"TOM, let that alone!" exclaimed a mother, petulantly, to a boyseven years old, who was playing with a tassel that hung from one ofthe window-blinds, to the imminent danger of its destruction.
The boy did not seem to hear, but kept on fingering the tassel.
"Let that be, I tell you! Must I speak a hundred times? Why don'tyou mind at once?"
The child slowly relinquished his hold of the tassel, and commencedrunning his hand up and down the venitian blind.
"There! there! Do for gracious sake let them blinds alone. Go 'wayfrom the window this moment, and try and keep your hands off ofthings. I declare! you are the most trying child I ever saw."
Tom left the window and threw himself at full length into thecradle, where he commenced rocking himself with a force and rapiditythat made every thing crack again.
"Get out of that cradle! What do you mean? The child really seemspossessed!" And the mother caught him by the arm and jerked him fromthe cradle.
Tom said nothing, but, with the most imperturbable air in the world,walked twice around the room, and then pushing a chair up before thedressing-bureau, took therefrom a bottle of hair lustral, and,pouring the palm of his little hand full of the liquid, commencedrubbing it upon his head. Twice had this operation been performed,and Tom was pulling open a drawer to get the hair-brush, when theodour of the oily compound reached the nostrils of the lad's mother,who was sitting with her back toward him. Turning quickly, she sawwhat was going on.
"You!" fell angrily from her lips, as she dropped the baby in thecradle. "Isn't it too much!" she continued, as she swept across theroom to where Tom was standing before the bureau-dressing-glass.
"There, sir!" and the child's ear rang with the box he received."There, sir!" and the box was repeated. "Haven't I told you ahundred times not to touch that hair-oil? Just see what a spot ofgrease you've made on the carpet! Look at your hands!"
Tom looked at his hands, and, seeing them full of oil, clapped themquickly down upon his jacket, and tried to rub them clean.
"There! stop! mercy! Now see your new jacket that you put on thismorning. Grease from top to bottom! Isn't it too bad! I am indespair!" And the mother let her hands fall by her side, and herbody drop into a chair.
"It's no use to try," she continued; "I'll give up. Just see thatjacket! it's totally ruined; and that carpet, too. Was there eversuch a trying boy! Go down-stairs this instant, and tell Jane tocome up here."
Tom had reason to know that his mother was not in a mood to betrifled with, so he went off briskly and called Jane, who wasdirected to get some fuller's earth and put upon the carpet whereoil had been spilled.
Not at all liking the atmosphere of his mother's room, Tom, beingonce in the kitchen, felt no inclination to return. His first workthere, after delivering his message to Jane, was to commence turningthe coffee-mill.
"Tommy," said the cook, mildly, yet firmly, "you know I've told youthat it was wrong to touch the coffee-mill. See here, on the floor,where you have scattered the coffee about, and now I must get abroom and sweep it up. If you do so, I can't let you come downhere."
The boy stood and looked at the cook seriously, while she got thebroom and swept up the dirt he had made.
"It's all clean again now," said the cook, pleasantly. "And youwon't do so any more, will you?"
"No, I won't touch the coffee-mill." And, as Tom said this, hesidled up to the knife-box that stood upon the dresser, and made adive into it with his hand.
"Oh, no, no, no, Tommy! that won't do, either," said the cook. "Theknives have all been cleaned, and they are to go on the table to eatwith."
"Then what can I play with, Margaret?" asked the child, as he leftthe dresser. "I want something to play with."
The cook thought a moment, and then went to a closet and brought outa little basket filled with clothes-pins. As she held them in herhand, she said--"Tommy, if you will be careful not to break any ofthese, nor scatter them about, you may have them to play with. Butremember, now, that as soon as you begin to throw them around theroom, I will put them up again."
"Oh, no, I won't throw them about," said the little fellow, withbrightening eyes, as he reached out for the basket of pins.
In a little while he had a circle formed on the table, which hecalled his fort; and inside of this he had men, cannon,sentry-boxes, and other things that were suggested to his fancy.
"Where's Thomas?" asked his mother, about the time he had becomefairly interested in his fort.
"I left him down in the kitchen," replied Jane.
"Go down and tell him to come up here instantly."
Down went Jane.
"Come along up-stairs to your mother," said she.
"No, I won't," replied the boy.
"Very well, mister! You can do as you like; but your mother sent foryou."
"Tell mother I am playing here so good. I'm not in any mischief. AmI, Margaret?"
"No, Tommy; but your mother has sent for you, and you had bettergo."
"I don't want to."
"Just as you like," said Jane, indifferently, as she left thekitchen and went up-stairs.
"Where's Thomas?" was the question with which she was met onreturning to the chamber.
"He won't come, ma'am."
"Go and tell him that if he doesn't come up to me instantly, I willput on his night-clothes and shut him up in the closet."
The threat of the closet was generally uttered ten times where itwas executed once; it made but little impression upon the child, whowas all absorbed in his fort.
Jane returned. In a few moments afterward, the quick, angry voice ofthe mother was heard ringing down the stairway.
"You, Tom! come up here this instant."
"I'm not troubling any thing, mother."
"Come up, I say!"
"Margaret says I may play with the clothes-pins. I'm only building afort with them."
"Do you hear me?"
"Mother!"
"Tom! if you don't come to me this instant, I'll almost skin you.Margaret! take them clothes-pins away. Pretty playthings, indeed,for you to give a boy like him! No wonder I have to get a dozen newones every two or three months."
Margaret now spoke.
"Tommy, you must go up to your mother."
She now took the clothes-pins and commenced putting them into thebasket where they belonged. Her words and action had a more instanteffect than all the mother's storm of passion. The boy left thekitchen in tears, and went slowly up-stairs.
"Why didn't you come when I called you? Say!"
The mother seized her little boy by the arm the moment he came inreach of her, and dragged rather than led him up-stairs, utteringsuch exclamations as these by the way:
"I never saw such a child! You might as well talk to the wind! I'min despair! I'll give up! Humph! clothes-pins, indeed! Prettyplaythings to give a child! Every thing goes to rack and ruin!There!"
And, as the last word was uttered, Tommy was thrust into hismother's room with a force that nearly threw him prostrate.
"Now take off them clothes, sir."
"What for, mother? I haven't done any thing! I didn't hurt theclothes-pins; Margaret said I might play with them."
"D'ye hear? take off them clothes, I say!"
"I didn't do any thing, mother."
"A word more, and I'll box your ears until they ring for a month.Take off them clothes, I say! I'll teach you to come when I send foryou! I'll let you know whether I am to be minded or not!"
Tommy slowly disrobed himself, while his mother, fretted to thepoint of resolution, eyed him with unrelenting aspect. The jacketand trousers were removed, and his night-clothes put on in theirstead, Tommy all the while protesting tearfully that he had donenothing.
"Will you hush?" was all the satisfaction he received for hisprotestations.
"Now, Jane, take him up-stairs to bed; he's got to lie there all theafternoon."
It was then four, and the sun did not set until near eight o'clock.Up-stairs the poor child had to go, and then his mother found somequiet. Her babe slept soundly in the cradle, undisturbed by Tommy'sracket, and she enjoyed a new novel to the extent of almost entirelyforgetting her lonely boy shut up in the chamber above.
"Where's Tommy?" asked a friend, who dropped in about six o'clock.
"In bed," said the mother, with a sigh.
"What's the matter? Is he sick?"
"Oh, no. I almost wish he were."
"What a strange wish! Why do you wish so?"
"Oh, because he is like a little angel when he is sick--as good ashe can be. I had to send him to bed as a punishment fordisobedience. He is a hard child to manage; I think I never saw onejust like him; but, you know, obedience is every thing. It is ourduty to require a strict regard to this in our children."
"Certainly. If they do not obey their parents as children, they willnot obey the laws as men."
"That is precisely the view I take; and I make it a point to requireimplicit obedience in my boy. This is my duty as a parent; but Ifind it hard work."
"It is hard, doubtless. Still we must persevere, and, in patience,possessing our souls."
"To be patient with a boy like mine is a hard task. Sometimes I feelas if I should go wild." said the mother.
"But, under the influence of such a feeling," remarked the friend,"what we say makes little or no impression. A calmly uttered word,in which there is an expression of interest in and sympathy for thechild, does more than the sternest commands. This I have long sincediscovered. I never scold my children; scolding does no good, butharm. My oldest boy is restless, excitable, and impulsive. If I werenot to provide him with the means of employing himself, or in otherways divert him, his hands would be on every thing in the house, andboth he and I made unhappy."
"But how can you interest him?"
"In various ways. Sometimes I read to him; sometimes I set him todoing things by way of assisting me. I take him out when I can, andlet him go with the girls when I send them on errands. I provide himwith playthings that are suited to his age. In a word, I try to keephim in my mind; and, therefore, find it not very difficult to meethis varying states. I never thrust him aside, and say I am too busyto attend to him, when he comes with a request. If I cannot grantit, I try not to say 'no,' for that word comes too coldly upon theeager desire of an ardent-minded boy."
"But how can you help saying 'no,' if the request is one you cannotgrant?"
"Sometimes I ask if something else will not do as well; andsometimes I endeavour to create a new interest in his mind. Thereare various ways in which it may be done, that readily suggestthemselves to those desirous for the good of their children. It isaffection that inspires thought. The love of children always bringsa quick intelligence touching their good."
Much more was said, not needful here to repeat. When the friend wentaway, Tommy's mother, whose heart convicted her of wrong to herlittle boy, went up to the room where she had sent him to spend fouror five lonely hours as a punishment for what was, in reality, herown fault, and not his. Three hours of the weary time had alreadypassed. She did not remember to have heard a sound from him, sinceshe drove him away with angry words. In fact, she had been toodeeply interested in the new book she was reading, to have heard anynoise that was not of an extraordinary character.
At the door of the chamber she stood and listened for a moment. Allwas silent within. The mother's heart beat with a heavy motion. Onentering, she found the order of the room undisturbed; not even achair was out of place. Tommy was asleep on the bed. As his motherbent over him, she saw that tears were upon his cheeks and eyelids,and that the pillow was wet. A choking sigh struggled up from herbosom; she felt a rebuking consciousness of having wronged herchild. She laid her hand upon his red cheek, but drew it backinstantly; it was hot with fever. She caught up his hand; it wasalso in a burning glow. Alarm took the place of grief for havingwronged her boy. She tried to awaken him, but he only moaned andmuttered. The excitement had brought on a fever.
When the father came home and laid his hand upon the hot cheek ofhis sleeping boy, he uttered an exclamation of alarm, and startedoff instantly for a physician. All night the wretched mother watchedby her sick child, unable, from fear and self-reproaches, to sleep.When the morning broke, and Thomas looked up into her face with agleam of trusting affection, his fever was gone and his pulse wascalm. The mother laid her cheek thankfully against that of her boy,and prayed to Heaven for strength to bear with him, and wisdom toguide her feet aright; and as she did so, in the silence of heroverflowing heart, the lad drew his arms around her neck, and,kissing her, said--"Mother, I do love you!"
That tears came gushing over the mother's face is no cause ofwonder, nor that she returned, half wildly, the embrace and kiss ofher child.
Let us hope that, in her future conduct towards her ardent, restlessboy, she may be able to control herself; for then she will not findit hard to bring him under subjection to what is right.
THE END.
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