means to satisfy the hunger of all the multitude.”

“I never thought of it before, ma. I don’t believe I shall forget again. I know, when you pray with me, you always say, ‘We thank thee for food and all our blessings;’ but I never before thought that he wanted us to do it.”

“A grateful heart, Fred, thanks its benefactor, because it loves to do so; it cannot help it.

“Don’t you remember, the last time your father came home, how pleased you were with the birds he brought you? You could not stop thanking him. Over and over again you said, ‘O pa, I’m so much obliged! These are just what I wanted. I’m so very glad! And I thank you so much!’”

“Yes, ma; I remember all about it.”

“Don’t you think your father was better pleased than if you had taken the cage, hung it up by the window, and said nothing about the birds?”

“O ma! of course I wouldn’t do that, when he had brought them over the ocean for me.”

“Or, suppose Hatty had taken the beautiful silk he bought for her in Canton, carried it to the dressmaker’s, and then worn it without ever thanking him for his kindness; would he have been encouraged to bring her another present, do you think?”

“No, indeed, ma.”

“Shall I tell you what I was thinking when you were trying on your vest?”

Fred held down his head, his cheeks covered with blushes.

“I said to myself, ‘My son feels very indignant because Mrs. Perry did not thank him for carrying home her cat. Now, if he himself had a grateful heart, he would thank me for taking so much pains with his new suit, instead of being so sulky about the trifling annoyance of trying it on. I had better make the vest anyhow since he is so ungrateful.’”

“Did you think that, ma? I’m real sorry. I wont act so again. I have thought ever so much about it; and last night, after you prayed with me, I said to myself, ‘I ought to be a real good boy, ma’s so kind to sit up and work on my clothes.’”

Ned Perry was in the same class at Sabbath school, as Fred Carleton. As they were walking home together, Ned said,—

“I don’t see how our cat happened to run away. Mother said you brought her home.”

“Yes, I did! If she comes again, I sha’n’t try it through all the mud. I got awfully tired.”

“Why didn’t you keep her?”

“I thought you’d be looking everywhere; and Hatty said I ought to go. I’ll give you my new top if you’ll let me keep her.”

“I’ll do it; for mother hates to have her round; she kills chickens so.”

“Kills chickens! Oh, I guess that’s what she was after at our house.”

Fred suddenly remembered that he had first seen her near the hen-coop; and he also remembered that this was Sunday, and that he ought not to have been making bargains about cats.

“That was a real good story Miss Darling told us to-day,” he said, changing the subject.

“Yes, she’s a tip-top teacher! She makes us understand the lesson; and that’s what I never did before.”

“I’m going to wait here till Hatty comes up,” said Fred, stopping at the corner where his companion had to leave him, and looking earnestly up the street.

“When do you want the kitty?”

“I don’t want her if she kills chickens; but I’ll talk with Hatty about it to-morrow.”

“Did Ned thank you?” asked Hatty, smiling.

“No, he don’t want the cat!”

Fred then repeated the story which his teacher had related. The subject of temperance had come up in connection with the lesson, and Miss Darling wished to impress upon the minds of her class the evils of drunkenness. As you may like to hear the story, I will relate it in the next chapter.

CHAPTER IV.

THE DRUNKARD.

A MAN, living in the State of Arkansas, was in the habit of spending his evenings at a tavern, where he often became so drunk that he could scarcely reach home.

One night he stayed later than usual, so that when he left the tavern, honest people had long been in bed. The liquor he had taken so bewildered his senses that he knew not where he was going. At last, he staggered into an empty wagon-shed and fell on the ground.

For a long time he lay unconscious of everything about him, and would, no doubt, have frozen, as the night was very cold, had not he been cared for by others less insensible than himself.

This shed was a favorite resort for the hogs, which were out when the new-comer arrived, but soon returned to their nest. In the utmost kindness, they gave the man the warmest place in the middle of the bed; some lying close by his side, and others acting the part of the quilt. Their company made him so warm that he was kept from exposure.

Toward morning he began to rouse from his drunken sleep, but felt so comfortable that he supposed himself still in the tavern with his companions.

He reached out his hand, and catching hold of the stiff bristles of a hog, exclaimed,—

“Why, Mister, when did you shave last?”

“How did Daniel Jones look while Miss Darling was telling the story?” asked Hatty, much interested.

“He looked very red. I don’t believe teacher knows what a drunkard his father is.”

“Well,” said Hatty; “you and I ought to be very thankful that our father is a temperance man. How should you feel to have him lying with the hogs?”

“I never thought how many things we have to be grateful for,” said Fred, gravely. “If I had a father like Dan Jones, I never could look anybody in the face.”

Mrs. Carleton, finding that her son’s mind was still dwelling on gratitude, promised to relate a story on the subject, as soon as tea was cleared away.

While Hatty was doing this, Fred took his book to learn the lesson for the next Sabbath. He was nearly through when he noticed that his sister was trying to lift the table alone, and set it in its place next the wall.

“Let me help you, Hatty,” he cried, jumping to her assistance.

“Thank you, Fred,” and she kissed him.

“I like to do things for people who thank me,” he replied, eagerly.

“Why, my dear?”

“Because, ma, I know then—I know they’re pleased. I can’t explain the reason, only it makes me feel better.”

“You feel that they appreciate your kindness. Isn’t that the reason?”

“Yes, ma; and then I want to do something more.”

“I remember,” said the lady, “when I was a young girl, about Hatty’s age, I went with my aunt to make a visit to a distant relative. There were quite a number of children in the family. When we sat down to the table, soon after our arrival, the boys and girls began scrambling for food,—snatching everything that was within reach. I looked on in astonishment. My aunt passed me some bread. ‘I thank