His brother was
called Harry, and was seven. They were very much like other boys,
somewhat disposed to have their own way in every thing, and a little
vexed when they could not do as they pleased; sometimes really
wishing to do right, and be obedient, and make their mother happy.
The little fellows were fond of saying to their mother that when
they grew bigger they should take care of her; and the idea that she
depended upon them for her happiness often made them stop and think
when they were disposed to do a wrong thing.
When Harry said to Frank, "Mother will be so sorry if we do it,"
Frank would stop and think, and that was enough.
Stop and think. Grand words, and worth attending to. I believe that,
if boys and girls would only keep these words well in mind, there
would be only a small number of really naughty children.
It was a custom with this good and faithful mother to have a little
talk with her boys, every night before their bed time, of what had
passed during the day. Sometimes she told them stories, sometimes
they repeated poetry.
The hours they passed in this way were the happiest in the whole
day. Some of their twilight talks and stories Mrs. Chilton wrote
down, thinking they might amuse some little cousins, who lived at a
distance.
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