Part 5 (2/2)

Upon this text, or something very like it, Mr. Wharton spake to Mrs.

Elwyn, when Agnes had carried Lewie into the next room to spin his top for him.

”Lewie is a most beautiful little fellow, certainly,” said he; ”but, Harriet, take care; he is getting the upper hand of you already. It is time already--indeed, it has long been time--to make him understand that his will is to be _subservient_ to those who are older.”

To which Mrs. Elwyn replied, ”How absurd, Mr. Wharton, to talk of governing a child like that!”

”There are other ways of governing, Harriet, besides the whip and the lock and key, neither of which do I approve of, except in extreme cases.

Lewie could very easily be guided by the hand of love, and it rests with you now to make of him almost what you choose. A mother's gentle hand hath mighty power.”

”Well, Mr. Wharton, to tell you the truth, nothing seems to me so absurd as all these ideas of nursery education; and the people who write books on the subject seem to think there is but one rule by which all children are to be governed.”

”I perfectly agree with you, Harriet, that it is very ridiculous to suppose that one set of rules will answer for the education of all, except, of course, so far as the Bible rule is the foundation for all government. I think the methods adopted with children should be as numerous and different as the children themselves, each one, by their const.i.tution and disposition, requiring different treatment; but still there are some general rules, you must admit, which will serve for all.

One of these is a rule of very long standing; it is this--'Honor thy father and thy mother;' and another--'Children, obey your parents in the Lord.' Now, how can you expect your son, as he grows up, to honor, respect, or obey you, if you take the trouble to teach him, every day and hour, that _he_ is the master, and you only the slave of his will.

There is another saying in that same old book from which these rules are drawn, which tells you that 'A child left to himself bringeth his mother to shame.'”

Mrs. Elwyn, during this conversation, kept up a series of polite little bows, but could not altogether conceal an expression of weariness, and distaste at the turn the conversation had taken. She had a sincere respect, however, for Mr. Wharton, who always exercised over her the power which a strong mind exercises over a weak one, and she felt in her heart that he was a real friend to her, and one who had the interests of herself and her children at heart.

As Mr. Wharton rose to go she said, laughingly:

”I thank you for your kind advice with regard to Lewie, Mr. Wharton, but in spite of it, I do not think I shall put him in a straight-jacket before he is out of his frocks.”

”No straight-jacket is needed, Harriet; you have often written in your copy-book at school, I suppose, 'Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.' You remember that strange apple-tree in my orchard, which the children use for a seat, it rises about a foot from the ground, and then turns and runs along for several feet horizontally, and then shoots up again to the sky. When that was a twig, your thumb and finger could have bent it straight; but now, what force could do it. If sufficient strength could be applied it might be _broken_, but never bent again.

Excuse my plain speaking, Harriet, but I see before you so much trouble, unless that little boy's strong will is controlled, that my conscience would not let me rest, unless I spoke honestly to you what is in my mind.”

”I must say you are not a prophesier of '_smooth things_'” said Mrs.

Elwyn, ”but still, I hope the dismal things you have hinted at may not come to pa.s.s.”

”I hope not too, Harriet,” said Mr. Wharton, ”but G.o.d has now mercifully spared your little boy's life, and it rests with you whether he shall be trained for His service or not.”

Then calling for Agnes and Lewie, Mr. Wharton kissed them for good-bye, telling Agnes that he would bring Emily over the next day.

Mrs. Elwyn looked infinitely relieved when Mr. Wharton drove off, and returned to her novel with as much interest as ever, and in the very exciting scene into which her heroine was now introduced, she soon forgot the unpleasant nature of Mr. Wharton's ”lecture,” as she called it.

Agnes was contriving in her mind all the morning, how she should present the needle-case to her mother, and wondering how it would be received. It was such a great affair to her, and had cost her so much time and labor, that she was quite sure it must be an acceptable gift, and yet natural timidity in approaching her mother, made her shrink from presenting it, and every time she thought of it her heart beat in her very throat.

At length the novel was finished and thrown aside, and Mrs. Elwyn sat with her feet on the low fender gazing abstractedly into the fire. Now was the time Agnes thought, and approaching her gently, she said:

”Mamma, here is a needle-case I made for you, all myself, for a Christmas present.”

The _words_ could not have been heard by Mrs. Elwyn, she only knew that a voice _not_ Lewie's interrupted her in her reverie.

”Hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+ child,” she said, waving her hand impatiently towards Agnes, ”be quiet! don't disturb me!”

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