on. And very soon the
train went speeding away from the smoky streets of the city toward the
green fields and shady lanes of the country.

Now, if Bessie Green had been as wise as her companions, she would
have done as they did--looked out of the window and admired all she
saw passing by, and so have begun the enjoyment of the day; for to
eyes unaccustomed to such scenes even the cows and sheep grazing in
the meadows or the horses galloping off across the fields frightened
by the train were all new and amusing sights. But our foolish little
friend, instead of doing this, began to look first at her own dress
and then at her neighbors', and thereby she grew discontented: "_If_ I
only had a felt hat with a red feather in it, like Mary Jones',
instead of this straw one with a plain bit of blue ribbon round it,
how I should like it! and _if_ mother would buy me a smart muslin
frock, such as Emma Smith wears, how much better it would be than the
cotton frocks she always gets for me!" And she pouted and frowned and
looked so miserable that her schoolfellows would have wondered what
was the matter if they had noticed her, but they were so busy thinking
of other things that they never saw there was anything amiss. Happy
children! They had resolved to enjoy themselves, and they did so from
morning till night, while unhappy little Bessie let discontent creep
in, and so her holiday--that day she had looked forward to so
much--was, as I said before, spoilt.

Ah! I fear there are many people in this world, both young and old,
who do as Bessie did: instead of being contented with the state of
life in which God has placed them, and doing their best to make
themselves and others happy, they let this little word "_if_" creep in
on every occasion, and in too many cases spoil not _one day only_, but
their _whole lives_.

[Illustration: GOOD-BYE.]

But to return to our story. The train went speeding along, miles and
miles away from London, with its millions of people and houses and
hot, dusty streets and courts, where almost the only green leaves were
the cabbages on the costermongers' trucks, out into the pure, fresh,
breezy country, where houses were as scarce as trees in the city, and
the cornfields stretched away and away, till bounded in the far
distance by sloping heathery hills. And what a shout of pleasure arose
from the two hundred throats of our little travellers when at length
they stopped at a roadside station and exchanged