One sweet September morning, Alfred’s papa rose early. Silvery mists rested upon the mountains; but when the sun arose they parted, and curled upwards. The industrious little spider, who works when we sleep, had hung fine silk threads over the dewy blades of grass. The sky was bright, and the air very still.

Mr. Penrose was going to take a ride into the country; and Alfred was to go with his papa. As they stood by a window, waiting for the carriage, they heard a strange whirring sound. They looked up into a wild cherry-tree, that stood at a short distance from the window, and saw so many robins that they could not count them. The little thieves were stealing all the cherries. O, how fast they picked and ate! The robins did not belong there. Other birds built their nests in that tree; but the robins always built in the mossy and crooked apple-trees, on the other side of the fence.

At first Alfred was pleased to see the robins enjoy the cherries; but afterward he thought they ate so many that none would be left for the little birds who made their home in the shrubbery, and sung for them all day long.

I think Alfred never had a pleasanter ride than on that day with his papa. The road was hilly; and a great part of it lay through rich, dark woods. The smell of the woods was delightful; and beautiful mosses were spread along the track of their carriage. Now and then, little brooks ran swiftly along, with a gurgling sound; and gray squirrels leaped among the branches of the trees.

Mr. Penrose, who always tried to say something that would do his children good, when he was with them, said to Alfred,

“My son, you may say your text to me this morning, as you did not say it at the breakfast-table.”

So Alfred repeated the text to his father, which he had learned the night before. It was this:—

“Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily, I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward.” Matthew x, 42.