Beside this, Philip had a kind heart; indeed, his face was but a sort of picture of his bosom. But the quality for which he was remarkable, was a disposition to see good things, only, in his friends and companions. He appeared to have no eye for bad qualities. If he noticed the faults, errors, or vices of others, he seldom spoke of them. He never came to his parents and teachers, exaggerating the naughty things that his playmates had done. On the contrary, when he spoke of his friends, it was generally to tell some pleasant thing they had said or done. Even when he felt bound to notice another’s fault, he did it only from a sense of duty, and always with reluctance, and in mild and palliating terms. Now Frederick was quite the reverse of all this. He loved dearly to tell tales. Every day he came home from school, giving an account of something wrong that had been done by his playmates, or brothers and sisters. He never told any good of them, but took delight only in displaying their faults. He did not tell his parents or teacher these things from a sense of duty, but from love of scandal--from a love of telling unpleasant tales. And, what was the worst part of it all, was this: Frederick’s love of tale-bearing grew upon him, by indulgence, till he would stretch the truth, and make that which was innocent in one of his little friends, appear to be wicked. He seemed to have no eye for pleasant and good things--he only noticed bad ones: nay, more, he fancied that he saw wickedness, when nothing of the kind existed. This evil propensity grew upon him by degrees; for you know that if one gets into a bad practice, and keeps on in it, it becomes at last a habit which we cannot easily resist. A bad habit is like an unbroke horse, which will not mind the bit or bridle, and so is very apt to run away with his rider. It was just so with Frederick: he had got into the habit of looking out for faults, and telling of faults, and now he could see nothing else, and talk of nothing else. Now the mother of these two boys was a good and wise woman. She noticed the traits of character we have described, in her sons, and while she was pleased with one, she was pained and offended on account of the other. She often talked with Frederick, told him of his fault, and besought him to imitate his amiable brother: but as I have said, Frederick had indulged his love of telling tales, till it had become a habit, and this habit every day ran away with him. At last the mother hit upon a thing that cured Frederick of his vice--and what do you think it was? I will tell you, if you will just keep out of the way of my great toe. I have got a touch of the gout, boys, and you must be careful. Tom, Jerry, Peter!--don’t be so careless! Keep clear of my great toe, I beg of you! Now I do not believe that any of you can guess what it was that cured master Frederick. It was not a pill, or a poultice; no, it was a story--and as I think it a good one, I will tell it to you.