"I think you are mistaken, Hugh," said Aunt Faith. "I think love may be acquired. At least it may grow from a little seed to a great tree, with proper care. If we earnestly try to see all the good traits in a friend, we shall end by loving him at last. And if we earnestly try to care for some helpless, dependent person, we shall end by loving that person very dearly. Don't you remember your flying-squirrel, Hugh? You did not care much for the little thing, when you found it on the ground, but, as you took care of it and held it in your warm hands, night after night, to keep it warm, you grew to love it very dearly, and when it died I remember very well how you cried, although you were quite a large boy." "Poor little Frisky!" said Hugh; "when I brought in a branch and put him on it, how he capered about; and then he was so cunning! Do you remember, Aunt Faith, how one day I left him in your care, shut up in his basket, while I went down town. When I came back and asked about him, you said, 'Oh, he's safe in his basket. I think he must be asleep he is so quiet.' And all the while you were speaking, the little scamp was looking at me with his bright eyes out from under your arm as you sat sewing! I was very fond of Frisky; I have never had a pet since." "You loved him because you had tended him so carefully," said Aunt Faith. "It is the same feeling, intensified, that influences and inspires many of the weary fathers and mothers we see around us. Mr. Leslie was right. It is better to patiently fulfil our earthly duties, no matter how dull or how hard, as long as we are on the earth, than to sit apart nourishing lofty ideas and sighing for release. That sentence which Mr. Leslie took for his text has always been a favorite of mine. Do you care to hear some verses I once made upon it?" "Oh, yes, Aunt Faith!" said Hugh and Bessie eagerly. Aunt Faith took a little blank-book from her desk and read as follows:-- "St. John; 17th Chapter, 15th Verse. "I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world." "Not out of the world, dear Father, With duties and vows unfulfilled, With life's earnest labors unfinished, Ambition and passion unstilled; Not out of the world, dear Father, Until we have faithfully tried To burnish the talent Thou gavest, And gain other talents beside, Not out of the world, kind Father, But rather our lowly life spare, While those Thou hast lent us from heaven Are needing our tenderest care; Not out of the world, kind Father, While dear ones are trusting our arm To work for them hourly, and save them From poverty, terror, and harm. Not out of the world, good Father, Until we have suffered the loss Of self-loving ease and indulgence In willingly bearing the Cross; Not out of the world, good Father, Till bowed with humility down, The weight of the Cross is forgotten In the golden light of the Crown.