I.

Little Agnes.

   “And she, not seven years old,
   A slighted child.”—­Wordsworth.

“What is it Lewie wants?  Does he want sister’s pretty book?”

“No!” roared the cross baby boy, pointing with his finger to the side-board.

“Well, see here, Lewie! here is a pretty ball; shall we roll it?  There! now roll it back to sister.”

“No-o-o!” still screamed Master Lewie, the little finger still stretched out towards something on the side-board which he seemed much to desire.

“Here is my lovely dolly, Lewie.  If you will be very careful, I will let you take her.  See her beautiful eyes!  Will Lewie make her open and shut her eyes?”

“No-o-o-o!” again shouted the fretful child, and this time so loud as effectually to arouse his youthful mamma, who was deep in an arm-chair, and deeper still in the last fashionable novel.

“Agnes!” she exclaimed sharply, “cannot you let that child alone?  I told you to amuse him; and instead of doing so, you seem to delight in teazing him and making him scream.”

Again the little girl tried in various ways to amuse the wayward child.  He really was not well, and felt cross and irritable, and nothing that his little sister could do to please him would succeed.  With the utmost patience and gentleness she labored to bring a smile to her little brother’s cheek, or at least so to win his attention as to keep him from disturbing her mother.  But the handkerchief rabbits, and the paper men and women she could cut so beautifully, and which at times gave little Lewie so much pleasure, were now all dashed impatiently aside.  One by one her little playthings were brought out, and placed before him, but with no better success.  Lewie had once seen the contents of a beautiful work-box of his sister’s, which stood in the centre of the side-board:  at this he pointed, and for this he screamed.  Nothing else would please him; at nothing else would he condescend to look.

“Oh, Lewie! darling Lewie! play with something else!  Don’t you know Aunt Ellen gave sister that pretty work-box? and she said I must be so careful of it, and Lewie would break all sister’s pretty things.”

Again Master Lewie had recourse to the strength of his lungs, which he knew, by past experience, to be all-powerful in gaining whatever his fancy might desire, and sent forth a roar so loud as once more to arouse the attention of the novel-reading mamma; who, with a stamp of the foot, and a threatening shake of the finger, gave the little girl to understand that she must expect instant and severe punishment, if Lewie was heard to scream again.

Still Lewie demanded the work-box, and nothing that the patient little Agnes could do would divert his attention from it for a moment.  The little angry brow was contracted, and the mouth wide open for another shriek, when little Agnes, with a sigh of despair, went to the side-board, and, mounting on a chair, lifted down her much-valued and carefully-preserved treasure, saying to herself: