Miss Lydia had several brothers as well as sisters, a good deal older than herself; among the rest was Gilbert, a boy, who from the goodness of his disposition, seemed formed to make his parents happy. Obliging to all, he was particularly indulgent and kind to little Lydia. One day, in the autumn, he joined a family party in the garden, and seeing some fine alpine strawberries in a little garden which the elder ones had given to Lydia, he asked her if he might gather some? No, pray brother, do not gather them now, said Lydia; for I keep them to treat you all with to-morrow upon my birth-day. Is to-morrow your birth-day, little girl? replied he; then, as to-day is a half-holiday, I will go a fishing, and try if I cannot get you a dish of fish for your dinner. I shall set off directly: and pray, Mamma, do not mind whether I return to dinner, for I do not care about that. Go then, said Mamma; and I will contribute some tarts and a cake, as my share of the entertainment.

Gilbert took his rod and his implements, and away he went. At dinner he was not much expected; but in the evening his Mamma began to grow uneasy, and was going to send a servant after him. However, just as she was speaking to the servant, Gilbert came in much tired, but without any fish.

I am sorry, Lydia, said he, not to have any fish to offer you; but I think when you know how it happened, you will not be displeased with me. I had, said he, no success at all till evening; the fish then began to bite, and I caught two very fine trout. I was coming home mightily delighted with my prize; but before I had walked a quarter of a mile, I heard the sound of somebody crying on the other side of the hedge, and heard a voice say, Now your brothers and sisters must go to-bed without their suppers; and poor things, I left them only a halfpenny roll in the morning; and we had nothing, you know, but a few turnips yesterday.

The hedge was so thick I could not see who was speaking, till we came to a stile, and then I saw the poor boy (who comes to the door sometimes with fish) and his mother get over into the lane. I asked her, what was the matter? and she told me, she had been about five miles to buy fish; that she had almost starved herself and her children to save up two shillings for the purpose, in hope of getting a little profit by it; she had staid all day, and could not get any; and she and her son were returning home. She had a hole in her pocket, and, therefore, had given the shillings to the boy; and as they were going through a close lane, she unguardedly said to her son, Bob, are your two shillings safe? Just at that moment a great, big man jumped over the hedge, and catching hold of the boy, said, Are you quite sure they are safe? let me take care of them for you; and then ran his hand into his pocket, and took away the two shillings: and now, said she, I have nothing to give to the children! I intended to have bought a six-penny loaf, when I got home, for this boy and I have tasted nothing to-day; and I should have tried to get some fish to-morrow with the remaining eighteen-pence. She cried so, added Gilbert, that I was ready to cry too. I had no money to give her. I had nothing but my fish; and I asked her, how much she could sell them for? O! dear Sir! said she, they are very fine fish! I dare say they would fetch a shilling or eighteen-pence a piece. And do you think you could sell them to-night if you had them? said I. She said, she did not doubt that she could sell them; but should not think of taking my fish: however, I begged her to take them; and if it had not been so late, I would have gone back and tried to get you some more, Lydia; but I will get up very early in the morning and go. Indeed, brother, said Lydia, I beg you will not think of it; for if there are such bad men about they may rob you too.

Gilbert, I believe, said Mamma, does not read Horace yet, or he might tell you that,

But though it is certain that, if he has nothing he cannot be robbed, he may be uncivilly used, and, therefore, I would advise him not to go; we can, I dare say, procure fish without giving him any further trouble; but I thought you had a shilling this morning, Gilbert; what have you done with it?

Gilbert.

Pray, Mamma, do not ask me; it is a secret at present.

Mamma.

Then I never desire to know secrets; and you, I am persuaded, will do nothing wrong; and as I have no anxiety upon that account, I should be ashamed, if mere curiosity made me desirous to know what you wish to conceal. Nothing, I think, is so contemptible as that sort of curiosity, which makes people want to know what every one says and does, and which grows more impatient in proportion as we think the person wishes us not to know.

Gilbert.

Nay, Mamma, I have no real secrets from you, only I wish nobody to know just now—

Mamma.

I am quite satisfied, my dear boy.

Lydia.

I have a little secret, Mamma; my sister told me you would not be angry, and nobody knows but her:—do not tell yet, Kitty.

Mamma.

I dare say she will not, my love; and if she were going I would not let her. You heard me say, I never desire to know secrets. I think no wise person would; but I should be very sorry any body belonging to me should not be able to keep a secret, if they were intrusted with one. But I will tell you something that is no secret; which is, that your long walk has tired you; and that you look very sleepy; therefore, I advise you to go to-bed.

Gilbert waked soon in the morning; and as the sun shone very bright, and it was a delightful morning, he longed to take his fishing-rod once more; but his Mamma having desired him not, he did not attempt it; but before he went to school he went with his violin to Lydia’s door, and waked her with a very cheerful tune, wished her many happy birth-days, and then went away. Lydia arose as soon as the maid came into her room, and went to receive a kiss from her Mamma; she then walked down stairs, and the first thing she saw at the hall door was her little lamb, with a new blue ribbon round his neck, and shaking some little round bells that were fastened to it. Away she flew first to her Mamma, then to her sisters, to ask who had made her lamb so fine? but they could not give her any information; every body in the house was asked to no purpose. After a little while, I think, said Mamma—I guess! I guess too, cried out little Lydia, it must be Gilbert; you know he said he had a secret; that is it depend upon it: how kind it was of him! how dearly I do love Gilbert! Every body must love him dearly, said his Mamma. I wish, said Lydia, I knew how to make him some return. I wish I could do any thing to please him.—Your wish is natural and amiable; but be satisfied, that Gilbert finds in the performance of such acts of good-nature and kindness, a higher reward than any we could give him; believe me there is a delight in being kind, and affectionate, and generous, that is beyond any pleasure that relates merely to a person’s own self; and if the most ill-tempered and selfish person in the world would but determine for one month to say nothing but what was kind; and to be always doing obliging and liberal things, he would find himself so much more comfortable, so much better, not only in mind but in health; and so much more easy and satisfied with himself, that mere self-love would make him continue such a conduct.

Lydia.

I am delighted even with seeing my little lamb happy, when I feed and caress him. I think it is a great pleasure to have the power of making any thing happy.

Mamma.

Cherish, my dearest child, this disposition, and these feelings; and if you should ever meet with unkindness from others, do not let that incline you to be less kind and good. Bear always in your mind the text I once taught you, “Be not overcome of evil; but overcome evil with good.” And if you see persons by their ill-temper offend God, and vex every body they are connected with, instead of making their bad behaviour an excuse for your own, think what a sad thing it would be if you, seeing the disagreeableness of their behaviour, were to become like them; and on the contrary, think what an honour it will be to you, if, by your example, by seeing you always patient, and kind, and disinterested, others leave off disputes and selfishness, and grow good.

Lydia.

Here comes the dear Gilbert.

Mamma.

Here he comes; and I am sure you both feel far more joy than the mere spending of a shilling could have given you; and the older you grow the more I trust you will know and understand of that kind of joy.