James and Henry;
OR, “TWO WRONGS NEVER MAKE A RIGHT.”
A MOTHER, who loved her children very much, sat reading a good book one day, while her two little boys were playing in the next room. All at once loud cries and angry words fell upon her ears, and gave her great pain. She rose up quickly, and went in to the children, and there she saw a sad sight indeed. James, her eldest boy, whose eighth birthday had just been passed, was standing over his younger brother, Henry, with his hand raised, and his face red with anger; and Henry had doubled his little fist, and was ready to strike again.
“James! Henry!” cried their mother, as soon as her eyes fell upon them.
“Mother! mother! Henry knocked over my house, and he did it on purpose,” said the eldest boy, a blush of shame covering his face, and hiding the red anger that was on it an instant before.
“No, mother, I didn’t do it on purpose,” spoke up little Henry. “It was an accident; and he struck me.”
“And then what did you do?” asked the mother, taking the little boy by the hand, and looking him in the face.
Henry held down his head, and replied, “I struck him again.”
“Oh, how wrong that was!”
“But I didn’t mean to knock over his house.”