“There are two children who have a great and kind Friend, who is always taking care of them, whether they are awake or asleep.”
“I suppose you mean their mother,” said little Charley, who was always impatient to get at the story.
“No, my love; this Friend gave them their father and mother.”
“Oh, you mean God,” whispered Ellen.
Her mother did not reply to her, but proceeded,—
“This bountiful Friend has given to them the most beautiful and wonderful gems in the world.”
“Gems! what are gems, mother?” asked Charles.
“Precious jewels, my dear. Those I am speaking of are very small, but so curiously formed that as soon as the casket which contains them is opened, there is immediately painted on them a beautiful picture of all the objects toward which they are turned. If it be a landscape, like that which you see every morning from your chamber window, there appear on the gems those beautiful mountains that rise one above another; the mist that curls up their sides; the bright lake that glistens in the depth of the valley, and which you call the mountain mirror, Ellen; the large orchards, with their trees gracefully bending with their ruddy and golden fruit; the neat house opposite to us, with its pretty curtain of vines hanging over the door, and rose-bushes clustering about the windows.”
“What, mother!” exclaimed Charles; “all these things painted on a little gem?”
“Yes, Charles, all; the high mountains, and the rose-bushes, every leaf and bud of them. And then, if the gems are turned towards the inside of the house, the landscape disappears, and all the furniture is painted on them, and the perfect pictures of their friends; not such pictures as you see done by painters, looking grave and motionless, but smiling, speaking, and moving.”