said, and she was about to be left for the night, her mother, sitting in
a chair at the head of her little bed, and putting her hand lovingly upon
her, said:

_The Story_.

"But first I must tell you one more little story.

"Once there was a boy, and his name was Ernest. He was a pretty large boy,
for he was five years old."

Louisa, it must be recollected, was only four.

"He was a very pretty boy. He had bright blue eyes and curling hair. He
was a very good boy, too. He did not like to do any thing wrong. He always
found that it made him feel uncomfortable and unhappy afterwards when he
did any thing wrong. A good many children, especially good children, find
that it makes them feel uncomfortable and unhappy when they do wrong.
Perhaps you do."

"Yes, mamma, I do," said Louisa.

"I am glad of that," replied her mother; "that is a good sign."

"Ernest went one day," added the mother, continuing her story, "with his
little cousin Anna to their uncle's, in hopes that he would give them
some apples. Their uncle had a beautiful garden, and in it there was an
apple-tree which bore most excellent apples. They were large, and rosy, and
mellow, and sweet. The children liked the apples from that tree very much,
and Ernest and Anna went that day in hopes that their uncle would give them