Brown. He treated her as if she were his mother, and her son was to
him as a brother. He was often heard to say, "The sound of Harry
Brown's crutches always reminds me sorrowfully that when there is a
duty to perform involving the rights of others we should never say,
It is only a trifle."

"It seems to me," said Frank, "that I should never have been happy
again to have caused so much misery by the neglect of my duty; and
yet, Mother, it did seem a trifle."

"My mother," replied Mrs. Chilton, "said to me, when I was a girl,
Never consider any duty, ever so great, as too difficult, or any,
ever so small, as too trifling. I have never forgotten her words,
and though I have not always been faithful to this lesson, it has
often saved me from wrong-doing and its consequent unhappiness."

After a short silence, Mrs. Chilton said to her boys, The next story
is not so painful, but it illustrates the same truth--that, in
matters of conscience, nothing is trifling. You shall now hear how
happy a good conscience can make one even under the severest trials.

One pleasant afternoon, my friend and I were seated in the neat
little room which served old Susan Vincent for parlor, kitchen, and
bed-room. She was sitting in a nice arm-chair which her infirmities
made necessary for her comfort. A kind friend had sent it to her.
She had on a nice clean gingham gown, a handkerchief crossed on her
neck, in the fashion of the Shakers, and a plain cap, as white as
the driven snow, covered her silver locks. A little round table,
polished by frequent scouring, stood beside her; on it was her
knitting work, Baxter's Saints' Rest, and the Bible; the last lay