few moments, she remarked:

"You see how I look, this morning, Oscar. I did not sleep half an hour
last night, and now I am not fit to be up from my bed--and all on your
account. I am afraid your misconduct will be the death of me, yet. I
used to love to think how much comfort I should take in you, when you
should grow up into a tall, manly youth; but I have been sadly
disappointed, so far. The older you grow, the worse you behave, and
the more trouble you make me. Do you intend always to go on in this
way?"

Oscar nervously spread the slice of bread before him, but made no
reply. His mother continued her reproofs, in the same sad but
affectionate tone. She appealed to his sense of right, to his
gratitude, and to his hopes of future success and respectability in
life. She described the sad end to which these beginnings of
wrong-doing would inevitably lead him, and earnestly besought him to
try to do better, before his bad habits should become confirmed. Her
earnest manner, and her pale, haggard cheeks, down which tears were
slowly stealing, touched the feelings of Oscar. Moisture began to
gather in his eyes, in spite of himself. He tried to appear very much
interested in the food he was eating, and to look as though he was
indifferent to what his mother was saying. And, in a measure, he did
succeed in choking down those good feelings which were beginning to
stir in his heart, and which, mistaken boy! he thought it would be
unmanly to betray.

Yes, he was mistaken--sadly mistaken. Unmanly to be touched by a
mother's grief, and to be moved by a mother's tender entreaties!
Unmanly to acknowledge that we have done wrong, or to express sorrow