Sometimes she walked about herself and explained a few of the pictures to her little guests.
One day I chanced to be present when she was showing a few of them to a little visiter; and I think my young reader may like to hear what passed.
Mrs. Lovechild. That is Miss Goodchild.—I have read an account of her, written by her mother.
Miss. Pray, madam, what was it?
Mrs. Lovechild. It is too long to repeat now, my dear; but I will tell you a part.—She was never known to disobey her parents; never heard to contradict her brothers or sisters; nor did she ever refuse to comply with any request of theirs.—I wish you to read her character, for she was a pattern of goodness.
Miss. Pray, madam, was she pretty?
Mrs. Lovechild. She had a healthful color: and her countenance was sweet, because she was always good-humored.—That smile on her mouth seems to say—I wish you all happy; but it was not for her beauty, but her goodness, that she was beloved: and on that account only did I wish for her picture.
Miss. Pray, madam, why is that boy drawn with a frog in his hand?
Mrs. Lovechild. In memory of a kind action which he did to a poor harmless frog.—You shall hear the whole story.—I was taking my morning walk pretty early one day, and I heard a voice say, “Pray do not kill it; I will give you this penny, it is all I have, and I shall not mind going without my breakfast, which I was to have bought with it.”
“You shall not lose your meal!” exclaimed I; “nor you, naughty boys, the punishment which you deserve for your cruel intention.”