go into Mr. Winters," said Mrs. Howland, in
reply.
"Oh, no; indeed I won't, mother," was the ready answer.
"If you disobey me, I can't let you go to the door again."
"Oh, I won't disobey you," replied the child.
"Very well, Andrew, I'll trust you. Now, don't deceive me."
The child promised over and over again, and Mrs. Howland trusted
him. Ten minutes afterward she looked out, but he was nowhere
to be seen. A domestic was sent to the house of Mr. Winters, where
Andrew was found, as happy as a child could be, playing with his
little friend Emily. On being reproved by his mother for this act of
disobedience, he looked earnestly in her face and said--
"You won't tell father, will you? He'll whip me so, and I don't like
to be whipped."
"But why did you go in there?" said Mrs. Howland. "Haven't we
forbidden you? And didn't you promise me that if I'd let you go to
the front door, you would stay there?"
"I couldn't help it, mother," replied Andrew.
"Oh, yes, you could."
"Indeed I couldn't, mother. I saw Emily, and then I couldn't help
it."
There was an expression in the child's voice as he said this, that
thrilled the feelings of his mother. She felt that he spoke only the
simple truth--that he could not help doing as he had done.
"But Andrew must help it," she was constrained to reply. "Mother
can't let him go to the front door again."
"You won't tell father, will you?" urged the child, lifting,
earnestly, his large, bright, innocent eyes to his mother's face.
"Say, you won't tell him?"
Grieved, perplexed, and troubled, Mrs. Howland knew not what to say,
nor how to act.
"Dear mother!" urged the boy, "you won't tell father? Say you
won't?" And tears began to glisten beneath his eyelids.
"Andrew has been disobedient," said the mother, trying to assume an
offended tone. "Will he be so anymore?"
"If you won't tell father, I'll be good."
The mother sighed, and fixed her gaze musingly on the floor. Her
thoughts were still more confused, and her mind in still greater
perplexity. Ah, if she only knew what was right!
"I will not tell your father this time," she at length said, "but
don't ask me, if you are again disobedient."
But of what avail was the child's promises. He had strong feelings,
a strong will, and, though so very young, much endurance. A law, at
variance almost with a law of his nature, had been arbitrarily
enacted, and he could not obey it. As well might his father have
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