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“I say, mother, give me a piece of cake, won’t you?” in quite a loud voice.

Mrs. Stanley felt irritated by this importunity, but she governed herself. Satisfied that there would be no peace unless the cake were forthcoming, she said, looking affectionately at the child:

“Poor little fellow! I suppose he does feel hungry. I don’t think another piece of cake will hurt him. Excuse me a moment, Mrs. Noland.”

The cake was obtained by Charley in the very way he had, hundreds of times before, accomplished his purpose, that is, by teasing it out of his mother. For the next ten minutes the friends conversed, unmolested. At the end of that time Charley again made his appearance.

“Go up into the nursery, and stay with Ellen,” said Mrs. Stanley.

The child took no notice, whatever, of this direction, but walked steadily up to where his mother was sitting, saying, as he paused by her side–

“I want another piece of cake.”

“Not any more, my son.”

“Yes, mother. Give me some more.”

“No.” This was spoken in a very positive way. Charley began to beg in a whining tone, which, not producing the desired effect, soon rose into a well-defined cry.

“I declare! I never saw such a hungry set as my children are. They will eat constantly from morning until night.” Mrs. Stanley did not say this in the most amiable tone of voice.

“Mother! I want a piece of cake,” cried Charley.

“I’ll give you one little piece more; but, remember, that it will be the last; so don’t ask me again.”

Charley stopped crying at once. Mrs. Stanley went out with him. As soon as she was far enough from the parlour not to be heard, she took Charley by the shoulders, and giving him a violent shake, said–

“You little rebel, you! If you come into the parlour again, I’ll skin you!”

The cake was given. Charley cared about as much for the threat as he did for the shaking. He had gained his end.

“I pray daily for patience to bear with my children,” said Mrs. Stanley, on returning to the parlour. “They try us severely.”

“That they do,” replied Mrs. Noland. “But it is in our power, by firmness, consistency, and kindness, to render our tasks comparatively light.”

“Perhaps so. I try to be firm, and consistent, and kind with my children; to exercise toward them constant forbearance; but, after all, it is very hard to know exactly how to govern them.”

“Mother, can’t I go over into the square?” asked Emma, looking into the parlour just at this time. She was a little girl about eight years old.

“I would rather not have you go, my dear,” returned Mrs. Stanley.

“Oh yes, mother, do let me go,” urged Emma.

“Ellen can’t go with you now; and I do not wish you to go alone.”

“I can go well enough, mother.”

“Well, run along then, you intolerable little tease, you!”

Emma scampered away, and Mrs. Stanley remarked–

“That is the way. They gain their ends by importunity.”

“But should you allow that, my friend?”

“There was no particular reason why Emma should not go to the square. I didn’t think, at first, when I said I would rather not have her go, or I would have said ‘yes’ at once. It is so difficult to decide upon children’s requests on the spur of the moment.”

“But after you had said that you did not want her to go to the square, would it not have been better to have made her abide by your wishes?”

“I don’t think it would have been right for me to have deprived the child of the pleasure of playing in the square, from the mere pride of consistency. I was wrong in objecting at first–to have adhered to my objection would have been still a greater wrong;–don’t you think so?”

“I do not,” returned Mrs. Noland. “I know of no greater evil in a family, than for the children to discover that their parents vacillate in any matter regarding them. A denial once made to any request should be positive, even if, in a moment after, it be seen to have been made without sufficient reason.”