s. He not only liked to have them about him, but
it gave him great joy to protect them. One of his pets was a guinea pig.

"There are few traits of character that speak better for the future of a
boy than that which seeks to protect the helpless and overlooked in the
brute creation," said Uncle Benjamin to Abiah Franklin one day. "There
are not many animals that have so many enemies as a guinea pig. Cats,
dogs, and even the hens run after the harmless little thing. I wonder
that this one should be alive now. He would have been dead but for Ben."

Abiah had been spinning. It was a windy day, and the winds, too, had
been spinning as it were around the house. She had stopped to rest in
her work. But the winds had not stopped, but kept up a sound like that
of the wheel.

"You are always saying good things about little Ben," said Abiah. "What
is it that you see in him that is different from other boys?"

"_Personality_," said Uncle Ben. "Look at him now, out in the yard. He
has been protecting the pigeon boxes from the wind, and after them the
rabbit warren. He is always seeking to make life more comfortable for
everybody and everything. Now, Abiah, a heart that seeks the good of
others will never want for a friend and a home. This _personality_ will
make for him many friends and some enemies in the future. The power of
life lies in the heart."

The weather door opened, and little Ben came into the room and asked for
a cooky out of the earthen jar.

"Where's your guinea pig, my boy?" asked Uncle Benjamin. "I only see him
now and then."

"Why do you call him a guinea pig, uncle?" asked little Ben. "He did not
come from Guinea, and he is not a pig. He came from South America, where
it is warm, and he is a covey; he is not a bit of a rabbit, and not a
pig."

"Where do you keep him?" asked Uncle Benjamin.

"I keep him where he is warm, uncle. It makes my heart all shrink up to
see the little thing shiver when the wind strikes him. It is cruel to
bring such animals into a climate like this."

"There are tens of thousands of guinea pigs, or coveys, in the land
where they are found. Yes, millions, I am told. One guinea pig don't
count for much."

"But, uncle, one feels the cold wind as much as another would--as much
as each of all the millions would."

"But, Ben, you have not answered my question. Where is the little covey
now?"

Little Ben colored red, and looked suspiciously toward the door of the
room in which h