YOU need not suppose that Mr. and Mrs. Reed lost sight of their children altogether, because I am telling you so much about their hours with Gill. Oh, no! It would be a singular father and mother that could trust such precious plants as a little son and daughter, to any other culture and training than their own.

“It is good for the children to be out a great deal with nature,” said these wise parents. “Their bodies need the sun and air to make them thrifty and vigorous, and their minds and souls will be all the more healthy for this vigor of body.”

But then, at a certain call from the tongue of the bell, the little people left verdure and flowers and birds, and ran to the study where mamma sat with books and work around her. They made themselves very nice before they came into her gentle presence, and, as they entered the room, there was such a sweet recognition as all well-bred children must show, whenever they come before father or mother.

There is nothing so beautiful to see in all the world, as this loving respect and reverence to parents. I know a little boy and three little girls, close at hand, who always show it, and I am so well pleased with them that I wish to put them here in this book, that is to go out among other little people.

“Only four children that pay a proper respect and deference to their parents! Are these all that you know?” I seem to hear you ask.

Oh, no, not all, thank God! There are others in my mind, but very few so pretty and gentle in their manners as these to whom I desire to do honor, and whom I wish you to imitate. Ben and Sally Reed were like them.

Mamma was carefully and well dressed, and was polite to the little son and daughter too. That need not surprise you. Mothers are sent to be an example to their children; and Mrs. Reed felt this responsibility.

Parents should be like brother and sister to their young brood, when they are mingling familiarly and playfully with them, and like the divine Friend and Teacher, (I speak this very reverently), when they have to govern and guide; and children should look up to father and mother, as they would look up to their heavenly parent and never dare to say a rebellious or disrespectful word. It must be so very sweet for son or daughter, when it can be said of them, “They have never given me a pang.” I have known a mother to say this of a grown-up son, and I looked upon the man with a sort of envy; for I am sorry to remember that I was not so gentle a little girl as I might have been, and I am afraid I shall have to stand beside the many thoughtless children, instead of with Ben and Sally Reed, and with the pleasant four, and the few other dear ones whom I have in my mind. However that may be, we that have not done quite as well as we ought heretofore can only be very sorry for the past, and begin at once to amend our ways. This is all that a gracious God requires for any fault,—that we repent sincerely for it, and do as well as we possibly can for the future.

Ben and Sally were deeply interested in their studies, and in the course of reading which their mother had marked out for them; for young as they were, there were juvenile histories, and books upon the natural sciences that were adapted to their tender minds; and Mrs. Reed chose these rather than the simple stories which had in them no useful facts. She said, “It is just as easy to give the children a taste for the right sort of knowledge, as to cultivate in them a desire for a light and trashy literature.” So she taught them about real characters who have lived in the world, and talked to them of the riches that are upon the earth, and in the seas, and they were as happy as could be during school hours, and were almost always sorry when the time was over.

Mr. Reed had his opportunity with them in the evening. That was a very joyous time. There was so much of the day’s events, to be gone over on both sides! Papa made the most of every incident from which he could draw a moral; and the little children had more than they could possibly tell, and generally left a good deal for the next day. Often, after they were in bed, Ben would call quietly from across the dim hall,—

“Are you awake, sister?”

“Yes, Ben.”

“Well, we forgot to tell father something.”

Then he would say what it was, and Sally would call back again, “We must be sure to think of it in the morning.”

Mamma did not object to their speaking softly to each other in the dimness. It was pleasant to her to hear the little loving voices up above, as she sat below engaged in some household work of mending or sewing. She said to papa one evening, as the music of her children’s prattle came floating down to her, “I wonder if mothers, who have put their little children in bed, and themselves are left up and doing here below, ever listen for the pleasant voices from above? There can be no doubt that the precious ones are talking happily together, and it seems to me that if all others are deaf to the sound, it must reach a mother’s ears, and make her heart very contented and blessed.”

Mr. Reed looked at his wife with some surprise. “What made you think of that just now?” asked he.

“I can not tell, except that whenever Ben and Sally are speaking together in the dark, it gives me a pleasant feeling about the night that must come to all, both little and big; and I think, perhaps, if my children should be called to their last sleep before us, we might be comforted by the conviction that they have sweet companionship and communion.”

“I hope God will spare our darlings to be the joy of our old age,” said Mr. Reed. “We will try to train them in his holy ways, however, and then, whether they stay here or are called up to him, we shall be blest and satisfied.”

Ben had a little room that looked out upon the orchard, and he could hear the twitter of the birds as they awoke from time to time, and asked their mothers to tuck the feathers closer around them,—for, summer though it was, the tender young creatures wanted a warm shelter from the night dews. Then, in the very early dawn, the flutter of their wings as they made their morning toilet sounded through the open casement, and when they were quite dressed, there was such a burst of song as started the lad to his feet, and made him hasten out where every thing that had breath seemed to be praising the Lord.

Sally’s bed was a cot beside father and mother. She was the baby still, and it was sweet to them to keep her under their wing as long as possible. But, like the little birds, she was awake at the peep of day, and poured forth thanksgiving to him who had watched over her through the darkness. Then she and Ben went out to help Gill, or to speak to Dobbin, or to play amid the green until Lucy’s bell called to them to make ready for breakfast.

Dobbin always expected a visit before sunrise. Animals and children are very happy companions, and seem to understand each other well. This “son of a jackass” was a noble fellow, and stood upon his own merits, whatever his father was before him. He had such a genial nature, that his eyes would brighten, and his ears prick up for joy, when the little people stepped over the threshold of the barn, and he would give a pleasant whinny that meant to them, “Good morning, I am very happy to see you. I hope you have passed a refreshing night, and that the day will be one of great blessedness and peace to you.”

And the children would say: “How d’ye do, Dobbin? What an early breakfast you are having all alone here! If we could only eat hay, we would share it with you. I suppose you have to go to town as usual, and carry something to Mrs. Beth. No doubt she sits by this time in her stall, waiting for you and Gill to bring the fresh fruit and vegetables.”

Then Ben would take the curry-comb, and smooth the shaggy coat, and Dobbin would seem as pleased as a little child at being made so nice and respectable for the jaunt to the city.

“You must hold up your head,” Sally would say, “and let the city horses see that you are well-bred, and have nothing to be ashamed of; and, whatever you do, Dobbin, try and keep a sure footing in the slimy streets. ‘Tis dreadful to fall down in such mud and mire! I should be sorry if you came home with your nice coat soiled, and maybe an inward hurt that would be harder to get over.”

Sally did not know what a fine moral there was to her little speech, for every body that goes from the freshness and purity of a country home to the slippery places of the great and wicked city.