Home Scenes and Home Influence Part 14

"Why, the hen that told you we were here."

"No hen told me that." The boy looked mystified.

"Oh! I thought you said Hen' told you so."

"No, it was Henry."

"Say, no _sir_, my son." Mrs. Laurie's face was not pale, certainly, as she said this.

The boy did not think it worth while to repeat the formality.

"Oh! it was your brother Henry," replied Mr. Fleetwood, with affected seriousness. "I thought that must have been a very knowing hen." The boy, and his sister who had recovered from the pain of her fall, laughed heartily. "Now tell me your name?"

"John."

"Say John, _sir_. Where are your manners?" spoke up the mother, who remembered that, with all her sister's imperfect management of her children, she had succeeded in teaching them to be very respectful in their replies to older persons, and that Earnest, when she last saw him, was a little gentleman in his manners when amy one spoke to him.

"Mo-_ther_!" came now ringing up the stairs, in a loud, screeching little voice. "Mo-_ther_! Hen' won't let me come up."

"I declare! That boy is too bad! He's a perfect torment!" said Mrs.

Laurie, fretfully. "I'm out of all heart with him."

The father stepped to the head of the stairs, and spoke rather sternly to the rebellious Henry. Little feet, were soon heard pattering up, and the youngest of the young hopefuls made her appearance, and, soon after, Henry pushed his really repulsive face into the door and commenced grimacing at the other children, thereby succeeding in what he desired to do, viz., starting little Maggy, the youngest, into a whining, fretful cry, because "Hen' was making faces" at her. This cry, once commenced, was never known to end without the application of something more decided in its effects than words. It was in vain that the mother used every persuasive, diverting and soothing means in her power: the crying, loud enough to drown all conversation, continued, until, taking the child up hurriedly in her arms, she bore her into another room, where she applied some pretty severe silencing measures, which had, however, the contrary effect to that desired. The child cried on, but louder than before. For nearly ten minutes, she sought by scolding and whipping to silence her, but all was in vain. It is doubtful, after the means used to enforce silence, whether the child could have stopped if she had tried. At last, the mother locked her in a closet, and came, with a flushed face and mortified feelings, back to the room from which she had retired with Maggy.

The moment Mrs. Laurie left, her husband, with a word and a look, brought the three children into order and quietness. Henry was told, in a low voice, and in a tone of authority, that he never thought of questioning, to go up into the garret and remain there until he sent for him. The boy retired without the slightest hesitation.

When Mrs. Laurie returned, Mr. Fleetwood, who was a man of frank, free, and pleasant manners, could not resist the temptation he felt to remind her of the past; he, therefore, said, laughingly,

"You have doubtless found out, by this time, Martha, that old maids'

children are the best."

This sally had just the effect he designed it to have. It was an apology for the children, as it cla.s.sed them with other real children, in contradistinction to the imaginary offspring of the unmarried, that are known by every one to be faultless specimens of juvenility.

"Come! That is too bad, Mr. Fleetwood," replied Mrs. Laurie, feeling an immediate sense of relief. "But, I own to the error I committed before marriage. It seemed to me the easiest thing in the world to manage children, when I thought about it, and saw where parents erred, or appeared to err, in their modes of government. I did not then know what was _in_ children. All their perverseness I laid to the account of bad management. Alas! I have had some sad experiences in regard to my error. Still, I cannot but own that children are made worse by injudicious treatment, and also, that mine ought to be a great deal better than they are."

"Like the rest of us," returned Mr. Fleetwood, "you have no doubt discovered, that it is one thing to _think_ about the government of children, and another thing to be in the midst of their disturbing sphere, and yet act as if you did not feel it. Theory and practice are two things. It seems, when we think coolly, that nothing can be easier than to cause the one exactly to correspond to the other. But whoever makes the trial, especially where the right government of children is concerned, will find it a most difficult matter. What makes the government of their children so hard a thing for parents, is the fact that the evils of the children have been inherited from them, and therefore the reaction of these evils upon themselves is the more disturbing. We haven't as much patience with the faults of our own children, often, as other people have. They fret and annoy us, and take away our ability to speak in a proper tone and act with becoming dignity toward them, and thus destroy their respect for us."

"Nothing can be truer," said Mrs. Laurie. "I stand rebuked. I am self-condemned, every day, on this very account. I used to think that your government and that of Sarah's over your children very defective. But it was far better than the government that I have been able to exercise over mine. Ah me!"

"Don't sigh over the matter so terribly, Martha," spoke up the husband. "We shall get them right in the end. Never give up the s.h.i.+p, is my motto in this and every thing else. But I wouldn't have our brother and sister here think for a moment that the scenes they have witnessed are enacted every day. Their visit is an occasion of some excitement to our young folks, and they had to show off a little. They will cool down again, and we shall get on pleasantly enough."

"That is all very true," said Mrs. Laurie, more cheerfully. "I never saw them act quite so outrageously before, when any one came in.

There is much good in them, and you will see it before you leave us."

"No doubt in the world of that," replied Mr. Fleetwood; "there is good in all children, and it is our duty to exercise great forbearance towards their evils, and be careful lest, by what we do or say, we strengthen, rather than break them."

And the good that was in Mrs. Laurie's children was clearly seen by Mr. and Mrs. Fleetwood during their stay; but, that good was, alas!

not strengthened as it might have been, nor were the evils they inherited kept quiescent, as they would to a great extent have remained, had the mother been more patient and forbearing--had her practice been as good as her theory.

It is easy for us to see how others ought to act toward their children, but very hard for us to act right toward our own.

THE MOTHER AND BOY.

"TOM, let that alone!" exclaimed a mother, petulantly, to a boy seven years old, who was playing with a ta.s.sel that hung from one of the window-blinds, to the imminent danger of its destruction.

The boy did not seem to hear, but kept on fingering the ta.s.sel.

"Let that be, I tell you! Must I speak a hundred times? Why don't you mind at once?"

The child slowly relinquished his hold of the ta.s.sel, and commenced running his hand up and down the venitian blind.

"There! there! Do for gracious sake let them blinds alone. Go 'way from the window this moment, and try and keep your hands off of things. I declare! you are the most trying child I ever saw."

Tom left the window and threw himself at full length into the cradle, where he commenced rocking himself with a force and rapidity that made every thing crack again.

"Get out of that cradle! What do you mean? The child really seems possessed!" And the mother caught him by the arm and jerked him from the cradle.

Tom said nothing, but, with the most imperturbable air in the world, walked twice around the room, and then pus.h.i.+ng a chair up before the dressing-bureau, took therefrom a bottle of hair l.u.s.tral, and, pouring the palm of his little hand full of the liquid, commenced rubbing it upon his head. Twice had this operation been performed, and Tom was pulling open a drawer to get the hair-brush, when the odour of the oily compound reached the nostrils of the lad's mother, who was sitting with her back toward him. Turning quickly, she saw what was going on.

"You!" fell angrily from her lips, as she dropped the baby in the cradle. "Isn't it too much!" she continued, as she swept across the room to where Tom was standing before the bureau-dressing-gla.s.s.

"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 a hundred times not to touch that hair-oil? Just see what a spot of grease you've made on the carpet! Look at your hands!"

Tom looked at his hands, and, seeing them full of oil, clapped them quickly down upon his jacket, and tried to rub them clean.

"There! stop! mercy! Now see your new jacket that you put on this morning. Grease from top to bottom! Isn't it too bad! I am in despair!" And the mother let her hands fall by her side, and her body drop into a chair.

"It's no use to try," she continued; "I'll give up. Just see that jacket! it's totally ruined; and that carpet, too. Was there ever such a trying boy! Go down-stairs this instant, and tell Jane to come up here."

Tom had reason to know that his mother was not in a mood to be trifled with, so he went off briskly and called Jane, who was directed to get some fuller's earth and put upon the carpet where oil had been spilled.

Not at all liking the atmosphere of his mother's room, Tom, being once in the kitchen, felt no inclination to return. His first work there, after delivering his message to Jane, was to commence turning the coffee-mill.

"Tommy," said the cook, mildly, yet firmly, "you know I've told you that 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 a broom and sweep it up. If you do so, I can't let you come down here."

The boy stood and looked at the cook seriously, while she got the broom and swept up the dirt he had made.

"It's all clean again now," said the cook, pleasantly. "And you won't do so any more, will you?"

"No, I won't touch the coffee-mill." And, as Tom said this, he sidled up to the knife-box that stood upon the dresser, and made a dive into it with his hand.

"Oh, no, no, no, Tommy! that won't do, either," said the cook. "The knives have all been cleaned, and they are to go on the table to eat with."