books, she looked as if she was about to speak, but stopped herself. After I had ended, she said, "Aunt Kitty,"—then stopped again.

"What, my love?" said I.

"Nothing, ma'am—good-night," and taking her candle she went to her room.

I wrote my letter and then went to mine, into which, you must remember, I have told you hers opened. I turned my latch very softly, for fear of waking Harriet if she was asleep; but as soon as I entered, she called out, "I'm not asleep, Aunt Kitty; please come here, and let me speak to you."

I went to her directly, asking what was the matter.

"I have been waiting and listening a long time for you, Aunt Kitty, for there is something I wanted to say to you, and I could not go to sleep till I had said it. I hope you did not write the letter about the books, for I do not want them now, Aunt Kitty. I want you, if you please, to give the money to poor Mrs. Scott, that it may help her to go to the city and get something done for Alice's eyes."

"My dear Harriet, this money is yours, and you have a right to do what you will with it, but I hope you have thought well of what you are going to do now. It will not do afterwards to be sorry you did not buy the books you want, which you will not be likely to get in any other way."

"Oh no, Aunt Kitty! I do not want them now; at least, I do not want them half so much as I want Alice to see again, and I have thought very much about it,—indeed I have.

"When I first heard Mrs. Scott and you talking this morning, and you said Alice was blind, and Mrs. Scott was too poor to take her to the good doctors, who might do something for her, I remembered my gold piece, and thought I would give it to her to help her, and I was just going to tell you so when Betty Maclaurin came up, and you stopped to speak to her about going to Mrs. Scott's, and then I could not, you know."

"Well, but you could have told me after she had gone, if you still wished it."

"Yes, I know I could, but while you were talking to her, I remembered my books, and I called all their names over, and thought how Alice would like to hear me read them, till I wanted them more than ever; and then I thought it would be a great deal kinder to get them and read some of them every day to Alice, than to give Mrs. Scott my money, which, though I think it so much, would hardly help her at all. Besides, Aunt Kitty, I knew you and my uncle and my grandpapa would give Mrs. Scott a great deal more money than my two dollars and a half, if it would help Alice."

"And what made my little girl change her mind—what made her think this would not be best?"

"I do not know, Aunt Kitty; I only know I could not think of any thing but Alice all day, though I tried every way to forget her, and every thing I looked at made me feel bad, because Alice could not see it too."

"Did my little Harriet never think, during all this time, of that verse she learned from her Bible the other day, which I told her would always teach her what she ought to do for others, 'As ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise?'"

"Oh yes! Aunt Kitty, I thought of that this evening, when you were telling me what a dreadful thing it is to be blind, and that I might have been blind, as well as Alice, and I said to myself, if I had been blind, I would have thought it very unkind in Alice not to do all she could to help me to see again, and then I felt as if I was so cruel that I could not help crying; and when you said you were going to write for the books, I wanted to beg you not to do it, but somehow I could not—so I only bid you good-night, and came to bed."

"And what happened then to make you feel differently? Tell me all you felt and thought, dear child, and then I shall know whether you are doing right now."

"Why you see, Aunt Kitty, after I was undressed I knelt down to say my prayers, and after I had thanked God as you told me to do, for my own eyesight, I tried to pray that He would give Alice back hers; but, though I said the words over and over again, I could not feel as if I was praying them, for I kept thinking, Aunt Kitty, how deceitful God would think me, to pretend to care so much for Alice's eyes, when I really cared so much more about my books; and then I remembered the little prayer you taught me once, 'Oh God! I pray thee show me what is right to do, and make me love to do it.' As soon as I said 'what is right to do,' it came into my head that it was right for me to do all I could for Alice, if everybody else did ever so much for her; and now, Aunt Kitty, I wish I had a great deal more money, that I might give it all to her—and though I am just as sorry for Alice, I do not feel half so bad about her; for if we are willing to do all we can for her, God, who loves her a great deal more than any of us, will certainly give her back her eyesight. Don't you think he will, Aunt Kitty?"

"God does love her a great deal more than we do, my dear; but He is a great deal wiser than we are, and He may see that it is best for Alice that she should continue blind, though it seems so terrible to us. You must remember, therefore, that Alice may go to the city and come back no better. Should you not feel sorry then that you had given up your books without doing her any good?"

Harriet thought for a moment, and then said, "No, Aunt Kitty, for I should have done what was right, and I could never feel sorry for that, you know."

I kissed the sweet child, and said, "Dear Harriet, always remember what you now say. Do right, my child, and you will be happy, let what will happen,—far happier than if by doing wrong you could get every thing in the world you wished for. And now I may tell you that you could have made no use of your money which I would have thought half so good, or which would have given me half so much pleasure."

"I am very glad, Aunt Kitty; I was afraid at first that you did not like me to give it away."

"Why, Harriet? What made you feel afraid of this?"

"Because you did not talk at first as you do when you are very much pleased."

"I had a reason, my dear, for not seeming very much pleased until I had heard why you wished to give your money to Alice,—a very good reason, I think, which it would take me too long to explain to you to-night, for it is very late already for such a little girl to be sitting up. Go to bed now, and to-morrow morning I will tell you all about it." Harriet went to bed, and soon forgot her good intentions and my good reasons in a sound sleep.

I dare say my little readers thought just as Harriet did, that I did not seem at first as much pleased as I ought to have been with her kind and generous feelings to her friend; but if they will read the conversation I had with her the next morning, I think they will understand why this was.

I did not wake Harriet as early as usual the next morning, because she had been up so late at night. As soon, however, as she was well awake, she remembered our conversation, and said, "Now, Aunt Kitty, you will tell me what you promised?"

"Not now, my love, for it is late, and breakfast will soon be ready; but after breakfast we will go to Mrs. Scott's, and on our way there, I will answer all your questions."

As soon as we had set out for Mrs. Scott's, Harriet again reminded me of my promise.

"Well, my love," said I, "you wish to know why I did not tell you at once how much pleased I was with your intention to help Alice. It was because I wanted first to hear your reasons for doing it, and so to know whether you were acting from an impulse or a principle."

Now my little readers are doubtless very much puzzled by this "acting from an impulse or a principle," and so was Harriet, too. She looked up in my face with a very thoughtful air for a minute, then shook her head, and said, "Aunt Kitty, I do not understand you at all, I do not even know what impulse means, or principle either."

"I did not expect you would, my love; but I hope to be able to explain them to