"Tom is a little too fond of joking; but I really don't see anything in that joke to set you sighing," said Mary, laughing. "My dear boy, you are much too ready to set that brain of yours spinning gloomy thoughts. Suppose that I were to put black wool upon my wheel, what should I spin but black yarn, and your father would have nought but black stockings to wear. Why should one choose a dark colour, when it costs nothing to have a cheerful one? So with the yarn of thought. Take something pleasant to think of, something bright to turn round and round in your mind. Suppose now that, instead of your troubles, big or little, you take to counting up all the kindnesses which you have received since yesterday morning." Jemmy had shifted his position, so that he was now sitting looking at his mother; and a sight of her cheerful face was in itself enough to brighten him up a little. Still, it was rather in a grumbling manner that he replied, "I don't know what kindnesses I have to count up. No one is ever kind to me,—except, of course, you and my father." "We count for something," cried Mary. "But think a little longer, my lad—turn your wheel round a little faster." And the spinner suited her action to her words. "Well, Tom did mend my kite this morning; I suppose that you would call that kind," observed Jemmy. "Now were you not needlessly spinning black yarn instead of blue, when you thought of Tom's rough joke instead of his real act of kindness?" asked Mary. "And perhaps it was kind in the gardener to give me that plant; only it's dying now," said Jemmy. "It was not dying when he gave it; I've seldom seen a prettier flower. Have you no other kind deeds to remember?" asked his mother. It was a new thing to Jemmy to count up kindnesses instead of troubles, and he rubbed his forehead, as if rather perplexed. "My grandfather gave me a shilling yesterday," he said at last, "and that was a kindness." "And you chose to think more of the penny lost than of the shilling received! How fond some people are of choosing the black yarn!" cried Mary. "There's no one else that has done anything kind to me; I can remember nothing more," said Jemmy, after a moment's reflection. "I can remember something for you, then. Who taught you reading and spelling yesterday afternoon?" "Oh, Sarah May," answered the boy. "But that is nothing new; she has done that ever since the hurt in my leg stopped my going to school." "Yes, she has shown kindness to you every day for the last ten weeks, and therefore you have forgotten to think of it as kindness at all. O Jemmy, Jemmy. Here is a sad choosing of the black yarn instead of the blue!" "Teaching me costs Sarah nothing," began Jemmy; but he stopped short, for he could not help feeling a little ashamed of such ungrateful words.