The little girl handed Hannah a bouquet of flowers, which she had gathered for Jane, and returned home with the faith that her kindness had not been misapplied. She had scarcely left the room, when Hannah, standing by her mother’s chair, talking to herself, said, loud enough to be heard across the room,—
“I like flowers—she often calls me Jane—she thinks I am Jane—I’m going to keep this bouquet.”
The mother made no objection to the soliloquy, and Hannah immediately began to pick the leaves from the handsome rose, for the purpose of making rose water. She had not completed her task when Jane bounded into the room, and seeing Hannah with flowers, exclaimed,—
“I’m going to have a bouquet pretty soon. Sally Johnson said she would bring me one this afternoon.”
“But she won’t,” said Hannah.
“I’ll go and see,” returned Jane, tripping as she spoke towards the front door.
“Here, Jane,” said the mother, “Sally brought this bouquet for you, but you were not in, and she gave it to Hannah.”
The tears started in Jane’s eyes. She felt that she had been robbed, and she knew that Hannah had been preferred to her. Hannah had been encouraged in a deliberate falsehood and in deception towards her sister. Many a time since has that mother felt herself obliged to punish her daughter for prevarications, and often has she been heard to say that she wondered where so small a child learned so much deceit.
This is a small affair at best, some may say; but do not
“Large streams from little fountains flow—
Tall oaks from little acorns grow?”