a matter of obedience to her. Because it was a thing intrinsically
necessary for him to do, she would see, at any cost to herself or to him,
that he did it; but he must do it voluntarily, and she would wait till he
did.

The morning wore on. She busied herself with other matters, and left Willy
to himself; now and then asking, with a smile, "Well, isn't my little boy
stronger than that ugly old letter yet?"

Willy was sulky. He understood in that early stage all that was involved.
Dinner-time came.

"Aren't you going to dinner, mamma?"

"Oh! no, dear; not unless you say G, so that you can go too. Mamma will
stay by her little boy until he is out of this trouble."

The dinner was brought up, and they ate it together. She was cheerful and
kind, but so serious that he felt the constant pressure of her pain.

The afternoon dragged slowly on to night. Willy cried now and then, and
she took him in her lap, and said, "Dear, you will be happy as soon as you
say that letter, and mamma will be happy too, and we can't either of us be
happy until you do."

"Oh, mamma! why don't you _make_ me say it?"

(This he said several times before the affair was over.)

"Because, dear, you must make yourself say it. I am helping you make