him by her words and manner during the whole meal, and it was only
the image of his mother's tearful face, and the remembrance that she
was sick, that restrained an outbreak of his passionate temper.

When Clarence left the table, he returned to his mother's room, and
laid his head upon the pillow where her's was resting.

"I love you, mother," he said, affectionately, "you are good. But I
hate Aunt Mary."

"Oh, no, Clarence; you must not say that you hate Aunt Mary, for
Aunt Mary is very kind to you. You mustn't hate anybody."

"She isn't kind to me, mother. She calls me a bad boy, and says
every thing to make me angry when I want to be good."

"Think, my son, if there is not some reason for Aunt Mary calling
you a bad boy. You know yourself, that you act very naughtily
sometimes, and provoke Aunt Mary--a great deal."

"But she said I was a naughty boy when I went out just now, and I
was sorry for what I had done, and wanted to be good."

"Aunt Mary didn't know that you were sorry, I am sure. When she
called you 'naughty boy,' what did you say?"

"I was going to say 'You're a fool!' but I didn't. I tried hard not
to let my tongue say the bad words, though it wanted to."

"Why did you try not to say them?"