“Yes.”
“But I am sure there is no painting in the eyes.”
“Yes, Ellen; every object you behold is painted upon a part of the eye called the retina; but that you cannot understand now, and you must let me go on with my anecdote of the two children. When they arose in the morning, they found that their Friend had taken such good care of them when they slept that they felt no pain; that their limbs were all active, and they could every moment receive pleasure from the precious gems and instruments I have mentioned. They both looked out of the window, and exclaimed, ‘What a beautiful morning!’ The little girl turned her gems toward the multiflora, now full of roses and glistening with dew-drops, and she clapped her hands, and asked her brother if he ever saw anything so beautiful; and he turned his gems to a pair of humming-birds, that were fluttering over the honey-suckle, and thrusting their tiny pumps into the necks of the flowers; and as their bright images shone on his gems, he shouted, ‘Did you ever see anything so handsome?’”
“You mean, mother,” said Charles, “that he looked at the humming-birds, when you say he turned his gems?”
“Yes, my dear; and when he heard the pleasant humming they make with their wings, it was by the instrument set in the head which you call the ear. There was not a moment of the day that the children did not enjoy some good thing their Friend had given to them. They learnt their lessons by using the memories he had given them, because he had given them minds by which they understood them. They loved their parents, and relations, and companions, because their Friend had given them affections.”
“It seems to me,” interrupted Charley, “that Friend gave them everything. It must be God, mother, for I know he gives us everything we have.”
“Yes, my dear Charley; and I am sorry to say these two children neglected their Friend. They had often been told by their mother never to get into bed without first kneeling and thanking him for all his gifts; but they did not think of him. They used and enjoyed his gifts, but they sometimes forgot the Giver.”
Ellen laid her head on her mother’s bosom,—
“Mother,” she said, “you mean us.”
“My dear Ellen,” replied her mother, “your conscience is like the ring in the fairy tale. Yes, I did mean you and Charles. I was sorry, when I came into the room to-night, to see you getting into bed without saying your prayers. God has given you a voice to speak, my children. Your dog, Dash, Charles, cannot speak to thank God for anything he receives; but you can.”