"I don't see," she said to herself at last, "what makes the difference. I know I'm a great deal prettier than Nannie;" and she went across and looked at herself in the glass. "Yes, I am a great deal prettier, and yet the girls all love Nannie better. And I can learn a lesson twice as quick, and yet Miss Taylor likes Nannie better than me, and helps her out of all her difficulties. And father, and mother, and sister Mary, all think there's nobody like Nannie, and they are always scolding me for something or other. I wish people would love me as they do Nannie. I would rather be the ugliest person in the world and be loved." She was silent for a moment, while conscience brought before her all the kind acts Nannie was always doing for somebody. How ready she was to give up her own pleasure, and do anything for others. Then she went off into a pleasant day-dream, in which she was very good, always did just right, and everybody loved her. All the old women in the village thought no one could do anything for them like Belle Merry; her mother thought she never could spare Belle, and Charlie was never satisfied when Belle was away. She forgot, when she was dreaming, how, when her father said Granny Burt had no one to read to her, she said "she hadn't time to read to an old woman." She forgot how often, when her mother had asked for some little help, it had been given so pettishly as to make that mother's face grow sad. She forgot how often, when Charlie had made some little request for entertainment, she had turned away, until now he never asked Belle for anything when Nannie was in the room. Yes, she forgot all this, she forgot all the hard part of doing right, and her dream was very pleasant--so pleasant, that at last she said, with great determination, "I mean to be so kind and good, that they will all love me. I'm going to try. I'll begin at once, to-night." So she started down-stairs. Poor Belle! how many times had she come out of her little room and gone down-stairs with the same determination to do better, and how many times had she failed! And how many times had Nannie come out of the same little room with the same resolution, and almost always succeeded! What made the difference? If you had been there sometimes with Nannie, you would have found that she did one thing that Belle had not done. She knelt down and asked God to help her. There was the difference. Belle was trying to make herself good, Nannie was praying to Jesus to help her. As Belle came into the sitting-room, her mother said to her, "You ought to have come down immediately to help to set the table, Belle; Nannie set it for you." Belle said nothing, neither did she thank Nannie, who looked up for a moment, then went on reading. "Belle," said her mother, "you may fill the water-pitcher, since Nannie has done your work for you."