over his shoulder. He is two years old, and likes to be one thing at a time, so he answers in a gruff voice,—“No, me tan’t: Donny soldar; tan’t be father now;” and he continues his march.

“I shall call it Tommy,” says Lily.

“Teddy’s a prettier name,” suggests Cissy.

“Shan’t call it Teddy,” rejoins Lily; “peoples ’ill think he’s a donkey.” Lily once knew a donkey who had that name.

“Pretty Teddy! Teddy! Teddy!” cries Cissy in a teazing way. Whereupon Lily, who, I am sorry to say, is very short-tempered, raises her little hand, and brings it down smartly on Cissy’s face. A skirmish takes place: the sparrow flies off to a distant part of the room; and mamma, coming in at the moment, finds voices raised, tears flowing, and red and angry faces.

After hearing what each has to say, mamma thinks that both children have been very naughty, and she tells them to make it up. Neither will say that she is sorry. Then mamma looks very grave, and tells the children how we ought always to ask pardon when we have done wrong.

At last peace is restored: the little girls kiss each other and are quite happy again. Then Cissy says:—“Sometimes people had better not ask pardon, mamma dear. Don’t you remember Hans Christian Andersen’s story in ‘What the Moon saw?’”

“I doubt very much, dear, if there is any story of Hans Christian Andersen’s which teaches us we ought not to ask pardon, when we have done wrong: I don’t know which you can be thinking of. ‘What the Moon saw’ is a collection of little stories, one of which is supposed to be related every evening by the moon to a poor artist, who was fond of looking at her from his window. The moon relates to him something she has seen on the world every evening. But, Cissy dear, get the book, and read us the story you are thinking of; it is sure to be amusing.”

The book is on the table, for Cissy has been reading it to-day. She takes it up, and begins at once to read:—

WHAT THE MOON SAW.
SECOND EVENING.

“Yesterday,” said the moon to me, “I looked down upon a small court-yard surrounded on all sides by houses. In the court-yard sat a clucking hen with eleven chickens; and a pretty little girl was running and jumping round them. The hen was frightened, and screamed, and spread out her wings over the little brood. Then the girl’s father came out and scolded her; and I glided away and thought no more of the matter.

“But this evening, only a few minutes ago, I looked down into the same court-yard. Everything was quite quiet. But presently the little girl came forth again, crept quietly to the hen-house, pushed back the bolts, and slipped into the apartment of the hen and chickens. They cried out loudly, and came fluttering down from their perches, and ran about in dismay, and the little girl ran after them. I saw it quite plainly, for I looked through a hole in the hen-house wall. I was angry with the wilful child, and felt glad when her father came out and scolded her more violently than yesterday, holding her roughly by the arm. She held down her head, and her blue eyes were full of large tears. ‘What are you about here?’ he asked. She wept, and said, ‘I wanted to kiss the hen and beg her pardon for frightening her yesterday; but I was afraid to tell you.’

“And the father kissed the innocent child’s forehead, and I kissed her on the mouth and eyes.”

Here ended the story of “What the Moon saw,” and as Cissy leaves off reading, mamma says:—

“Why, my darling Cissy, this story does not teach that it is ever better not to ask forgiveness. The little girl was only silly for thinking that the hen could understand her, and so it happened that she only frightened the poor creature instead of doing any good. If the hen could have understood her, as little girls understand each other, it would have been very glad, I daresay, to let her kiss it. Besides, you see in the story, that directly the father knew his little girl had meant to ask pardon of the hen, he kissed her on the forehead, for he saw how good she really was.”