ter Davers?"
cries my Billy. "Yes, brother Billy. But what will become of the
naughty boys? Tell us, mamma, about the naughty boys!"

"Why, there was a poor, poor widow woman, who had three naughty sons,
and one naughty daughter; and they would do nothing that their mamma
bid them do; were always quarrelling, scratching, and fighting; would
not say their prayers; would not learn their books; so that the little
boys used to laugh at them, and point at them, as they went along, for
blockheads; and nobody loved them, or took notice of them, except
to beat and thump them about, for their naughty ways, and their
undutifulness to their poor mother, who worked hard to maintain them.
As they grew up, they grew worse and worse, and more and more stupid
and ignorant; so that they impoverished their poor mother, and at last
broke her heart, poor poor widow woman!--And her neighbours joined
together to bury the poor widow woman: for these sad ungracious
children made away with what little she had left, while she was ill,
before her heart was quite broken; and this helped to break it the
sooner: for had she lived, she saw she must have wanted bread, and had
no comfort with such wicked children."

"Poor poor widow woman!" said my Billy, with tears; and my little dove
shed tears too, and Davers was moved, and Miss wiped her fine eyes.

"But what became of the naughty boys, and the naughty girl, mamma?"

"Became of them! Why one son was forced to go to sea, and there he was
drowned: another turned thief (for he would not work), and he came to
an untimely end: the third was idle and ignorant, and nobody, who knew
how he used his poor mother, would employ him; and so he was forced to
go into a far country, and beg his bread. And the naughty girl, having
never loved work, pined away in sloth and filthiness, and at last
broke her arm, and died of a fever, lamenting, too late, that she had
been so wicked a daughter to so good a mother!--And so there was a
sad end to all the four ungracious children, who never would mind what
their poor mother said to them; and God punished their naughtiness as
you see!--While the good children I mentioned before, were the glory
of their family, and the delight of every body that knew them."

"Who would not be good?" was the inference: and the repetition from
Billy, with his hands clapt together, "Poor widow woman!" gave me much
pleasure.

So my childish story ended, with a kiss of each pretty dear, an