“Ellen would not let me hold it, and I got angry and threw it upon the floor. I didn’t mean to break it.”
At this confession, Albert’s mother was very much grieved.
“But what right had you to Ellen’s doll?” she asked.
“I wanted to hold it.”
“But it was your sister’s, not yours; and if she did not wish you to have it, that was no reason why you should get angry and break it.”
“But, indeed, mother, I didn’t mean to break it.”
“I don’t suppose you did. I should be very sorry to think you were so wicked. Still, you have been guilty of a great wrong to your sister; and to this you have no doubt been led by indulging in that covetous spirit of which I have so often talked to you, and which, if not overcome, may lead you into some great evil when you become a man. But tell me just how it happened.”
And Albert truthfully related what had passed.
“I cannot tell you how much all this grieves me,” his mother said. “Ellen never interferes with your pleasures, and never covets your playthings nor books, but you give her no peace with anything she has. If your father brings each of you home a book, yours is thrown aside in a few moments, and you want to look at hers. It is this covetous spirit—this desiring to have what belongs to another—that leads to stealing; and unless you put it away from your heart, you will be in great danger of more temptations than now assail you. Poor Ellen! Her heart is almost broken about her doll.”
“I am very sorry, mother,” replied Albert in a penitent voice. “I wish I hadn’t touched her doll. Don’t you think it can be mended? Can’t I buy her a new hand for it? I will take the money out of my box.”