risk the shipwreck of their souls
by refusing the help and advice of the Holy Spirit in passing through
this world, so full of danger and temptation."

"Oh, I see now, father; that is what my Sunday school teacher calls an
illustration."

"Yes," answered his father; "and now let us have a little talk about
'there's time enough.' I dare say you will be surprised when I tell you
it is really selfishness that makes you so fond of putting off."

"Oh, mother!" said Charlie, quickly, "I didn't think I was selfish. Do
you think I am?"

Mrs. Heedman could scarcely help smiling at his tone of injured
innocence. "I think I shall wait and hear what your father has to say
before I give an answer."

John Heedman went on: "You remember, Charlie, the French marigolds we
set, don't you?"

"Yes, I do remember indeed; it was so odd, mother, it was all the same
sort of seed, but when it grew up there was such a difference in the
form and shade of the flowers, we could scarcely find two alike."

"Well, then, you will understand me when I tell you that in the heart of
every one there is the seed of selfishness, which, as it grows, shows
itself in a different form in each person. In some it shows itself as
pride; in others as envy, greediness, jealousy, covetousness,
procrastination, indolence, and so on. Every sin, if we trace it, we
shall find that it springs from the seed selfishness--from love of self.
It is love of self that makes us forget to feel for others--careless,
disobliging; indeed, it would take me an hour to go through the list of
evils that spring from that same love of self. Learn these things, my
boy, when you're young. People seldom change their character and habits
after they get men and women. It is easier to bend this twig than that
tree in the road; and as you place it, so it will grow."

"What are we to do then, father?" asked Charlie.

"Ask God to help you to watch for it; and as it sprouts up, keep cutting
it down, trampling upon it, and rooting it up, as you would some noxious
weed that threatened to spread over your garden, smothering and stealing
away the nourishment from your flowers."

"What would you call the flowers of the heart, father?" Charlie asked,
with a smile.

"Faith, hope, charity, peace, love, gentleness, goodness," answered his
father, readily; "one can imagine all these flowers, and many more,
perhaps, that I have not mentioned, clustering round the fountain of
prayer, depending upo