owed, still crying.

"You must hush, now," said I, more positively. "I cannot permit
this. I never promised to buy you a wagon."

"You said may be so," sobbed the child.

"May be so, and yes, are two different things. If I had said that I
would buy you a wagon, then there would have been some reason in
your disappointment; but I said no such thing."

He had paused to listen; but, as I ceased speaking, his crying was
renewed.

"You must stop this now. There is no use in it, and I will not have
it," said I, resolutely.

My boy choked down for a few moments at this, and half stifled his
grief; but o'ermastering him, it flowed on again as wildly as ever.
I felt impatient.

"Stop this moment, I say!" And I took hold of his arm firmly. My
will is strong, and when a little excited, it often leads me beyond
where I would go in moments of reflection. My boy knew this by
experience. By my manner of speaking he saw that I was in earnest,
and that, if he did not obey me, punishment would follow. So, with
what must have been a powerful effort for one so young, he stifled
the utterance of his grief. But, the storm within raged none the
less violently, and I could see his little frame quiver as he strove
to repress the rising sobs.

Turning away from me, he went and sat down on a low seat in a corner
of the room. I saw his form in the glass as I stood before it to
arrange my hair, after laying aside my bonnet; and for the first
time my feelings were touched. There was an abandonment in his whole
attitude; an air of grief about him that affected me with pity and
tenderness.

"Poor child!" I sighed. "His heart is almost broken. I ought to have
said yes or no; and then all would have been settled."

"Come," said I, after a few moments, reaching my hand towards the
child--"let us go down and look out for father. He will be home
soon."

I spoke kindly and cheerfully. But he neither moved, looked up, nor
gave the smallest sign that he heard me.

"Oh, well," said I, with some impatience in my voice--"it doesn't
matter at all. If you'd rather sit there than come down into the
parlor and look out for dear father, you can please yourself."

And turning away as I spoke, I left the chamber, and went down
stairs. Seating myself at the window, I looked forth and endeavored
to feel unconcerned and cheerful. But, this was beyond my power. I
saw nothing but the form of my grieving child, and could think of
nothing but his sorrow and