the evening came, and Sally, with an affectionate kiss, had
bidden him good-night and gone away to bed, he felt as though a cloud
had cast its shadow over the house. So one morning, when Uncle Tom was
going out for a walk and wanted Sally to go with him, he said, "Where
is my little sunbeam? Sally Sunbeam, where are you? Oh, here you are!"
laughing as she came skipping in from the garden.

"But my name is not Sally Sunbeam, uncle," she said. "My name is Sally
Brown."

Her mamma smiled. "It is only your uncle's fun," she said.

"Well, it is only my fun," said Uncle Tom. "But it's a very proper
name for her, for all that. She is more like a sunbeam than anything
else. So come along, Sally Sunbeam. Let us go and have a nice walk."

And from that time Uncle Tom never called her by any other name. And
other people came to call her by it too, and everybody felt that it
was as true and fitting a name for her as ever a child could have.

Here she is in our picture, hanging up her doll's clothes, that she
has just washed. How bright and happy she looks! Uncle Tom may well
call her Sally Sunbeam. But it is not only her cheerfulness and
playfulness that makes her worthy of her name. This, of itself, would
not be sufficient to make her loved as she is loved. Oh no! It is the
kindness of her heart, the gentleness of her disposition, the delight
she takes in trying to make everybody happy. This is what makes
everybody love her.

Only the other day a group of several children passed the garden gate
on their way from school. There was one poor little thing amongst them
whose dress was so shabby and whose shoes were so bad as to make it
evident that her parents must be very, very poor.

Sad to say, her schoolfellows were jeering her and teasing her about
her appearance. One of these especially was taunting her very cruelly,
and the poor child was crying. Sally ran out to her, and putting her
arm lovingly round her said,

"What is the matter, dear? What do you cry for?"

"Because they keep on laughing at me so," sobbed the child.

"Well, who can help laughing at her?" cried the girl who had been
teasing her the most. "Look at her shoes! Do you call those shoes?"

And at this the children all burst out laughing afresh.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said Sally, "to laugh at the
poor child and make her cry. It is very cruel of you. Suppose _you_
could not get good shoes, how would _you_ like to be laughed at?"

A