“I have not done much for Susy, but love her dearly; and I have not taught her much, but to love everybody.  When she was a baby I tried to teach her to smile, but I don’t think I could have taught her if Miss Joy had not helped me.  And when she was sick, I was always sorry for her, and tried to comfort her.”

“You have done her a great deal of good,” said Susy’s papa, “we will engage you to stay six years longer, should God spare her life.”

Then Mr. Pain took up his book.  It had a black cover, but the leaves were gilt-edged and the cover was spangled with stars.

“I have punished Susy a good many times,” said Mr. Pain.  “Sometimes I slapped her with my hand; sometimes I struck her with my rod; sometimes I made her sick; but I never did any of these things because I was angry with her or liked to hurt her.  I only came when Mrs. Love called me.”

“You have taught her excellent lessons,” said Susy’s papa, “if it had not been for you she would be growing up disobedient and selfish.  You may stay six years longer.”

Then Mr. Pain made a low bow and said he was thinking of going away and sending his brother, Mr. Sorrow, and his sister, Mrs. Disappointment, to take his place.”

“Oh, no!” cried Susy’s mamma, “not yet, not yet!  Susy is still so little!”

Then Mr. Pain said he would stay without a rod, as Susy was now too old to be whipped.

Then Miss Joy took up her book with its rainbow cover and tried to read.  But she laughed so heartily all the time, and her leaves kept flying out of her hands at such a rate, that it was not possible to understand what she was saying.  It was all about clapping hands and running races, and picking flowers and having a good time.  Everybody laughed just because she laughed, and Susy’s papa could hardly keep his face grave long enough to say: 

“You have done more good than tongue can tell.  You have made her just such a merry, happy, laughing little creature as I wanted her to be.  You must certainly stay six years longer.”

Then Mr. Ought drew forth his book.  It had silver covers and its leaves were of the most delicate tissue.

“I have taught little Susy to be good,” said he.  “Never to touch what is not hers; never to speak a word that is not true; never to have a thought she would not like the great and holy God to see.  If I stay six years longer I can teach her a great deal more, for she begins now to understand my faintest whisper.  She is such a little girl as I love to live with.”

Then Susy turned rosy-red with pleasure, and her papa and mamma got up and shook hands with Mr. Ought and begged him never, never to leave their darling child as long as she lived.

It was now the turn of Aunt Patience.  Her book had covers wrought by her own hands in grave and gay colors well mingled together.