"But mother, Lucy always can find everything, and I always can't." And so it proved. Lucy, with infinite sweetness, found and arranged all that was wanted, and the happy little troop issued from the street-door and were bounding away, when their mother called after them, "John! Sammy! here, for mercy's sake! John, you must take a bottle of wine to poor old Bretti."
"Mother!—clear to Reed-street!"
"Not if you do not choose, sir," replied his mother, sternly, for she could manifest displeasure when her children failed in an act of kindness.
"Do give it to me, mother—I do choose, only it's such a horrid long way down there."
"No. Charlie will take it by-and-by. The way should never seem horrid long when we go to do a kindness."
"Well, I don't see what he wants wine for—you and father never drink wine."
"The doctor has ordered it for him, John. Now, my boy, you are conscious you have done wrong, and are trying to find some reason for it. Sammy, take this book to Sarah Martin."
"Has the doctor ordered a book to cure Sarah Martin's lame foot, mother?" asked Sam, laughing.
"I don't know as to that, Sam, but I know it's what they call an 'easing medicine' for all diseases that are not too bad to admit of using it—ah, Charlie! good-morning to you. Your breakfast is all ready, and Lucy ready to bake you cakes."
"That's frustrate, mother." Never did breakfast meet a keener appetite to do it justice, an appetite prepared by long exercise in the morning air, and stimulated by good food, arranged by "neat-
