ple to whom I never could be kind, let me
try ever so much."

"But Georgie," his sister began.

He interrupted her with some impatience.

"Oh, I know what you are going to say. You always say that we ought to
like everybody. But that is nonsense. Everybody is not likable, and I
don't like people who are not likable, and I never shall, and never
can."

"I did not mean to say that. I don't always say it; I don't think I
ever said it," she answered quietly. "I know that one cannot like
people who are not likable. But Georgie," (with much earnestness,) "I
know, and you know, that it is God's will, that it is God's command,
that we should be kind, and tender, and gentle, and pitiful to every
one, whether we like them or not."

Yes, Georgie did know that. Often had he been reminded of it. But as
this was a command he often broke, he did not like to think of it. He
moved restlessly and impatiently on his chair, and said, with some
fretfulness:--

"Well, but how can one; at least how can a rough boy like me? You can,
Annie, I know. You do. Although you are often confined to this stupid
bed for weeks at a time, you do more good, and make more people happy
and comfortable, than any one in all the house. You are so good. It is
easy for you."

"No, Georgie, it is not easy for me," she answered, her sweet, pale
face, flushing at his praise. "I am not always kind. But a thought
came into my mind about a year ago that has always helped me a great
deal. I think God must have put it into my mind. Indeed I am sure he
did, it has helped me so much."

"And what was the thought?" George asked eagerly.

"I was thinking how difficult it was to feel kindly, to feel rightly
towards those whom we don't care for, who are not pleasant; and then
it came all in a minute into my head, that we should find it much
easier if we could only remember ever and always that everybody we
meet must be either God's friend or God's enemy."

"But how could that help?" George asked, knitting his brows, as if
greatly puzzled.

Annie tried to explain.

"You know," she said, "that there are no two ways about it,--that we
must either be God's friend or his enemy."

"Yes," he answered thoughtfully; "papa made me see that long ago."

"And every boy you meet is either the one or the other, whatever else
he may be, nice or not, pleasant and likable, or unpleasant and
unlikable. If he be God's friend--if he be a boy who loves our dear
Lord Jesus Christ,"