Nearly two weeks elapsed before I called upon my friend again. I
found her, happily, in a calmer state of mind than upon my previous
visit. We were in the midst of a pleasant conversation, half an hour
after I had come in, when one of the children, a boy between seven
and eight years old, came into the room and made some complaint
against his brother. The little fellow was excited, and broke in
upon our quiet chitchat with a rude jar that I felt quite sensibly.
I expected, of course, to hear him ordered from the room instantly.
That had been my friend's usual proceeding when these interruptions
occurred; at least it had been so when I happened to be a visitor.
But instead of this, she said in a low, mild, soothing voice,

"Well, never mind, Willy. You stay in the parlour with us, where
Harry can't trouble you."

This was just the proposition, above all others, to please the
child. His face brightened, and he came and nestled up closely to
his mother, who was sitting on a corner of the sofa. Drawing an arm
around him, she went on with the remarks she happened to be making
when the interruption of his entrance occurred. No very long time
elapsed before the parlour door flew open, and Harry entered,
asking, as he did so, in a loud voice, for Willy.

"Willy is here. What do you want with him?" said the mother, in a
quiet, but firm tone.

"I want him to come and play."

"You were not kind to Willy, and he doesn't wish to play with you."