or a moment he repulsed her, and stood as if
transfixed with astonishment and rage. But he could not withstand her
pleading look, and she led him to her own room. As soon as the door
closed upon them, his passion burst forth in words. "Father treats me
like a dog. I never will bear it--never, never, another day. Mother, you
know I did not not mean to do a wrong thing, and what right has my
father to shake and cuff me as if I were a vile slave? Mother, I'll
break the house down itself if he treats me so--to box my ears right
before all the family! And last night he sent me out of the room, so
stern, just because I slammed the door a little. I was glad he had to go
to the office, and I wish he would stay there--"

"Hush, hush, my son, what are you saying? Stop, for a moment, and think
what you are saying of your own kind father! Charles, my son, you are
adding sin to sin. Sit down, my dear child, and crush that wicked spirit
in the bud." And she gently seated him in a chair, and laying her cool
hand upon his burning brow, she smoothed his hair, and pressing her lips
to his forehead, he felt her tears. "Mother, mother, you blessed good
mother." His heart melted within him, and he wept as if it would burst.
For a few moments, both wept without restraint, but feeling that the
opportunity for making a lasting impression must not be lost, Mrs.
Arnold struggled to command herself. "Charles, my son, you have
displeased your father exceedingly, and you cannot wonder that he was
greatly disturbed. That pitcher, you often heard him say, was used for
many years in his father's family. It is an old relic which he valued
highly. It was very strong, and has been used by us so long, that it
seemed like a familiar friend. It is not strange that for a moment he
was exceedingly angry to see it so carelessly broken, and oh, my son,
what wicked feelings have been in your heart, what undutiful words upon
your tongue!"

"I cannot help it, mother--I cannot help it," replied the excited boy,
"he ought not to treat me so, and I will not--" "Charles, Charles, you
are wrong, you are very wrong, and I pray you may be sorry for it,"
interrupted his mother, in a tone of the deepest sorrow. "Do not speak
again till you can conquer such a spirit," and they were both silent for
a few moments. The mother's heart went up in fervent prayer that this
might be a salutary trial, and that she might be enabled to guide his
young and hasty spirit aright.

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