comfortable feeling. But
it was of no avail. Even if the new train of thought, awakened by
conversation with my friend, had lifted me above the state of mind
in which I was when she came, the sight of Jane's sober face, as she
passed me on the stairs, would have depressed my feelings again.

In order both to relieve my own and the child's feelings, I thought
I would refer to the broken tumbler, and tell her not to grieve
herself about it, as its loss was of no consequence whatever. But
this would have been to have made an acknowledgment to her that I
had been in the wrong, and instinctive feeling of pride remonstrated
against that.

"Ah me!" I sighed. "Why did I permit myself to speak so unguardedly?
How small are the cause that sometimes destroy our peace! How much
good or evil is there in a single word!"

Some who read this may think that I was very weak to let a hastily
uttered censure against a careless child trouble me. What are a
child's feelings?

I have been a child; and, as a child, have been blamed severely by
those whom I desired to please, and felt that unkind words fell
heavier and more painfully, sometimes, than blows. I could,
therfore, understand the nature of Jane's feelings, and sympathize
with her to a certain extent.

All through the day, Jane moved about more quietly than usual. When
I spoke to her about any thing--which I did in a kinder voice than I
ordinarily used--she would look into my face with an earnestness
that rebuked me.

Toward evening, I sent her down-stairs for a pitcher of cool water.
She went quickly, and soon returned with the pitcher of water, and a
tumbler, on a waiter. She was coming towards me, evidently using
more than ordinary caution, when her foot tripped against something,
and she stumbled forward. It was in vain that she tried to save the
pitcher. Its balance was lost, and it fell over and was broken to
pieces at my feet, the water dashing upon the skirt of my dress.

The poor child became instantly as pale as ashes, and the frightened
look she gave me I shall not soon forget. She tried to speak, and
say that it was an accident, but her tongue was, paralyzed for the
moment, and she found no utterance.

The lesson I had received in the morning served me for purposes of
self-control now, and I said, instantly, in a mild, voice--

"Never mind, Jane; I know you couldn't help it. I must tack down
that loose edge of the carpet. I came near tripping there myself
to-d