Amongst the children at Hazel Grove, there were, as you may suppose, varieties of disposition and character, and though they seemed all to feel kindly and affectionately to each other, each of them had some chosen companion, to whom their plans were confided, and with whom all their pleasures were shared. Kate and Emma, the twins, were almost inseparable; Lucy Wilmot and Martha Williams walked together, assisted each other in their gardens, and nursed each other's pets; while Clara Devaux and Grace Wilmot read from the same book, pursued the same studies, and sought the same amusements. Yet there could scarce have been two persons less alike than Clara Devaux and Grace Wilmot. Clara was gay and spirited, generous and thoughtless. A quick temper often made her say unkind words, which an affectionate heart made her feel, in a short time, far more painfully than the person to whom they were addressed. Grace was, on the contrary, of a grave, serious nature, and seemed always to take time to think before she acted. She, too, possessed a very affectionate heart, and the least appearance of coldness or anger from one she loved, would distress her much, but she had scarcely ever been known to speak or even to look angrily. In one thing, however, these girls were alike,—they were both remarkable for their truth. I do not mean only that they would not tell a story, for this I hope few little girls would do, but they would not in any way deceive another, and if they had done wrong, they did not wait to be questioned, but would frankly tell of themselves. Mrs. Wilmot, in speaking to me of their attachment, said she was pleased at it, for she thought they had been of use to each other; that Clara had sometimes stimulated Grace to do right things which, without her persuasions, she would have been too timid to attempt, and that Grace had often prevented Clara from doing wrong things into which her heedlessness would have led her but for her friend's prudent advice.

Not far from Mrs. Wilmot's lived a man who was feeble in health and somewhat indolent in his habits. He had three little daughters, the eldest of whom was little more than four years old when their mother died. She was an active, industrious woman, and had always taken good care of them, but as their father was far from rich, they fared hardly after her death, and were often sadly neglected. They could not go to any school except Sunday-school, because their father could not afford to pay any thing for their education, and at Sunday-school they were seldom seen, because there was no one to take care that their clothes were mended and washed in time.

"Poor children," said Grace one day, when she and Clara had passed them in walking, "how sorry I am for them! They have no kind mother to take care of them and teach them as I have."

"No, but they might go to Sunday-school, if they would," said Clara; "and they could learn a great deal there."

"Yes, Clara, but are you sure that we should ever have gone to Sunday-school, if we had had no one to see that we were ready, and send us there?"

"No," said Clara, "I do not think we should."

The girls walked silently on for a few minutes, when Clara said, "Grace, suppose we teach these poor little children."

"We teach them, Clara—what an idea!" exclaimed Grace.

"And why not? I am sure we can teach them to read and to say hymns and verses from the Bible, and we shall be learning something more and more every day to teach them, as they grow older. Come, let us turn back and ask them if they will come to school to us."

Clara was already retracing her steps, but Grace put her hand on her arm and stopped her. "Stay, Clara,—it seems very good, and I am sure I should like to teach them if I can,—but let us ask mamma about it first, and if she thinks it right, she will show us the best way to do it."

Clara readily agreed to this proposal. When they returned home, Mrs. Wilmot was consulted. She highly approved the plan, and promised to aid them in its execution, provided the time which they gave to their little pupils was taken, not from their studies or work, but from their amusements. For many months before my visit, Clara and Grace had commenced their school, devoting one hour each day to these motherless children. There was something very touching to me in seeing these young teachers' patient and persevering efforts to instruct their charge. Especially did it please me to see the gay, pleasure-loving Clara, lay aside her bonnet, when ready for a walk or ride, put up her battledoor, or jump from the just-entered swing, when she saw the little girls approaching. I said something of this kind one day to Mrs. Wilmot, and Clara, who was nearer than I thought, overheard me. She colored, looked quickly at me, as if she would speak, and then, her courage failing, looked down again.

"What would you say, Clara?" asked Mrs. Wilmot.

"That if it had not been for Grace, ma'am, I should have often put off teaching them, and maybe, should have given it up altogether before this."

"And how has Grace prevented you, my dear?"

"Why, the first time I wanted to put off the lesson was once that Mr. Gilbert called to give me a drive in his new carriage, just as the children came. But when I said 'let us put them off,' Grace looked very sorry, and said, I must remember how much trouble we had had in getting them to come to us; and now, if we put them off for a drive, they would think we did not care much for the lessons, and would perhaps not come again. Grace seemed so serious and earnest, that I was ashamed of having even thought of putting them off; and so I have never said any thing about it since, though I have been very tired sometimes."

Grace had entered while Clara was speaking, and now said, "Ah, Clara! but we would never have begun to teach them if it had not been for you."

My young readers may understand from this sketch what Mrs. Wilmot meant by saying that Clara stimulated Grace to do right things, and Grace prevented Clara from doing wrong ones.