tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"Emma tore my best book," he said, softly.

"Emma is only a baby, Joseph, and didn't know any better. If you hadn't struck her, papa would have bought you another one. But, Josey, you gave way to your anger, and told your darling little sister that you didn't love her."

"I think she's too big to tear my pictures out," he said, sighing.

"She must be taught to let your things alone," answered mamma, "and you must remember to put them out of her way; but all the pictures in the world wouldn't excuse you for treating her so unkindly. Don't you remember that pretty verse you learned last Sunday? 'Be kindly affectioned one to another, in honor preferring one another.' Papa explained to you what it Meant."

"I'm sorry, mamma; but I want my pretty book."

"I'm sorry, too."

She said these words in such a sad tone that Joseph softened at once. He threw his arms around her neck, exclaiming,—

"Mamma, I'm going to be good and love God like little Samuel in the temple."

She held him close to her breast, whispering, "'He who loveth God, loveth his brother also.' This is what St. John tells us. 'If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar.'"

"Oh, mamma! I'm real sorry."

"And he says, too, 'My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue, but in deed and in truth.'"

"What does that mean, mamma, to love in deed?"

"It means that it does no good merely to say 'I love you, I love God;' but we must show it by our actions."

"How could I show Emma, mamma, when she was tearing my book?"

"Think for yourself, Josey."

He looked very serious, his cheeks growing more and more red, but at last he said, softly,—

"I might have taken the book away, and put it up high; and I might think, 'She is so little, she don't know any better;' and after I said, 'naughty, naughty!' as you and papa do, then I could kiss her."

"Yes, my own darling, that would have been Christ-like, loving, kind, and forgiving; and your heart, instead of burning with anger toward your precious sister, would have been filled with the sweetest emotion, such as is implied by the words, 'Be kindly affectioned one to another.'"

"May I go and kiss Emma now, mamma?"

"Yes, darling; and I hope you will learn how pleasant love is, especially between brothers and sisters."

CHAPTER V.

JOSEY'S CHRISTMAS.

Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, had come and gone; and now Josey was seven years old, and Emma was baby no longer. There was a tiny girl in the cradle who was named Grace. The family had returned to their own home; Mr. Codman preached to his old people.

Aunt Fanny was still with them, though she had agreed to go on a mission to India with a gentleman now studying for the ministry. She was the same ardent girl as before, loving her brother's family, and devoted to their comfort.

Joseph had from his birth been much in her care and was a prime favorite. She had grieved with his parents at the unkindness and impatience he had sometimes shown his sister; and she rejoiced with them that he was becoming so kind and affectionate.

Though Joseph was so young, yet his parents hoped he had become a lamb of the Good Shepherd. He had faults, as all children have; but he tried to correct them. His face sometimes flushed when Emma teased him or meddled with his books, of which he was very careful; but he never struck her now, and seldom was angry but a minute.

"I try to think," he said to his mamma, "that she don't know better, and that she's almost always good; and if I wait a minute and remember about Christ forgiving me, then I feel happy right away."

Josey showed in one way that he was a Christian child. He loved everybody, and tried to be good to all.

Among the poor people belonging to his father's church, no one was more welcome to their humble cottages than little Josey. He always had a pleasant word for each, and often spent hours of his play-time in reading to the old women of the parish.

At Christmas, his greatest treat, and one that he spent weeks in preparing for, was to take his box sled (the one he drew his sister in,) and fill it with the presents he had prepared for his friends.

"Though they are poor," he said, over and over, "I love them dearly, and I want to have them know it." So he spent all his pocket-money in buying what mamma and Aunt Fanny thought would be useful.

A pair of mittens for one poor orphan, a flannel shirt for a rheumatic old man, a pair of glasses for another, and plenty of pies, which he had hired cook to make. He hired her, because he wanted to feel that the gifts were his and not his mother's.

Do you wonder every body, rich and poor, loved him, and that, wherever he went, blessings were showered on his head?

I don't mean those worthless words that so many beggars use without meaning: "A thousand blessings on your head, Miss."

Oh, no! But real, heart-felt prayers that God would be his Father and Friend forever.

Do you suppose Josey was a cross, sulky boy? Can you imagine him wearing a frown? or with his lips in an ugly pout?

No, indeed! It is not possible for one who cultivates such love for all around him; for one who tries in this way to imitate the example of his blessed Saviour to be unhappy or cross. Those children who think only of themselves, who are selfish and greedy, who never heed the blessed words, "Be ye kind one to another," are the persons to wear sour faces and pouting lips.

Don't you remember what the good Book says, "Her ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are peace." That means Wisdom's ways, and one of these paths is love; love to God and love to those around us.

You can well imagine that Josey's father and mother, and aunt and nurse, were delighted in seeing him growing up to be a good boy; and each of them were ready to assist him in correcting his faults.

He was neat and orderly; keeping his little treasures arranged nicely in the drawers mamma gave him, and his clothes each on their own hooks in his closet. But Joseph was not always prompt in attention to his duties. He liked so much to hear the talk at table or at the fireside, that it was a real trial to him to leave the pleasant company, and the delightful things that were being said; and he often lingered when he ought to have been on his way to school.

Aunt Fanny used sometimes, by an anxious glance toward the clock, to remind him of his duty, for she hated to have her favorite reproved; or his mamma would say gently, "You'll be late again, Josey." If the conversation was very interesting, he would only push back his chair a little and wait for papa to say,—

"My son, go this