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IX.

CAROLINE AND HER KITTEN;

OR, THE PRETTY FACE, WITH A SCAR ON IT.

Caroline Rose was as happy a girl as ever you saw in your life—­“as happy as the days are long”—­so her schoolmaster used to say.  There were a great many good points in Caroline’s character besides this, that she was so generally cheerful—­for I consider that a good point in any one’s character.  She was kind to her companions, obedient, respectful, and affectionate to her parents; and she seldom got into a fit of anger, or made a fool of herself by being sulky.  One might have met her frequently, and have supposed that he was well acquainted with her, and still have loved her very much.  Yet there was one thing in her character which every one, as soon as he saw it, must dislike, and which sometimes, where she was well known, made her appear exceedingly unlovely.  Shall I tell you what that was?  I will do so, so as to put you on your guard in that particular point.  That trait in her character was selfishness.  If she ever got anything that she liked, she used to act as if she were not willing that any one else should enjoy it with her.  Indeed, she appeared to be displeased, if one of her playmates, as was sometimes the case, did take a great deal of pleasure in her pretty things.

Her father once brought her home a fine set of tea things, when she was quite young.  Now, should you not suppose that she would like to have all the girls in the neighborhood come and take tea with her, and use her pretty new cups and saucers, and spoons and plates?  Well, so should I. But she showed a great deal of selfishness in this matter—­so much, in fact, that she made herself appear ridiculous, as well as unlovely.  She was glad to have the girls come and look at the tea things, and hear them say that they were very pretty.  But that was as far as her generosity went.  She did not ask the girls to sit down and drink tea with her.  Indeed, she did not want her playmates to handle the cups and saucers.  “I’m so afraid you will break them!” said she.  What a foolish and unreasonable girl!

It got to be a sort of proverb in the little village where Caroline resided, when any one was not very generous, “She’s almost as selfish as Carrie Rose,” I don’t know whether she knew how she was regarded among boys and girls of her own age; and I don’t know how much she cared for their good will, if she did hear what they thought of her.  But this I know, that I could not bear to have such a character.  I would rather give away half of all I am worth than to give any reason to people to think I was mean and selfish.  How I should dislike to have folks say to themselves, and perhaps to others, when they meet me in the streets, “There goes a selfish man—­a man who is about as good as people will average, in other respects, but who is as small as the little end of nothing, in his dealings.”  I think I would rather live on a crust of dry bread than to get money by being close, and small, and mean, and selfish.