d then he began
to talk very gently about different sorts of kindness, and that if I
wished to be kind like a Christian, I must be kind without hoping for
any reward, whether gratitude or anything else. He told me that the
best followers of Jesus in all times had tried hard to do everything,
however small, simply for GOD's sake, and to put themselves
away. That they often began even their letters, etc., with such words,
as, "Glory to GOD," to remind themselves that everything they
did, to be perfect, must be done to GOD, and GOD alone. And that in
doing good kind things even, they were afraid lest, though the thing
was right, the wish to do it might have come from conceit or
presumption.

"This self-devotion," he added, "is the very highest Christian life,
and seems, I dare say, very hard for you even to understand, and much
more so to put in practice. But we must all try for it in the best way
we can, little woman; and for those who by GOD's grace really
practised it, it was almost as impossible to be downcast or
disappointed as if they were already in Heaven. They wished for
nothing to happen to themselves but GOD's will; they did
nothing but for GOD's glory. And so a very good bishop says,
'I have my end, whether I succeed or am disappointed.' So you will
have your end, my child, in being kind to these little birds in the
right way, and denying yourself, whether they know you or not."

I could not have understood all he said; but I am afraid I did not try
to understand what I might have done; however, I said no more, and
stood silent, while he comforted me with the promise of a new flower
for my garden, called "hen and chickens," which he said I was to take
care of instead of the little blackbirds.

When he was gone I went back to the holly-bush, and stood gazing at
the nest, and nursing angry thoughts in my heart. "What a _preach_," I
thought, "about nothing! as if there could be any conceit and
presumption in taking care of three poor little birds! The curate must
forget that I was growing into a big girl; and as to not knowing how
to feed them, I knew as well as he did that birds lived upon worms,
and liked bread-crumbs." And so _thinking wrong_ ended (as it almost
always does) in _doing wrong_: and I took the three little blackbirds
out of the nest, popped them into my pocket-handkerchief, and ran
home. And I took some trouble to keep them out of everyone's
sight--even out of my mother's; for I did not want t