oor, then the old trouble began again, for I am not patient by
nature, and it tried me very much to see my children wanting anything."

"Poor Mother! What helped you then?"

"Your father, Jo. He never loses patience, never doubts or complains,
but always hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully that one is ashamed
to do otherwise before him. He helped and comforted me, and showed me
that I must try to practice all the virtues I would have my little
girls possess, for I was their example. It was easier to try for your
sakes than for my own. A startled or surprised look from one of you
when I spoke sharply rebuked me more than any words could have done,
and the love, respect, and confidence of my children was the sweetest
reward I could receive for my efforts to be the woman I would have them
copy."

"Oh, Mother, if I'm ever half as good as you, I shall be satisfied,"
cried Jo, much touched.

"I hope you will be a great deal better, dear, but you must keep watch
over your 'bosom enemy', as father calls it, or it may sadden, if not
spoil your life. You have had a warning. Remember it, and try with
heart and soul to master this quick temper, before it brings you
greater sorrow and regret than you have known today."

"I will try, Mother, I truly will. But you must help me, remind me,
and keep me from flying out. I used to see Father sometimes put his
finger on his lips, and look at you with a very kind but sober face,
and you always folded your lips tight and went away. Was he reminding
you then?" asked Jo softly.

"Yes. I asked him to help me so, and he never forgot it, but saved me
from many a sharp word by that little gesture and kind look."

Jo saw that her mother's eyes filled and her lips trembled as she
spoke, and fearing that she had said too much, she whispered anxiously,
"Was it wrong to watch you and to speak of it? I didn't mean to be
rude, but it's so comfortable to say all I think to you, and feel so
safe and happy here."

"My Jo, you may say anything to your mother, for it is my greatest
happiness and pride to feel that my girls confide in me and know how
much I love them."

"I thought I'd grieved you."

"No, dear, but speaking of Father reminded me how much I miss him, how
much I owe him, and how faithfully I should watch and work to keep his
little daughters safe and good for him."

"Yet you told him to go, Mother, and didn't cry when he went, and never
complain now, or seem as if you