I have a little secret, Mamma; my sister told me you would not be angry, and nobody knows but her:—do not tell yet, Kitty.
Mamma.
I dare say she will not, my love; and if she were going I would not let her. You heard me say, I never desire to know secrets. I think no wise person would; but I should be very sorry any body belonging to me should not be able to keep a secret, if they were intrusted with one. But I will tell you something that is no secret; which is, that your long walk has tired you; and that you look very sleepy; therefore, I advise you to go to-bed.
Gilbert waked soon in the morning; and as the sun shone very bright, and it was a delightful morning, he longed to take his fishing-rod once more; but his Mamma having desired him not, he did not attempt it; but before he went to school he went with his violin to Lydia’s door, and waked her with a very cheerful tune, wished her many happy birth-days, and then went away. Lydia arose as soon as the maid came into her room, and went to receive a kiss from her Mamma; she then walked down stairs, and the first thing she saw at the hall door was her little lamb, with a new blue ribbon round his neck, and shaking some little round bells that were fastened to it. Away she flew first to her Mamma, then to her sisters, to ask who had made her lamb so fine? but they could not give her any information; every body in the house was asked to no purpose. After a little while, I think, said Mamma—I guess! I guess too, cried out little Lydia, it must be Gilbert; you know he said he had a secret; that is it depend upon it: how kind it was of him! how dearly I do love Gilbert! Every body must love him dearly, said his Mamma. I wish, said Lydia, I knew how to make him some return. I wish I could do any thing to please him.—Your wish is natural and amiable; but be satisfied, that Gilbert finds in the performance of such acts of good-nature and kindness, a higher reward than any we could give him; believe me there is a delight in being kind, and affectionate, and generous, that is beyond any pleasure that relates merely to a person’s own self; and if the most ill-tempered and selfish person in the world would but determine for one month to say nothing but what was kind; and to be always doing obliging and liberal things, he would find himself so much more comfortable, so much better, not only in mind but in health; and so much more easy and satisfied with himself, that mere self-love would make him continue such a conduct.
Lydia.
I am delighted even with seeing my little lamb happy, when I feed and caress him. I think it is a great pleasure to have the power of making any thing happy.
Mamma.
Cherish, my dearest child, this disposition, and these feelings; and if you should ever meet with unkindness from others, do not let that incline you to be less kind and good. Bear always in your mind the text I once taught you, “Be not overcome of evil; but overcome evil with good.” And if you see persons by their ill-temper offend God, and vex every body they are connected with, instead of making their bad behaviour an excuse for your own, think what a sad thing it would be if you, seeing the disagreeableness of their behaviour, were to become like them; and on the contrary, think what an honour it will be to you, if, by your example, by seeing you always patient, and kind, and disinterested, others leave off disputes and selfishness, and grow good.
Lydia.
Here comes the dear Gilbert.