Clarence laughed, and said he thought the man was very foolish indeed.

“Do you think he was more foolish than you were just now for grumbling because dinner wasn’t ready?”

Clarence laughed again, and said he did not know.  Just then Hannah, the cook, brought in the waiter with the children’s dinner upon it.  Clarence sprang for a chair, and drew it hastily and noisily to the table.

“Try and see if you can’t do that more orderly, my dear,” his mother said, in a quiet voice, looking at him, as she spoke, with a steady eye.

The boy removed his chair, and then replaced it gently.

“That is much better, my son.”

And thus she corrected his disorderly habits, quieted his impatient temper, and checked his rudeness, without showing any disturbance.  This she had to do daily.  At almost every meal she found it necessary to repress his rude impatience.  It was line upon line, and precept upon precept.  But she never tired, and rarely permitted herself to show that she was disturbed, no matter how deeply grieved she was at times over the wild and reckless spirit of her boy.

On the next day she was not very well; her head ached badly all the morning.  Hearing the children in the passage when they came in from school at noon, she was, rising from the bed where she had lain down, to attend to them and give them their dinners, when Aunt Mary said—­“Don’t get up, Anna, I will see to the children.”

It was rarely that Mrs. Hartley let any one do for them what she could do herself, for no one else could manage the unhappy temper of Clarence; but so violent was the pain in her head, that she let Aunt Mary go, and sank back upon the pillow from which she had arisen.  A good deal of noise and confusion continued to reach her ears, from the moment the children came in.  At length a loud cry and passionate words from Clarence caused her to rise up quickly and go over to the dining-room.  All was confusion there, and Aunt Mary out of humour and scolding prodigiously.  Clarence was standing up at the table, looking defiance at her, on account of some interference with his strong self-will.  The moment the boy saw his mother, his countenance changed, and a look of confusion took the place of anger.

“Come over to my room, Clarence,” she said, in a low voice; there was sadness in its tones, that made him feel sorry that he had given vent so freely to his ill-temper.

“What was the matter, my son?” Mrs. Hartley asked, as soon as they were alone, taking Clarence by the hand and looking steadily at him.

“Aunt Mary wouldn’t help me when I asked her.”

“Why not?”

“She would help Henry first.”

“No doubt she had a reason for it.  Do you know her reason?”

“She said he was youngest.”  Clarence pouted out his lips, and spoke in a very disagreeable tone.

“Don’t you think that was a very good reason?”