MRS. CARLETON was at work on a new suit of clothes. They were of a soft gray cloth, and made in a fashion which greatly pleased the little boy. First, there was a pair of pantaloons, or pants, as Fred called them; then a vest, he had never worn a vest before; and last, a nice jacket with a pocket in the left side, just like the ones worn by the big boys. The jacket and vest were bound with black braid.

Mrs. Carleton had taken great pains with the new suit. First, she had to give more for the cloth than she could well afford; but she admired its soft, firm texture, and willingly gave up a new black silk apron which she expected to purchase: the money thus saved met the extra expense of the cloth.

Next, came the fitting of the suit. There was no children’s tailor in the town; and, if there had been, Mrs. Carleton could not afford to pay him for the cutting. So she sent to her sister in the city, who kindly furnished a paper pattern, which she had used for her own son.

There was a good deal of trouble in all this; but the mother took it cheerfully, rising earlier than usual, and sitting up late, in order to finish the clothes before the examination of the school. When Fred came up the stairs she was at work on the vest. She listened with interest to all he had to say, especially when he expressed his displeasure that Mrs. Perry did not even thank him for carrying her kitty home.

Finding her too busy to talk much, he was going downstairs, when she said,—

“Wait a minute, Fred; I want to try on this vest; and then I have something to say to you.”

“Need I take off my jacket, mother? I’ve tried it on so many times.”

“Yes, dear, I’ve had to alter it a little. Stand still; I can’t pin it while you are jerking your head so continually.”

“It hurts, ma. I can’t bear to try on clothes,” he said, impatiently. “I had rather wear my old ones than to have to keep changing so many times.”

While Fred was buttoning his jacket again, Mrs. Carleton asked, earnestly,— “Did you say your prayer this morning?”

“No, ma’am, I forgot it.”

“Do you often forget?”

“A good many times I do in the morning, because I hear the chickens calling for their dough.”

“But you don’t forget to eat your breakfast.”

“Oh, no, ma, of course not!”

“Nor to drink when you are thirsty, nor to warm yourself when it is cold, nor to lie down to rest when you are weary.” “Of course, ma, I do that. Everybody does.”

“But, Fred, who gives you your breakfast? Who provides a pleasant home for you; a fire and clothes to warm you; a bed for you to rest upon? Who gives you health and strength; a good appetite for your food? Who made your form erect and vigorous, instead of lame and deformed, like poor Israel Wasson? Do you ever think who has done all these things for you?”

“God made me,” said the boy; “and gave me all the blessings which I enjoy. That’s the answer in my catechism.”

“My little son,” said the lady, seriously; “you were much displeased because Mrs. Perry expressed no gratitude for the small favor you did her; but you confess that many mornings you forget to thank your heavenly Father for all his kindness to you. You said,—

“‘Catch me carrying her kitty home through all the mud again.’ “What if God should say, ‘I have given Frederick Carleton a good home, food to eat, clothes to wear, a house to live in, and friends to love him. I have done this for eight years; but he seldom thanks me. He jumps out of bed, runs to his breakfast, satisfies all his wants, but does not even think of me, the Giver of all his blessings. I will do nothing more for him. After this he shall be a poor, homeless wanderer, suffering from hunger and thirst, from cold and nakedness. I do hate people who don’t thank me for the favors which I bestow.’”