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LIBRARY OF THE 
 NEW YORK STATE COLLEGE 
 OF HOME ECONOMICS 
 CORNELL UNIVERSITY 
 ITHACA, NEW YORK 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PZ 3.C411A 
 
 As the twig is bent; a story for mothers 
 
 3 1924 014 522 464 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014522464 
 
AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 SI ^tot^ for S0ot^tte anD tzu}}tts 
 
 BY 
 
 SUSAN CHENERY 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW TOBK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 iSiie Stiber^ibe ^te^^ Camlinbae 
 
TO MY FATHER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAFTBB 
 
 
 PAsa 
 
 I. 
 
 Why it was Wkitten . . . 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Tkuth and Honor . 
 
 8 
 
 ni. 
 
 Growth of Unselfishness 
 
 . 21 
 
 - IV. 
 
 Concerning Obedience . 
 
 32 
 
 - V. 
 
 CuxTURE of the Chtt,t>'s Love . 
 
 . 44 
 
 VI. 
 
 Parkntal Sympathy 
 
 62 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thrift 
 
 . 64 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Temper 
 
 78 
 
 rx. 
 
 Habits 
 
 . 89 
 
 X. 
 
 Work and Pay .... 
 
 . 105 
 
 XL 
 
 The Chiuo's Happiness 
 
 . 116 
 
 xn. 
 
 The Chiijj's Thought of Death . 
 
 132 
 
 XTTT, 
 
 The Cnn.D's Religion . . • 
 
 . 143 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A riNAL Talk with Helew . • 
 
 . 162 
 
AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 CHAPTEK I 
 
 WHY IT WAS WRITTEN 
 
 One day I found in my sister's weekly 
 letter an invitation more urgent than any 
 yet received. " You must come," she 
 wrote. " If you don't, I shall be positively 
 offended. Brother does not need you this 
 summer, and I am sure the change of air 
 will benefit your rheumatism. Plan to spend 
 your whole vacation with us and get ac- 
 quainted with your niece and nephew." 
 
 I was only too glad to go. Hitherto 
 there had always been some duty to prevent 
 my visiting Helen, but now it seemed as if 
 I might consider my own desires, and I 
 hastened to let her know when to expect 
 
2 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 me. In the last days of that school tenn 
 I looked forward as eagerly as the children 
 to the period of rest, and spent many mo- 
 ments drawing fancy pictures of the home I 
 was so soon to visit. I wondered about the 
 little ones I had never seen, and about my 
 brother-in-law with whom I felt so slightly 
 acquainted; and I also wondered what 
 changes I should find in Helen herself. 
 Changes in appearance were all that I dwelt 
 upon, not those of character or behavior ; 
 for in the latter respect I pictured my sister 
 much as she had been in her girlhood. In 
 her letters there was still the same light, 
 merry tone there had always been, and little 
 sign of serious feeling. We could read in 
 them the happiness of an unpretentious, 
 home-centred life, but they had rarely been 
 of a confidential nature, intended as they 
 were for free circulation amongst home- 
 relatives, and somehow we never expected 
 to take Helen seriously. If we did read a 
 word here and there of deeper thought, we 
 
WHY IT WAS WEITTEN 3 
 
 always fancied we saw her smiling face be- 
 hind, and so continued to think of her as 
 the same careless, light-hearted girl who had 
 left us. 
 
 Photographs gave us some conception of 
 the appearance and growth of the children. 
 Five-year-old Margery we knew to be 
 brown-eyed and curly-haired, with a grave, 
 trustful expression, which even in the pic- 
 tures won our hearts. In the same man- 
 ner we knew, and did not need the testi- 
 mony of Helen's letters to convince us, that 
 four-year-old Frank was as jolly a little 
 fellow as we could find anywhere on the 
 round globe. We were informed that his 
 hair and eyes were of a red-brown tint and 
 his complexion fair and freckled. 
 
 Mingled with the excitement attending 
 the pleasant anticipations I held of so soon 
 seeing my sister again and of becoming in- 
 timately acquainted with her dear ones, it 
 is not strange that there should have been 
 also the hope that my long experience as a 
 
4 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 teacher of children would make my presence 
 valuable to her. 
 
 The school year came to an end at last, 
 and I went to my sister's home. I saw 
 Helen again. In the place of the merry 
 companion of my girlhood whom I expected 
 to meet, I found an earnest and resourceful 
 woman. I had not been twenty-four hours 
 in her home before I realized that mother- 
 hood had taught her more than all my 
 teaching had brought to me ; and day after 
 day throughout that long summer I won- 
 dered anew at her capability, and treasured 
 carefully in my memory the lessons I learned 
 from watching her methods with the chil- 
 dren. With the confidence of instinct she 
 walked calmly through the difficulties which 
 disturb many, and, strong in her mother- 
 love and her devotion to duty, boldly faced 
 the problems which came into her life. What 
 other parents encouraged or allowed had 
 little influence with her. The weakness 
 of permitting what she disapproved of had 
 
WHY IT WAS WEITTEN 5 
 
 no part in Helen's character. Sometimes, 
 also, her firm stand against the introduction 
 of unwise customs among her own children 
 strengthened other parents to take the 
 course they really preferred. Indeed, I could 
 foresee that as her children grew older such 
 questions would be more frequent, and that 
 her influence might in time produce a 
 greater simpKcity of life in her community. 
 Yet she felt no superiority, and I had dif- 
 ficulty at first in persuading her to give ex- 
 pression to her views on subjects relating to 
 child-government. Gradually, however, she 
 conversed with more freedom, and when 
 convinced of my sympathy opened the 
 pages of her heart for my perusal. 
 
 " But what is best for my children may 
 not be best for others," she would say. " I 
 suppose every mother learns what is best for 
 her own." 
 
 Now I had seen too many unwise parents 
 to agree with her in this, and it is because I 
 believe her ideas may be helpful to other 
 
6 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 mothers, and because they have been a posi- 
 tive aid to my own work in the schoolroom, 
 that I have tried to record them in this 
 book. 
 
 How strangely different from the thoughts 
 I had before I left school were those I took 
 back with me after this vacation ! My work 
 seemed now so much more desirable, so en- 
 nobling. I was thankful that God had let 
 me live to be back again, to use the new 
 knowledge given to me. Instead of feeling 
 overpowered and discouraged, as so often 
 had been the case on the first day of the 
 school year, by the many new faces ar- 
 ranged symmetrically before my desk, I now 
 looked at them separately and individually, 
 and as my glance wandered from one child 
 to another, I felt that I could love them 
 all, and that this love would help me to ac- 
 complish a higher work than that laid out 
 in the text-books. Of course I aimed, as 
 hitherto, to bring the latter up to the re- 
 quired standard, but I no longer felt 
 
WHY IT WAS WRITTEN 7 
 
 anxious about the result. The old routine, 
 which wears into so many a teacher's soul 
 and sets a mark on her by which her pro- 
 fession can be distinguished at a glance, 
 was no longer an unbearable burden to me. 
 It was entwined with new motives and as- 
 pirations, which covered its plain monotony, 
 and all the children helped to lift and carry 
 it along. I was younger and happier than 
 I had been for years ; for second only to 
 a mother's did I consider ray opportunity 
 in training character, and as a mother's 
 were my days elevated and beautified by 
 children's love. 
 
CHAPTEE n 
 
 TRUTH AND HONOK 
 
 Mt sister had a way of jumping into con- 
 versation that often amused me. After 
 sitting for some time in silence at her work, 
 she would come out with a terse remark that 
 would give the first hint of where her 
 thoughts had been roaming. I recall one 
 day when I had been watching one expres- 
 sion after another pass across her face, that 
 she suddenly exclaimed with characteristic 
 energy : — 
 
 «I hate lies!" 
 
 " Perfectly proper, Helen," said I, making 
 quite a leap myself in medias res. " ' Lying 
 lips are an abomination to the Lord,' too ! " 
 
 " Well, I really can see no excuse for a 
 Ue." 
 
 " Can't you ? I can. Unwarranted curi- 
 
TRUTH AND HONOR 9 
 
 osity about one's private affairs, for instance. 
 You must surely recall the time that prying 
 Miss Staples asked you i£ you were engaged 
 before a soul knew of your engagement 
 outside of our family. Do you remember 
 what you said ? " 
 
 My sister blushed. « Yes, I lied." 
 
 " You did, Helen, and it was justifiable, 
 too." 
 
 " I 'm not sure of that. I think if such 
 an instance should occur now, I could escape 
 with neither confession nor lies." 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 "I always did try to speak the truth," 
 continued Helen. " But I believe I dislike 
 lies much more since I have had children. 
 I do so hate to have them untruthful." 
 
 I laughed, recalling some of httle Frank's 
 latest prevarications. 
 
 "Did you have such a siege with Mar- 
 gery ? " I asked. 
 
 "Margery has had her time, but the 
 motive in her case was a different one. 
 
10 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 Frank is ingenious and originates a lie to 
 gain some end, principally to please his 
 stomach. Margery is tempted by fear or 
 shame, because of some naughty thing she 
 'wishes to hide." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that she still does 
 it?" I asked in surprise, not having observed 
 anything of the kind in the little girl. 
 
 " Yes, occasionally ; but I can generally 
 get her to be perfectly truthful by not mak- 
 ing too much of the offense she is trying to 
 conceal. She understands now that I can 
 endure the knowledge of any sin if she is 
 straightforward in confessing it. It sur- 
 prises me, however, that it should take so 
 long to teach my children to be truthful." 
 
 " Perhaps you are reaping the harvest of 
 your He to Miss Staples ! " 
 
 "Don't 1" said Helen, shivering. "But 
 really I have tried so constantly never to be 
 severe with Margery when she tells me of 
 wrong-doing that I cannot understand why 
 I must still handle her so carefully. Often I 
 
TRUTH AND HONOR n 
 
 must coax the truth from her, but I never 
 consciously let her go without getting her to 
 tell me it all." 
 
 " Both the children have good imagina- 
 tions," I said. 
 
 " Yes, but they are rarely untruthful from 
 that alone. A few times they have told me 
 of events that I knew had not occurred, and 
 I have said at the end, ' That's a make- 
 believe story, is n't it ? ' and they admitted 
 it frankly enough." 
 
 " Then, too, don't you think children 
 sometimes dream things that seem to them 
 true?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly. We must make allowance 
 for that." 
 
 " Well," I said, " Margery and Frank trust 
 you implicitly, Helen, and that will certainly 
 make your task easier." 
 
 '* Yes," said my sister, looking pleased. 
 " I think they do trust me, and they ought 
 to. I have never consciously told either 
 child the whitest kind of a lie. How could I 
 
12 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 4 
 
 expect them to be truthful if they ever heard 
 me say what was not true ? As it is, I be- 
 lieve, when they are older, they will grow to 
 love truth as much as I do. We often talk 
 about fairies and brownies, and they under- 
 stand these are creatures of fancy. Perhaps 
 as something more of a reality we have 
 looked upon Santa Claus. For I want my 
 children to have all the fun that others do, 
 and I half believe in the jolly old man my- 
 self. But last Christmas Eve Margery said 
 as I undressed her, 'Is Santa Claus reaUy 
 or believing, mamma ? ' And what could I 
 do? Was I to tell my child a first lie 
 merely to give her a little more fun ? " 
 
 " I know well enough what you did," I 
 replied. 
 
 " Of course. I said, ' It 's only believing, 
 Margery, like the brownies.' ' Who gives 
 us the presents, mamma ? ' Margery asked. 
 ' Oh, papa and mamma and friends,' I an- 
 swered, ' but I want you to get just as much 
 fun out of it as if it were true. So when 
 
TRUTH AND HONOR 13 
 
 you wake up to-morrow and find your stock- 
 ings full, I hope you '11 say, just as if it were 
 really so, " Goody, goody ! Santa Glaus has 
 been here and filled our stockings ! " ' * I 
 will, I will,' said Margery, laughing glee- 
 fully, and so she did. 
 
 " At the same time I asked her not to tell 
 Frank or other children, but * to keep this 
 a secret with me.' " 
 
 " TeU me, Helen," I said, " what do you 
 say i£ the children ask you questions that 
 you must not answer ? " 
 
 "I don't lie to them!" 
 
 " No ; but what do you say ? " 
 
 " I suppose you refer to questions about 
 their origin. — I say, ' I will tell you when 
 you are old enough to understand.' — If I 
 lived alone with them on a desert island, I 
 could give them a little of the truth now, 
 but it seems to me hardly fair not to respect 
 the reticence of other parents who do not 
 wish their children informed on the subject, 
 and we could not expect little children to 
 
14 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 keep such knowledge to themselves. — How- 
 ever, I am watching Margery, and if she 
 continues to keep inviolate our Kttle secret 
 ahout Santa Glaus, I shall tell her another 
 some day, to be kept as carefully." 
 
 That night, as the children were eating 
 their supper in the nursery, their mother and 
 I sitting in an adjoining room, Frank called 
 out : — 
 
 ''Mamma, Margery jus' took anuvvei 
 spoonful of jam." 
 
 " I did n't," said Margery. 
 
 " There it is ! " said Helen, getting up. 
 Presently I heard her in the nursery asking 
 cheerfully : — 
 
 " 'Most through supper, children ? " 
 
 Then the voices rippled on, evidently dis- 
 cussing pleasant subjects. With some curi- 
 osity I arose and looked in through the door. 
 Helen stood beside the little table, one hand 
 gently stroking Margery's head. 
 
 " Would you like some more jam, Mar- 
 gery?" 
 
TRUTH AND HONOR is 
 
 *' No, mamma." 
 
 " She took " — began Frank. 
 
 " You need n't tell me," said his mother. 
 " Margery -will, I 'm sure. Don't say any- 
 thing that isn't true, darling; it would 
 make me feel so badly. Did you take some 
 jam?" 
 
 "Yes, aUttle." 
 
 " Did you have all you wanted ? Would 
 n't you like some more ? " 
 
 Then Helen kissed her, saying, " I 'm so 
 glad you told me the truth," and immediately 
 began talking of other things. 
 
 My sister's comment on the matter latei 
 was this : — 
 
 " Of course the principal thing is to get 
 them to be truthful. Jam is entirely unim- 
 portant compared with truth." 
 
 When later we went down to tea, we saw 
 Margery's doll on a chair in the dining-room. 
 " Don't let me forget," said Helen ; " I pro- 
 mised to put Bosie in the playhouse before I 
 went to bed." But neither of us thought of 
 the doll again during the evening. 
 
16 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 That night I awoke from my first sleep at 
 the sound of carefiil footsteps in the hall. 
 I feared one of the children might be ill, 
 and looked out. At that moment my sister 
 •was about to enter the nursery. 
 
 *' Any one sick ? " I asked. 
 
 " No," said Helen in a whisper. " I for- 
 got this," holding up the doU. 
 
 "What time is it?" 
 
 " About half past two." 
 
 On the way to breakfast Helen told me how 
 she had waked suddenly in the night with 
 the thought of the doll. 
 
 "I wouldn't lightly break my word to 
 the children. Where an older person might 
 understand an omission for good reasons, 
 a child would lose confidence in you. Chil- 
 dren are sharp observers and very critical. 
 Once I hastily threatened to punish Margery 
 if she did a certain wrong thing again. Not 
 long after she repeated the offense ; and as 
 I hated to punish her, I looked about for an 
 honorable escape from doing it. She had 
 
TRUTH AND HONOR 17 
 
 hurt Frank. I said if she would tell Frank 
 that she was sorry, and try very hard to be 
 good to him in the future, I would excuse 
 her that time. She did what I asked, and 
 all seemed happily settled; but some time 
 after, when I found occasion to teU the chil- 
 dren how carefully one should keep his pro- 
 mises, Margery remarked, * You broke your 
 word once, did n't you, mamma ? ' and I 
 learned by a few questions that the little 
 midget had given me a black mark because 
 of my leniency to her that day. That taught 
 me a lesson, and I have been more careful 
 since to promise less, but to keep my word 
 absolutely, unless circumstances beyond my 
 control make that course impossible. In 
 such a case, which rarely happens, I explain 
 the matter fully to the children." 
 
 One afternoon, as Helen and I started off 
 on a walk with the httle ones, Frank said he 
 had forgotten his whistle. " If you want it, 
 go and get it," said his mother. 
 
 " Will you wait for me ? " 
 
18 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " Yes, I '11 wait right here." 
 
 So the little fellow ran back to the house. 
 I have seen children look behind to see if an 
 agreement were kept, but it did not occur to 
 Frank to feel any doubt. It was a sunny 
 spot where we stood, and I suggested that 
 we should cross the street and wait under a 
 tree. 
 
 " You go with Margery, " said Helen, 
 *'but I will stay here. Frank is so little 
 that he might think I had failed to keep my 
 promise did I budge from the spot." 
 
 Then, hmnorously, she drew with her 
 parasol a circle about her in the gravel. 
 Frank soon appeared, and I said to him, 
 *' You see mamma kept her word and waited 
 for you." 
 
 " Course her did," said Frank, looking up 
 with surprise at my remark. 
 
 I carefully watched my sister through the 
 remainder of my visit and I never heard the 
 slightest prevarication from her, although 
 now that my mind had been specially directed 
 
TRUTH AND HONOR 19 
 
 to the subject of truth-telling and the exact 
 keeping of promises, I noticed with horror 
 the prevalence in other families of the appar- 
 ent belief that no responsibility is to be at- 
 tached to lies or breaches of honor with little 
 ones. 
 
 I heard mothers say, " If you do that again 
 you can have no candy to-day," and the box 
 of candy would be brought by the delinquent 
 and partaken of in less than five minutes. 
 
 *' Where is my baby sister ? " said a Uttle 
 tot one day to his mother. " I don't know," 
 said she. " Perhaps God has taken her 
 away. You know you struck her." And 
 the little sister was at the time enjoying her 
 customary carriage-ride in the care of the 
 nurse-girl ! 
 
 " Does it taste bad ? '* said Margery, draw- 
 ing back as her mother was about to give 
 her a spoonful of medicine. 
 
 " I don't like it," said her mother. " But 
 perhaps you won't mind it. When I have 
 to take it, I swallow it as quickly as I can." 
 
20 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " No matter how desirable the end may 
 seem," my sister often said, "no lies, na 
 lies ! " 
 
 Helen and I looked down from a window 
 upon the children one day, as they played 
 with little neighbors, and we heard Arthur, 
 who lives next door, and is a year older than 
 Margery, say : " Let 's come and ask your 
 mother ; she won't fool us." And it seemed 
 to me that oat of the mouth of babes Helen's 
 praise was perfected. 
 
CHAPTEK III 
 
 GROWTH OF UNSELFISHNESS 
 
 Margery looked at me -with big, re- 
 proachful eyes. I was puzzled, and felt 
 disturbed without knowing why. When my 
 sister came back I appealed to her. She 
 had left the children with me for the day. 
 Helen smiled when I told her about the 
 fracas. 
 
 " You say Frank had taken something of 
 Margery's ? " 
 
 " Yes, her picture-blocks." 
 
 "And that she insisted upon his giving 
 them up to her ? " 
 
 "Yes, she pulled them away and he 
 
 cried." 
 
 " I am quite sure if I had been at home 
 she would have ashed him to give them up 
 and would have come to me before snatch- 
 ing them from him." 
 
22 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " Oh, she did ask him to give them up, 
 and she asked me to take them away. But 
 Margery did not want the blocks. She was 
 playing with her doll, and I thought she 
 ought to let Frank take them." 
 
 "Soyou" — 
 
 "Yes; when I saw how set she was to 
 take them from him, I told her she must 
 give them up." 
 
 « Did she refuse ? " 
 
 " No, but that is what puzzled me. For 
 a moment I thought she would fight me too, 
 but she left the blocks on the table, looked 
 reproachfully at me, and went out of the 
 room." 
 
 " How has she been since ? very sweet and 
 lamblike?" 
 
 ** No, ugly as a wolf." 
 
 "Has Frank been near her?" 
 
 " Yes, but she won't look at him." 
 
 "Then you think the relations between 
 them are a little strained because of this 
 incident ? " 
 
UNSELFISHNESS 23 
 
 " Yes, decidedly so. Helen " — 
 " What is it ? " said my sister, looking 
 mischievous. 
 
 "I believe — I see my mistake." 
 " Yes, I think you were wrong. You 
 see Margery would easily become a very 
 selfish child. I coul d of_ course oblige her 
 to give up to Frank, but nothing is gained 
 by this except Frank's momentary pleasure, 
 and much is lost ; for a child that is forced 
 into a renunciation will not become by that 
 act more inclined to unselfishness. I believe 
 it is good for a child to own absolutely his 
 toys and to respect similar rights in others. 
 He not only thus gets acquainted early with 
 the first principles of honesty, but with a 
 little guidance soon finds pleasure in giving 
 from his own to others. 
 
 " Of course I can't tell what might have 
 happened this morning had you sided with 
 Margery instead of Frank. But ordinarily 
 Margery, having received her own, offers 
 it in a few minutes to her brother. As I 
 
24 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 have found this frequently the case, I have 
 become convinced that my system is cor- 
 rect. Often, having allowed her to keep 
 her own, I say, ' Margery, that is yours 
 and you need not give it to Frank if you do 
 not wish to ; but I think it would be veiy 
 nice for you to surprise him in a few 
 minutes when he does n't expect it ; ' or I 
 say to Frank in her hearing, ' Margery is a 
 dear kind sister, and she lets you take a 
 great many of her things. I should n't be 
 surprised if in a few minutes she would let 
 you take it. But she need not if she does 
 not wish to.' This has generally brought 
 about a voluntary act of kindness." 
 
 I Hstened to Helen with much interest. 
 She went on : — 
 
 " I beUeve Margery has well outgrown 
 her selfishness. Sometimes I even feel in- 
 clined to interfere to prevent Frank's rough 
 handling of her choicest toys, she is so will- 
 ing to let him take them. If I had not been 
 through it all with Margery I might feel 
 
UNSELFISHNESS 25 
 
 worried now about him, for I dare say he 
 seems to an outsider, and perhaps to you, 
 a pretty selfish child. But Frank is natu- 
 rally open-handed, and will get adjusted to 
 his proper position with regard to the world's 
 treasures after awhile. At present he is 
 overwhelmed. Last Christmas completely 
 upset him. Since then he has so cherished 
 his toys that he is not only unwilling that 
 others should take them, but he is almost 
 afraid to play with them himself. I asked 
 him to be careful of them, but he is super, 
 hyper careful, he is miserly ! 
 
 " Some little boys came to play with him 
 the other day, and he was unwiUing to let 
 them touch a single Christmas toy, and in 
 their stead brought out his broken train. I 
 was truly ashamed. When the httle friends 
 had become busy with this old plaything, I 
 called Frank into another room and remon- 
 strated with him. ' I 'm af waid they 'U bwake 
 'em,' he said ; and I could not persuade 
 him to give them up. In this case I felt 
 
26 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 obKged to guide him with firmness while 
 I gave him liberty of choice. So I said, 
 * Well, Frank, those toys are yours and you 
 may do what you like with them. But I shall 
 not let boys come to play with you if you 
 are not going to do all you can to make 
 them happy. And if to have so many play- 
 things makes you selfish, I shall not let you 
 have so many next Christmas. Now you 
 may go to the boys, but think over what I 've 
 said.' A little later he came to my door and 
 said, ' Come and look at Harold and Jack, 
 and see what they 're doing.' I went to the 
 nursery and found one boy tightening the 
 Christmas drum and the other playing with 
 the coach. ' Don't they look happy ? ' 
 whispered Frank. * Yes. Who made them 
 so happy ? * * I did,' he said, with beaming 
 face. I think he has not been quite so 
 close-fisted since, and I hope for a decided 
 change soon." 
 
 My sister's children were fast becoming 
 very dear to me, and so it might be that I 
 
UNSELFISHNESS 27 
 
 looked at their faiilts through the larger end 
 of the telescope of criticism. It may have 
 been on this account that I had not up to this 
 time observed the selfishness that Helen 
 mentioned in connection with Frank. Re- 
 flection, however, brought to mind his par- 
 ticular attachment to his chair. 
 
 Soon after I had arrived at my sister's 
 I bought Margery and Frank each a Uttle 
 wooden chair hke those used in kinder- 
 gartens. Simple as the gift was, it gave 
 the children much pleasure. The first 
 night after these chairs had been added to 
 the nursery furniture I went as usual to 
 kiss the Uttle ones good-night. As Frank's 
 chair was conveniently near his bed and 
 strong enough to hold me, I sat on it for a 
 moment to talk with him ; but he twisted ner- 
 vously about and pushed at me with his feet, 
 muttering, " Go 'way." Understanding the 
 trouble, I took another seat. In a few 
 moments his father came in and sitting 
 where I had first, said : " Is n't this a fine 
 
28 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 chair, Frank ? Why, it holds me ! " but the 
 Httle boy was so evidently uncomfortable 
 that his father soon went over to Margery. I 
 waited with some curiosity to see what would 
 happen on Helen's entrance. To my amuse- 
 ment my sister did just as we had done. 
 Frank was uneasy and soon .whispered to 
 his mother, " I don't hke to have you sit in 
 my chair." But as Helen got up at once 
 to take another, he repented and said, " You 
 may sit in it, but I don't want any one else 
 to." We thought this feeling would soon 
 pass, but it seemed to grow stronger, and 
 Margery complained one day : — 
 
 '^ Mamma, I think Frank is really selfish 
 about his chair. I always let him sit on 
 mine when he wants to, but he won't let 
 me touch his, and now I just wanted to 
 step on it a moment to get my flowers down 
 from the shelf and he won't let me." 
 
 " I '11 get 'em for you," said Frank. 
 
 "No, I want to get 'em myself," said 
 Margery. "But long's you won't let me 
 take yours, I '11 bring my own chair over.'* 
 
UNSELFISHNESS 29 
 
 This was done, but Helen soon addressed 
 Frank in this way : — 
 
 " How strange, Frank, that you don't let 
 your own sister use your chair ! I have a 
 chair downstairs that papa calls mine, and I 
 generally use it in the evening when we are 
 alone ; but if I want to use papa's, he is 
 delighted to have me ; and we are both 
 glad to have any one who comes in take 
 either of them. Now if Mrs. Quinn should 
 sit down in your chair [Mrs. Quinn was the 
 washwoman and very fat], you might feel 
 afraid that she would break it ; or if Mike 
 should come up from the garden, you might 
 fear that he would get it dirty. But it is n't 
 Mrs. Quinn, and it is n't Mike, that wants 
 to do this, but your own dear sister. It 
 seems to me you ought not to mind about 
 your own family. When you get a little 
 bigger I think you will be glad to let any 
 one who comes here sit in your chair." 
 
 These words had more than the desired 
 effect. I am sure Frank would have suf- 
 
30 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 fered much before even his owa mother 
 could have forced him to give up in this 
 matter ; but in less than half an hour after 
 this talk, my sister and I overheard an 
 amusing altercation between the two chil- 
 dren. 
 
 " I want you to take it," said Frank. 
 
 " But I don't want to," said Margery. 
 
 " Here 't is, anyway." 
 
 "Well, I don't want it. I'm sitting in 
 my own chair. Mamma, Frank pushed me 
 on to the floor." 
 
 We both laughed, and Helen went to 
 harmonize the new conditions. She per- 
 suaded Margery to sit for a minute in 
 Frank's chair, and peace was restored. 
 
 Some weeks after this an Armenian ped- 
 dler with a little girl stopped at the house to 
 persuade the cook to buy something. Helen 
 happened into the kitchen with Frank while 
 they were there, and he looked at the stran- 
 gers with considerable curiosity. The httle 
 girl stood near her mother, to whom she 
 
UNSELFISHNESS 31 
 
 occasionally said something in their own 
 language. After watching them intently 
 for a while, Frank ran out of the room. 
 His mother had hardly missed him when 
 she heard the thump, thump, of something 
 coming down the back stairs, and in he 
 marched, dragging his chair behind him. 
 He had brought it from the nursery to the 
 kitchen that the little girl might sit in it ! 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 CONOEENING OBEDIENCE 
 
 " Makgbry, will you please go down stairs 
 and get me a glass of water ? " 
 
 " Oh, mamma ! I 've just got my dolly all 
 ready for a bath." 
 
 « All right ! " said Helen pleasantly, « I '11 
 get it myself." 
 
 I searched my sister's face in vain for a 
 suggestion of sarcasm, and not approving 
 of her placidity, said to the child, — 
 
 *'I'm surprised, Margery, that you 
 would n't do that for your dear mother." 
 
 ** I do lots of things/' was her reply. 
 
 " Yes, you do, darling," said her mother. 
 *' Auntie has n't been here long enough to 
 see how helpful you are." 
 
 " You see," said Helen, turning to me, — 
 *' I draw a decided line between commands 
 
OBEDIENCE 33 
 
 and requests. If I tell Margery to do a 
 thing, I expect her to do it. If I ask a 
 favor of her, she should in my opinion have 
 the privilege of refusing. She rarely does 
 refuse, as you will have many opportunities 
 of seeing. It is easy to ask too much of 
 these willing little hands and feet. By 
 turning their help into a burden I could 
 make the children ungracious." 
 
 " Then you do beheve in obedience ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Most certainly. I am sufficiently old- 
 fashioned to think it does not hurt a child 
 to mind. He thus learns to respect rightful 
 authority. Acts of obedience to proper 
 and recognized authority prepare the child 
 for his later life. There will always be 
 something for Vn'm to obey. It is not easy 
 for him to give up his own will, even for 
 the sake of right ; but if this is expected of 
 him in childhood, he is prepared to recog- 
 nize the importance of right all through his 
 life. The child that begins by obeying a 
 
34 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 good and conscientious parent will naturally 
 be better prepared to obey his own con- 
 science in later years, — and to have a 
 more correct conscience, — and he will be 
 a better, because a law-abiding citizen. 
 
 " The proper time for unreasoning obe- 
 dience is at the beginning of the child's 
 life. In this period it is the child's safe- 
 guard. Therefore it should be prompt, 
 without question or explanation of the 
 [reasonableness of the command. The child 
 should be taught to trust to his parents' 
 judgment in all matters. If explanations 
 are to be given, let them come after obe- 
 dience, I say, not before. We need not 
 fear Casabiancan experiences ! For one such 
 illustration of evil resulting from literal obe- 
 dience, we have hundreds of lives saved 
 through the same cause. 
 
 " One reason only do I allow my chil- 
 dren: This is the right thing to do; we 
 must do the right." 
 
 I here recalled two of the mottoes on the 
 
OBEDIENCE 35 
 
 nursery walls : " Do right and fear no- 
 thing}" and this frona the brownies, — 
 
 " Do only what is right, 
 And keep your heart light." 
 
 But Helen was talking : — 
 
 ** Parents should use consideration in 
 their commands. If a child is absorbed in 
 an occupation, the mother might well think 
 twice before she asks him to leave it to 
 get her a glass of water. Should he not 
 hear her voice at once, this is a good sign, 
 not a bad one. The quality of attention 
 to the work on hand, that concentration 
 which forgets all outside distractions, is a 
 most desirable trait and should be en- 
 couraged. 
 
 " As the child grows older the commands 
 should be fewer ; but the parents' right to 
 obedience should have been settled long 
 before, and, when the occasion calls for it, 
 should be unquestionable. As the child 
 matures he can become more and more a 
 companion to his parents, to either or to 
 
36 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 both o£ them, and that condition of perfect 
 sympathy may be attained •where obedience 
 will not be required; for where wish es are 
 respected, co mmands are not needed. But 
 as long as he is a minor, or dependent on 
 his parents for his support, his position de- 
 mands of him that deference to his parents 
 that became him in childhood ; his depend- 
 ence makes this suitable. If he cannot sub- 
 mit to it, he should alter his position ; then 
 only can he assert his independence. 
 
 " Where the child has not been trained to 
 respect and defer to his parents' wishes, we 
 often see the anomalous situation of a young 
 man or a young woman, actually dependent 
 on the father for each day's supply of food 
 and clothing, openly disrespectful and often 
 scorning the father's simplest wishes. The 
 domestic traiaing in such instances may 
 have developed beautiful qualities in the 
 parents (!), gentleness, sweetness, and sub- 
 mission ; but it has been a failure with 
 respect to the children. 
 
OBEDIENCE 37 
 
 " Yes, my beKef is that a child's char- 
 acter becomes stronger by submission to 
 proper authority, and that it is better for 
 him to be required to renounce a wrong act 
 as a matter of obedience than to be forcibly 
 detained from continuing it." 
 
 I looked up, laughing. 
 
 " Did you think, Helen, you were on the 
 lecture-platform? I am not an opponent. 
 I agree with you perfectly." 
 
 My sister blushed, but before she could 
 reply we had an interruption, and pat came 
 Frank with a large volume in his arms. 
 Helen said quickly, " Frank, that is one 
 of papa's nice books ; go and put it in the 
 other room." 
 
 He did not move. 
 
 "Go at once and put the book away," 
 she repeated. 
 
 The boy looked at his mother, then down 
 at the book. 
 
 «I don't want to." 
 
 "That does not make any difference. 
 
38 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 You must put it away. Oh, dear ! Shall 
 I have to punish ? " 
 
 " Shut your eyes, mamma," said Margery, 
 " and p'r'aps he '11 surprise you." 
 
 " Oh, I hope so," said Helen, following 
 the little girl's suggestion. 
 
 Frank looked at his mother a moment, 
 then turned around and ran out of the room 
 with the book. Helen sat with her eyes 
 closed tOl he came back, calling, " Open, 
 mamma, open." 
 
 "Come here to me, my dear boy," said 
 she, smiling into his merry face. " I 'm so 
 glad you did the right thing ! I do hate to 
 punish ! " 
 
 "That was a happy thought of Mar- 
 gery's," said I, after the children had left 
 us. " Was it original with her ? " 
 
 " No," said my sister. " I was forced 
 into inventing it when she was younger. If 
 she got into an obstinate mood, we had 
 terrible times. Even when she repented of 
 hei stand she could not bear to give in. 
 
OBEDIENCE 39 
 
 The first time I tried this I remember so 
 well. We were both quite worn out with the 
 struggle. I did not wish to 'break her 
 wiU ! ' Such language is preposterous. She 
 was persisting in wrong-doing that involved 
 another's rights. I wished her to renounce 
 the wrong. Perhaps if I had realized in 
 advance the child's mood, I might have 
 handled her in a different way ; but it came 
 out all right in the end. ' Margery,' I said, 
 ' I 'm going to shut my eyes, and I hope my 
 little girl will surprise me by doing the right 
 thing.' She did not jump that time, I 
 assure you, to do what I asked ! I seemed 
 to feel her eyes burning into my face as she 
 sat and meditated as to whether she would 
 take the opportunity of yielding gracefully. 
 Then I heard a rustle and I knew she had 
 chosen obedience. Since then I have often 
 found this method a useful one. I don't 
 always resort to it, however ; it might lose 
 its virtue with too frequent airing." 
 
 " How do you punish the children ? " I 
 asked. 
 
40 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 "Generally by depriving them o£ some 
 privilege, but never of anything absolutely 
 promised." 
 
 "Do you believe in corporal punish- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I don't know ! Not if any- 
 thing else "wiU do. If all girls are like 
 Margery, I should say, never for girls. I 
 punished her once on her hand and I shall 
 never do it again. I believe if I had kept 
 at it all day she would not have yielded to 
 me. Where an obstinate spirit of rebellion 
 is aroused it cannot be right. Frank is so 
 different. I asked him the other day which 
 he preferred, to be spanked or sent to bed, 
 and he chose the spanking ! I thought he 
 made a wise choice. 
 
 " One thing I am careful about is to 
 have the children understand how it hurts 
 me to be obliged to resort to any form of 
 punishment, and all the jokes on this subject 
 in the funny columns will not make the act 
 of punishing anything else than painful to 
 
OBEDIENCE 41 
 
 a mother. The children often after repent- 
 ance say, ' Poor mamma ! We 're so sorry 
 you had to punish us ! ' " 
 
 Just then Margery and Frank ran up to 
 their mother with some request, and after 
 replying to them, she said : — 
 
 "Frank, tell auntie whom you must 
 mind." 
 
 " Papa and mamma, and the teacher when 
 I go to school." 
 
 " You forgot God," said Margery. 
 
 " Yes," said Helen, " these you must mind, 
 — papa and mamma, the teacher, and above 
 all, God." 
 
 "Somebody else," said Frank. "The 
 policeman." 
 
 My sister looked at me, surprised. " He 
 is right," said she. " To think of the 
 number of times I have talked with them 
 about this, and that I should leave out 
 obedience to the law ! 
 
 "I don't believe in too many masters. 
 It is, I think, a mistake to require children 
 
42 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 to obey servants, or older brothers and 
 sisters, except on special occasions when the 
 parental authority may be vested in these." 
 
 When it was time for regular occupations 
 Helen could not brook delay. Scenes like 
 the following occurred sometimes : — 
 
 "Come, children, time to get ready for 
 dinner. Go to Mary. Oh, dear ! You don't 
 mind hke soldiers ! Come here and let 's 
 have our drill. Now, right about face, for- 
 ward, march ! " 
 
 This was fun, and the children put their 
 shoulders back and marched as they had 
 been taught — straight ahead until they 
 reached a wall. 
 
 « Right about face ! " 
 
 Around they wheeled. Here was pre- 
 cision and no delay. 
 
 " Forward, march ! " 
 
 Back they came to their mother. 
 
 "Salute!" 
 
 Bight hands came up to the side of the 
 head, straight out, and down to the side with 
 a flap. 
 
OBEDIENCE 43 
 
 « Right about face ! " 
 
 Around they wheeled again. 
 
 " Forward march — through the door to 
 the bathroom ! " 
 
 Off went the children to their duty. 
 
 This always pleased me, and I determined 
 to try it in the schoolroom. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 CULTURE OF THE CHILd's LOVE 
 
 " Some day I am going to invent a work- 
 basket on the principle of those weighted 
 toys that are sure to right themselves no 
 matter how they are tossed about ! " 
 
 " Is your basket upset again ? " I asked, 
 amused. 
 
 "It is," said Helen solemnly. "Now 
 there is nothing for it but to get down on 
 my knees and pick up every refractory spool." 
 
 " If my rheumatism did n't chain me I 'd 
 gladly do it for you," said I. 
 
 Just then Margery appeared in the door- 
 way. 
 
 " I wish there were some brownies about,' 
 said my sister. 
 
 "You know, mamma," said Margery, 
 "the brownies never work when there are 
 people around." 
 
THE CHILD'S LOVE 45 
 
 « That 's so," said Helen, « but I wonder, 
 if the people should go to sleep or shut their 
 eyes, if the brownies would n't help them." 
 
 " I should n't wonder," said Margery. 
 
 At this hint we turned into sleeping 
 images, and let the little girl perform her act 
 of kindness and fun. 
 
 " Why, the brownies must have been 
 here ! " said Helen when on hearing the soft 
 footsteps pass out of the room, we opened 
 our eyes. 
 
 " Very nice brownies indeed ! " said I, 
 loud enough to be heard from the hall. 
 
 Helen was making a pretty dress for Mar- 
 gery. 
 
 " It is such a pleasure to work for one's 
 children," she remarked, " that I might 
 easily forget to teach mine to do for me if I 
 had not seen too many illustrations of filial 
 ingratitude. How often it happens that 
 parents who have slaved for their children 
 are absolutely disregarded and neglected 
 when old, or are expected to keep on slaving 
 
46 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 till they die ! The remedy for this condition 
 is, in my opinion, in the line of prevention, 
 and consists in bringing up the children, 
 even from babyhood, to do for their parents, 
 and to expect to do more when older. I 
 have talked with mine about this. I have 
 told them that some day I shall not be able 
 to work for them, that a time may come 
 when I shall not be able to walk or see well, 
 and I asked them, ' Who will take care of 
 me then ? ' Both children threw their arms 
 about me, saying, ' I will.' I told them that 
 I often get tired now, working in one way 
 or another, and that they could help me by 
 saving my steps, or by loving me ; that per- 
 haps, if they help me, I should not get old 
 quite so soon. Since then I notice that they 
 look out for me in many ways, and their 
 love does certainly help me through trying 
 hours. If I lie down with a headache they 
 come in softly, kiss me, or darken the room, 
 and I often leave some small duties unper- 
 formed that they may acquire the habit of 
 sparing me unnecessary labor. 
 
THE CHILD'S LOVE 47 
 
 *'I am also anxious that the children 
 should realize the relationship between them- 
 selves. For this reason I never compare one 
 child with the other, and I make light of 
 any grievance between them. ' It is easy to 
 forgive our own,' I say to the hurt or grieved 
 child, and a gentle word to the offender gen- 
 erally makes him ashamed of his conduct. 
 If I punished him the angry feelings on both 
 sides would be aggravated. You remember 
 father used to say to Hal and Robert, * If 
 you quarrel I 'U punish you both.' For un- 
 manageable boys that is n't a bad rule. It 
 promotes community of sorrow and hence of 
 sympathy ! " and Helen laughed. 
 
 " Now don't imagine that because of these 
 preparations I can feel siu-e of a loved and 
 comfortable old age myself, or of a state of 
 loving sympathy between Margery and Frank 
 in mature years. I do not know what evil 
 influences may touch and modify my chil- 
 dren's characters in later life ; but these first 
 years of theirs I hold, and with God's help 
 
48 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 I am going to make the best of them. Don't 
 you think it stands to reason that if children 
 are trained from their earUest recollections 
 to be considerate of the other members of 
 the family, they will be more hkely to be so 
 through Kfe ? " 
 
 " Indeed it does, Helen," said I. " But 
 you are unfortunate in not having a grand- 
 parent near by for your little ones to visit 
 and care for." 
 
 " Yes, I often realize that. Just thiuk ! 
 Father and mother died before either of the 
 children was born. I feel as i£ Margery and 
 Frank had missed a blessing in not having 
 been looked upon by them. Then Edward's 
 parents are so far away that they are scarcely 
 more than a name to the children. My little 
 ones miss what ought to be one of the most 
 elevating and refining influences of a child's 
 hfe." 
 
 Just here I felt impelled to call my sister's 
 attention to a condition which I had noticed 
 in her home, and which seemed to me the 
 
THE CHILD'S LOVE 49 
 
 weak part of the character-structure she was 
 building. It required all my courage to put 
 a question which was sure to wound, however 
 faithfully intended. 
 
 " Are you teaching the children to do for 
 their father as well as for you ? " 
 
 During several moments there was no re- 
 ply. I could not Hf t my eyes from the work 
 in my hands. When Helen spoke, I per- 
 ceived by her voice that she was deeply 
 moved. 
 
 " God forgive me ! " she said. 
 
 " Helen," I cried, startled myself at her 
 emotion, " it is n't too late." 
 
 " No, but I 'm so ashamed ! You see, 
 Edward is at home so little when the children 
 are awake and takes so Kttle notice of them 
 then, that he cannot get a hold on their affec- 
 tions without help from me. On Sundays 
 they disturb him, on other days he gives 
 them a cent now and then, and occasionally 
 comes up and kisses them good-night. When 
 Margery was born, I used to think of train- 
 
50 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 ing her to get papa's slippers and o£ doing 
 other little things for him. But those inten- 
 tions have been completely forgotten. May 
 I be forgiven ! " 
 
 " I have often noticed this, Helen," said I, 
 " in other homes. Do not feel so badly. 
 The father is often kept to one side, unless 
 he is especially assertive and demonstrative. 
 Even when held in remembrance, it is often 
 merely as the instrument of discipline. On 
 the other hand, if the mother is neglectful of 
 her children, you will generally find the father 
 attentive to them." 
 
 " Well, there '11 be a change in this house 
 from to-day ! " said my sister earnestly. 
 
 " Edward is also to blame. He ought to 
 make more of the children," I ventured. 
 
 " It is n't necessary," said Helen. " The 
 fault is my own and I recognize it. To keep 
 their love for him alive is disgracefully easy. 
 I have only to see that they think about him 
 and do for him as well as for their selfish 
 mother. Oh, I 'U fix it, now that my atteu- 
 
THE CHILD'S LOVE 51 
 
 tion Is directed to it. I am ashamed that 
 you should have to teach me this, but I am 
 grateful for your frankness." 
 
 There was no halfway work about Helen. 
 Margery was helped to make a simple pud- 
 ding " for dear papa " that very afternoon, 
 and to Frank it was suggested that the same 
 parent might like to see one of his funny 
 pictures. 
 
 As for myself, I had the happiness of 
 knowing that old maid meddlers can some- 
 times do a good work, and I thanked the 
 Lord that He had given me courage to 
 speak the words He had put in my mouth. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 PARENTAL SYMPATHY 
 
 The next day, as we sat again ■with our 
 needlework, there was a noise of feet stum- 
 bling up the stairs, and in rushed Frank to 
 throw himself against his mother with tears 
 and pent-up moans. For a minute Helen 
 smoothed his hair and let him cry. Then he 
 was able to teU the cause of his childish 
 grief. Not till the storm had passed and 
 the sun was about to shine again in the clear 
 eyes did his mother say quietly : — 
 
 "We must try to be brave. I suppose 
 ■when we get a Uttle bigger we won't cry 
 when we 're hurt." 
 
 " I dess not," whispered Frank, and he 
 went out trying to whistle. 
 
 " This brings up another aspect of the 
 subject we were talking about yesterday," 
 
PARENTAL SYMPATHY g3 
 
 said I. " Then we were considering the 
 child's duty toward the parent. You said 
 little, Helen, of the parent's duty to the 
 child." 
 
 My sister looked up from her sewing. 
 
 " In the way of sympathy? " 
 
 " Yes. I was pleased to see you comfort 
 Frank hefore you urged him to be brave." 
 
 "I suppose many would censure me for 
 that. I fancy the proper thing for me to 
 say would be, ' For shame, Frank, to cry for 
 so little a thing ! ' " 
 
 " And then perhaps he would not come to 
 you the next time he was hurt." 
 
 " No, he would go to Mary, or struggle 
 through the pain by himself. And I want 
 him to come to me. I want him to feel sure 
 of my sympathy in everything that concerns 
 him. Then we can aim together at courage 
 and every other good thing. But one has to 
 be so careful not to startle a child. Little 
 wild things ! They remind me of the spar- 
 rows that come so boldly near us, yet fly at 
 the movement of a finger. 
 
54 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " Before Margery was three she gave me 
 her first confidence. We had taken a drive 
 that day with a strange and nervous horse. 
 Edward was with us, but I was not very 
 strong and too plainly showed my fear. 
 Margery sat between us and slipped back 
 while the horse was prancing. As soon as 
 I could control myself, I pulled her out and 
 tried to occupy her attention with objects on 
 the road. I had thought she might have 
 been frightened, but although she was un- 
 usually quiet, I saw no signs of fear. That 
 night when she went to bed, I said, ' Did n't 
 we have a nice ride to-day ? ' and she replied, 
 * I did n't hke it when the horse jumped. 
 Mamma, I want to Vhisper something: / 
 cried in there in the dark ! ' * Did you, 
 darling ? ' I said, comprehending that she 
 referred to the time when she was behind 
 us in the carriage. ' No, I did n't ! ' she ex- 
 claimed, already ashamed of giving utterance 
 to her inmost sentiments. I refrained from 
 further reference to the subject, but trea- 
 sured this voluntary confidence." 
 
PARENTAL SYMPATHY 55 
 
 " That ' No, I did n't ' was not the truth, 
 Helen. Did you say anything to her about 
 it?" 
 
 "Oh, no ! In the first place, you must 
 remember, she was very httle at the time ; 
 then she had taken a big step in opening 
 that secret chamber of her heart, and the 
 important part for me just then was to keep 
 her from regretting it. Much as I love 
 truth, it did n't enter my head to give her a 
 lesson on that subject then. I am sure, re- 
 calling it, that it was a time not to speak. 
 
 "In this same epoch she made her first 
 unsolicited confession of wrong-doing, and 
 I received it without showing the special 
 interest I felt, being anxious not to startle 
 my timid nestling. Cranberry time had 
 been long past when she said to me, ' Once, 
 mamma, I saw some red things in a pan on 
 the kitchen table and I took some upstairs.' 
 'What for?' said I. 'To eat 'em. I 
 thought you would n't let me have 'em ! ' 
 It was the first glimpse of deception in my 
 
66 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 little girl and would have saddened me, had 
 I not been so pleased with the confidence 
 indicated in the confession. I did not 
 frighten her with reproval. I should have 
 opportunities enough to direct her to the 
 right. I simply asked, ' Did you eat them ? ' 
 And she replied, * No, I did n't like 'em. I 
 threw 'em away.' " 
 
 " Yes," said I, " Margery seems a very 
 shy and reticent child, but Prank is not, is 
 he?" 
 
 " Frank is easily startled too if he fears 
 he has said too much. Young as he is, he 
 seems ashamed of good impulses put into 
 action for the first time. I think most 
 children must be like him. When he went 
 with me into Boston, the other day, he be- 
 came quite drawn to one of the conductors 
 of an electric car, and even offered him 
 a treasured bit of candy. As the man 
 thanked him, Frank looked quickly at me, 
 as if ashamed that I should have seen what 
 had occurred. I wondered why the child 
 
PARENTAL SYMPATHY 57 
 
 should distrust my sympathy, and took 
 pains to pat his hand and whisper, ' I guess 
 he was glad to get it ! ' 
 
 " Yes, children are shy little things. Who 
 holds a child's love and confidence owns 
 something beyond price. But to become 
 really intimate with a child and be a confi- 
 dant in his woes and happiness, we must 
 get o£E our pedestals of dignity. We can 
 learn a lesson from the babies, who are 
 afraid of grown people, yet play fearlessly 
 with other children, even when these are 
 strangers. If you wish to conquer a strange 
 baby, the quickest way is to reduce your 
 dimensions, get down on the floor, and thus 
 make yourself appear at least as nearly as 
 possible of his height. Something of this 
 we can apply to the treatment of our own 
 children. They are sufficiently aware of our 
 bigness, our age, and the respect due to us. 
 If we wish to have their confidence, we 
 must show them we have not forgotten 
 what it was to be little, and even that we 
 
58 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 were n't perfect then, although in their igno* 
 ranee they may so consider us now. 
 
 " You know what good friends Emily 
 Thorne and her mother are ; they seem 
 more like devoted sisters. I asked Mrs. 
 Thorne once how she had managed, and 
 she talked on the subject with the greatest 
 frankness. This is what she said : ' I always 
 felt an interest in Emily's affairs, and 
 showed it. Then I did n't put myself on an 
 altar and ask Emily to worship me. I pre- 
 ferred that she should look on me as a 
 companion. She used to tell me everything. 
 One evening when she was about twelve, on 
 her return from a neighbor's, I went as 
 usual to her room for a quiet chat. 'Oh, 
 mother,' she said, 'I've done something 
 awfully silly ! I know you wiU think it the 
 siUiest thing in the world ! ' * What is it ? ' 
 I asked. 'I used to do siUy things some- 
 times when I was younger.' * Oh, I 'm 
 really ashamed to tell you — CharUe kissed 
 me at the door and I kissed him ! ' ' Well, 
 
PAEENTAL SYMPATHY 59 
 
 Emily Thome, that was silly and no mis- 
 take ! But I shall have to tell you that I 
 did just the same thing once when I was a 
 little girl. My mother told me not to do 
 it again, and I don't want you to. Keep 
 your kisses for papa and me.' " Thus with 
 sympathy mingled with her bit of advice 
 Mrs. Thorne cherished the child's confi- 
 dence, instead of discouraging her by a 
 too prompt and decided disapproval. 
 
 " As children will do unwise things, how 
 much better it is for their parents to know 
 about them ! Of course we all want our 
 little saplings to be stronger and finer than 
 we are, but we can hardly expect them to 
 be much better. They cannot flourish like 
 a green bay-tree if they partake of the 
 nature of a juniper. But the young tree may 
 grow into one more perfect than the parent 
 from which it came. We may expect our 
 children to be tempted in just the ways we 
 have been, and that they will have many 
 of our follies and weaknesses. But if they 
 
60 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 will only confide these to us, they can have 
 the strength derived from our experiences 
 to help them avoid evil. They must be sure 
 of our love, and that in spite of any wrong- 
 doing. Having gained their confidence, we 
 must keep it. We must not betray their 
 little secrets, even if they seem insignificant. 
 We must be their best, their closest friends." 
 
 We stitched away in silence for a while. 
 I was recalling an incident of the previous 
 day. 
 
 Seeing Frank step on a toad, I had re- 
 proved him from the window. " Stop, 
 T'ranh, you naughty boy," I said, with an 
 aunt's freedom of speech. " Take your 
 foot ofE that toad." Just then Helen came 
 up behind me and put a hand over my 
 mouth. Then she looked out of the window 
 and exclaiming, " Oh, the poor little toad ! " 
 ran quickly out of doors. I watched her 
 from the window. The toad was unin- 
 jured and soon hopped off into the grass. 
 Helen stood beside Frank, looking at it. 
 
PARENTAL SYMPATHY 61 
 
 " That was not a kind thing to do to the 
 little toad, was it ? " 
 
 " No, mamma." 
 
 " I hope you won't do it again." 
 
 " No, mamma." 
 
 Then she kissed him and hurried back to 
 me. 
 
 "I will tell you frankly," she said on 
 entering, " I did not like to hear you call 
 Frank naughty. If he should get the be- 
 lief that he is a naughty child, perhaps he 
 would not be a good one ! If he should 
 behave very badly I might speak of his acts 
 as naughty, but I would not call him so. 
 It is not fair to judge a child by each sepa- 
 rate act. Often he experiments with him- 
 self, uses an objectionable word perhaps, or 
 performs a questionable deed, but is easily 
 persuaded to lay them by. The motive is 
 everything, and only God Himself (unless it 
 is the mother) knows the child's motives. 
 
 " We must keep his aims high, not lower 
 them by discouragement. We must not 
 
62 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 make crimes of sKght offenses. When we 
 see the bad, let us not forget the good. Let 
 us expect good things from him and show 
 him that we do. Surely expressed opinions 
 help to form character. I try to encourage 
 all the gopd and help the children to forget 
 their naughty acts. When atonement is 
 necessary it is better, it seems to me, to 
 wait until the naughty mood has passed 
 before requiring it. Of what use is it to 
 force sullen, angry children to beg one's 
 pardon ? If we wait till they feel happier, 
 they are really sorry and willing enough to 
 to say so. Thus we can foster self-respect, 
 not kill it." 
 
 " There 's good common sense in that, 
 Helen," said I. " It depresses me to this 
 day to know that others are dissatisfied Avith 
 me." 
 
 " What do you think," said I a moment 
 later. « Is love bhnd ? " 
 
 " BHnd ! Far from it ! Love has wonder- 
 ful eyes. Love has even second sight. Do 
 
PAEENTAL SYMPATHY 63 
 
 I not know when my children appear well ? 
 Do I not know as certainly when they are 
 not at their best ? All can see evil plainly. 
 The eyes of Love can see the good which is 
 hidden from the common sight. This is 
 why the true mother can find excuses for 
 her child's wrong conduct, and this is what 
 gives her her power of influence. The too 
 visible evil does not frighten her, for she 
 can see the hidden good. She knows the 
 foundation she has to build upon. How 
 many great men have owed their success to 
 the penetrating love of a mother or a sister, 
 who could see below the surface faults and 
 unattractiveness the foundation of talents 
 and goodness ! " 
 
CHAPTER Vn 
 
 THRIFT 
 
 One day my sister went into the nursery 
 aaid found her little boy hard at work pull- 
 ing a ball to pieces. 
 
 « "Why, Frank ! " 
 
 " It 's mine, mamma." 
 
 " Yes, I know it," she replied, and left 
 him, thinking the destroyed plaything 
 would bring its own lesson ; but the next 
 day he broke apart a tin horse and cart, 
 and the next he made so much noise pound- 
 ing his cast-iron locomotive that she dis- 
 covered him before he had done any damage 
 to it. 
 
 " Frank, what has got into you ! " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Nussin," he replied, still pounding. 
 
 " Stop, Frank ; I can't let you spoil that 
 engine." 
 
THRIFT 65 
 
 "It's mine." 
 
 " Oh, yea, I know that. But why do you 
 wish to break it, your lovely engine ? " 
 
 " I don't want it any more." 
 
 " But you win. When winter comes and 
 you play in the house you wiU want it." 
 
 " I want to break it up." 
 
 " I can't let you." 
 
 "But it's mine." 
 
 " Yes, the engine belongs to you, but you 
 belong to me, and I must n't let you do it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because it 's wasteful." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " It 's throwing away things good for 
 something. That engine cost money. Some- 
 body worked to get the money that paid for 
 it. If you break the engine you waste that 
 good money that somebody worked for." 
 
 Helen now continued in an extremely seri' 
 ous tone of voice : 
 
 " For willful waste makes woeful want, 
 And you might live to say, 
 
66 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 Oh, how I wish I had that — engine— 
 That once I thiew away." 
 
 Which impressed Prank more, the meaning 
 of the words or his mother's manner, we 
 could not know. An impression was certainly 
 made. He looked at the engine a minate, 
 then lifted it carefully and laid it beside its 
 companion cars in the box, and the flood of 
 destruction that had threatened the nursery 
 was stayed. 
 
 " I don't like to see children wasteful," 
 said Helen a short time after this ; " but it 
 seems to me that they breathe extravagance 
 in this country of easily acqiiired fortunes. 
 Don't you think so?" 
 
 « Yes, I do indeed." 
 
 ** But how can they escape this influence ? 
 I find it hard to resist myself, A bargain 
 advertisement always entices me. If I have 
 money in my pocket, I am obliged to pull 
 myselE by a tempting window. In fact I 
 don't always go by ! " 
 
 I laughed. 
 
THEIFT 67 
 
 ** Still, Helen, you save a good many tilings 
 that others would throw away." 
 
 " Now you are naughty ! You are think- 
 ing of my attic with its useless savings, 
 things one can't give away and yet that 
 wheedle me into believing they will be of use 
 some day." 
 
 " You have n't kept any seven years yet, 
 Helen." 
 
 ** I shan't get a chance to. Edward can't 
 bear these accumulations, so every two or 
 three years he goes over the attic, throwing 
 out of the window everything that can go 
 through it, and telling Mike to make way 
 with the rest. He gets perfectly reckless 
 and discards things he is sure to want later. 
 At such times I sit downstairs and disap- 
 prove, but feel no responsibiHty in the mat- 
 ter. Edward is worse than I am in spending 
 money, too. It 's a case of pot and kettle, I 
 know, but while both are equally black, one 
 may be a httle bigger. Edward has always 
 been used to nice things and he will get them 
 
68 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 if he has the ready money, even if we suffer 
 for it later on. I believe in having a sur- 
 plus. Edward says his life insurance is his 
 savings bank. But there should be some- 
 thing laid by for his own rainy day and for 
 the time when he will feel too old to work. 
 If we were an unconmion case, I should con- 
 sider that persons so imprudent should have 
 a guardian appointed ! But I know there 
 are only too many that live as we do. All 
 have the feeling that something better will 
 come, or that we shall keep on indefinitely 
 no worse than we are, that some day we may 
 invent something indispensable to human 
 comfort, or that copper mines or oil wells 
 may be discovered in our gardens ! " 
 
 " Or that you may find yourselves heirs to 
 a dukedom ! " said I. " Now, unfortunately, 
 I have no such hopes, and must prosaically 
 put in the bank- a part of my salary every 
 year." 
 
 " Well, it *s wise. You may yet have us all 
 fo support I " 
 
THKIFT 69 
 
 " But, Helen, to speak seriously, why don't 
 you lay up something yourself, little by 
 little?" 
 
 " Oh, I do, I 'm always doing it ; but 
 some charity or necessity comes along and 
 gobbles it up. However, I do not wish the 
 children to grow up so foohsh, though how 
 I am to prevent it is just what puzzles me at 
 present. Have you noticed how often they 
 wish to spend a cent for candy ? " 
 
 *' Yes, but what can you do ? Every child 
 in the neighborhood does the same." 
 
 " That 's where the trouble lies ; but I 
 think I shall soon have a talk with Margery 
 and Frank and persuade them tp give up the 
 habit. It 's only a recent, one. They will 
 feel happier than to be forbidden to spend 
 their money, especially when, as you say, the 
 neighbor children are all doing it." 
 
 One bedtime soon after this my sister and 
 her children had a serious talk about money, 
 how much it could do and how big it could 
 gsow little by little. Helen spoke strongly 
 
70 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 against spending pennies for mere personal 
 gratification. 
 
 " The money melts away when you do 
 that, and you have no after pleasure from it. 
 If any candy comes to you, why, eat it and 
 be glad, but do not spend your pennies for 
 it. Your money comes little by little and it 
 can go in just the same way. It wouldn't 
 be a bad idea for each of you to have two 
 savings banks, the one you now have with the 
 lock for Christmas and other gifts and things 
 you need to buy, and another one never to 
 be meddled with till full." 
 
 "What would we do with it when it's 
 fuU?" 
 
 " You could empty it into a bigger one." 
 
 Evidently here Helen had reference to the 
 city savings institutions. 
 
 " What will we do with the money when 
 we have a lot ? " asked Margery. 
 
 " Perhaps you would buy a house." 
 
 « Oh, yes." 
 
 "I shall keep mine to buy you a cow, 
 mamma," said Frank. 
 
THEIFT 71 
 
 The next day to our amusement Margery 
 and Frank brought upstairs with noticeable 
 difficulty a large wooden box. 
 
 " This would do for our big savings bank^ 
 would n't it, mamma, i£ you just cut a hole 
 in the top to put the money through ? " 
 
 "Which one is to have this?" asked 
 Helen, avoiding my eyes. 
 
 " We thought it would do for both of us," 
 said Margery. 
 
 " Why, yes, it 's big enough. Well, you 
 put it down and I 'U ask papa about it to- 
 night." 
 
 Noticing the disappointed faces I said, 
 ** If you can get me a kni£e I could make 
 the hole." 
 
 " But where shall we keep so big a box ? " 
 said Helen, and without hurting their enthu- 
 siasm by disapproval, she was able to satisfy 
 them with one much smaller. It was, in 
 fact, a starch box, in which I cut the hole for 
 the pennies and afterwards glued the cover 
 down. Margery and Frank took great plea- 
 
72 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 sure in transferring to it the brown cents of 
 their smaller banks, and in course of time it 
 became the receptacle of all the small pieces 
 ■which came to them. Those of more value 
 were generally kept in the original banks. 
 One day Margery wished to know if she 
 might glue the box to the closet shelf where 
 it was kept, and Helen allowed the child to 
 do it. 
 
 " It 's so we won't take it down and shake 
 it and lose the money out," said Margery. 
 
 I was surprised to note how well this sim- 
 ple device worked. The children seemed to 
 lose all desire of spending their pennies. 
 When a cent was received it was deposited 
 in the starch-box bank, and this being at 
 other times out of sight was out of mind. 
 
 Besides the advantages the bigger bank 
 brought in the development of thrift, it les- 
 sened the amount of candy eating, which ap- 
 peared to me an evil not much smaller than 
 wastefulness. As our children did not have 
 pennies to spend, they did not accompany 
 
THRIFT 73 
 
 other children who were enriching the pro- 
 prietors of the little store, and Margery and 
 Frank were always so generous with what- 
 ever cookies and apples they took out with 
 them that they could never be accused of 
 meanness by their little playmates. 
 
 When Margery showed her papa the im- 
 movable savings bank, he drew in his breath 
 with a whistle and shook his head. 
 
 " Don't you Uke it ? " she asked anxiously. 
 
 " Tremendously," he answered, counting 
 into her hand what pennies he happened to 
 have in his pocket. 
 
 In the evening he busied himself over a 
 large cigar box, first cutting an oblong sHt 
 in the cover. 
 
 " Oh, I would n't, Ned," said my sister. 
 " Margery thinks her present one is beauti- 
 ful. I 'm afraid it will hurt her feelings to 
 offer her that." 
 
 «I shan't," said Edward. "This is for 
 me!" 
 
 Helen laughed. "You'U break it up 
 the first time you want some change." 
 
74 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " I shall do no such thing. I shall not 
 break it till I can get no more in." 
 
 " Are you going to put * brown cents ' in 
 yours ? " Helen asked. 
 
 " Possibly. Some white ones too, I 
 think." 
 
 This box was soon finished. Edward kept 
 it downstairs in a drawer, and I often saw 
 him put in money and occasionally saw my 
 sister do the same. 
 
 One pleasant evening after the children 
 had gone to bed, Edward, Helen, and I were 
 sitting on the veranda. After a while Ed- 
 ward dropped his paper and leaned comfort- 
 ably back, watching the wreaths of smoke, 
 as he blew them into the air. After observ- 
 ing him a few minutes, Helen said : — 
 
 " A nickel for your thoughts, Ned." 
 
 He held out his hand. 
 
 " I trade for cash." 
 
 I laughed, and as my sister had no money 
 with her, passed over the desired amount. 
 
 " I '11 put it in my savings bank by and 
 by," said Edward. 
 
THRIFT 75 
 
 " Now go on," said Hel^. 
 
 " I was thinking how much money goes 
 up in smoke." 
 
 " Is that all ? I 've often thought that." 
 
 " Well, I did n't make any pretense to 
 originality of ideas, neither did I misrepre- 
 sent the value of my wares. You put your 
 own price on a sealed package. But there 's 
 an awful amount of money burned up and 
 no mistake ! I was just thinking that smok- 
 ing ought to be confined to the wealthy." 
 
 Edward suddenly sat upright. 
 
 " I 'U tell you what I 'm going to do : 
 I 'm going to limit myself to one cigar a day 
 for a month, and if I don't become an angel 
 and with the angels stand before the expira- 
 tion of that period, I may decide to continue 
 longer on the same road." 
 
 " You frighten me, Ned ; you 're getting 
 so good," said my sister. " What can I do 
 to make myself a better half?" 
 
 " Now, sis, no nonsense ! " said her hus- 
 band, and he looked at her in so tender a 
 
76 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 way that I thought it better to walk down 
 among the shrubs for awhile. 
 
 I hoped from my heart that the movement 
 thus started would lead them further in so 
 desirable a direction, and I believe it did re- 
 sult finally in pruning many petty extrava- 
 gances. 
 
 In the school I knew no better system 
 than the savings stamp-books, in which I 
 had already tried to interest the children, 
 although the knowledge of the general ex- 
 travagance common in their homes made 
 me almost hopeless of any permanent good 
 result. Happy may that teacher be who 
 realizes that she has started a child in the 
 right direction when the influences of the 
 child's home are not for good. But when 
 both parents and teacher have the same aims, 
 what may not be expected from their united 
 efEorts ! In these days of obedient parents, 
 children become self-important. Their opin- 
 ions are consulted in matters which the 
 parents alone should decide, their opinions 
 
THRIFT 77 
 
 are allowed to be influential, and naturally 
 enough their opinions seem to them very 
 valuable. Parents criticise the teachers be- 
 fore the children, and of course children 
 criticise their teachers. It must be that 
 much of the teacher's opportunity of influ- 
 ence is lost. Among the agencies that have 
 turned many successful men and women 
 from foolish habits of reading or conduct 
 when they were young may be recorded 
 the advice of some person who superintended 
 their studies and saw the opportunity to give 
 a needed bit of counsel. How often with 
 the coming generation, and even the present 
 one, will the word in season be barren of 
 results, because the feeling of respect for 
 the teacher has largely passed away ! 
 
 The more reason for me, I considered, as 
 these thoughts passed through my brain, 
 that I should use what power I can muster 
 with the children before they grow old 
 enough to comprehend fully the home criti- 
 cisms on my methods of work. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TEMPER 
 
 The children had gone out, and Helen 
 remarked : — 
 
 "Now we can tackle that old dress of 
 mine." But just then we heard one of 
 them returning. It was Frank. He went 
 into the nursery, pulled open drawers and 
 tossed things about with energy, as was 
 plain from the sounds. Then he called. 
 
 " Mamma, — mamma." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Where 's my sand-cup ? " 
 
 "I don't know, Frank. Isn't it in the 
 box?" 
 
 " No, it is n't, and I want it." 
 
 « I '11 see if I can find it." 
 
 Helen's search was also in vain. 
 
 " I want it." 
 
TEMPER 79 
 
 *' Ask Mary if she has seen it." 
 
 Frank came back. 
 
 " No, she says she has n't. She swept it 
 up, I know she did ! " 
 
 " Perhaps you left it somewhere, Frank." 
 
 " No, I did n't, 'n I want it. I want it 
 now." 
 
 " There 's a cracked cup in the kitchen. 
 Tell Mary mamma says you can have that." 
 
 " I don't want any cracked cup. I want 
 my own." 
 
 Frank here threw himself on the floor and 
 began to howl, — 
 
 " I want my cup, — I want my cup." 
 
 Helen tried to hft him, but he pushed her 
 away and cried the louder, " I want my cup," 
 at the same time vigorously kicking the floor. 
 
 From the other room I could see Helen 
 as she stood looking down at him. 
 
 " Frank, I wish you would please be a 
 good boy. I have some work to do and you 
 keep me from it." 
 
 " I want my cup, I want my cup. Stop, 
 
80 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 let me be, I don't want my shoes taken ofE. 
 Let me be." 
 
 " I must save your new shoes, Frank. 
 You 're wearing the toes out, kicking so." 
 
 " I don't want 'em saved. Let me be." 
 
 After a struggle his mother had the shoes 
 off. I smiled, thinking there wouldn't be 
 much kicking after that. Helen shut the 
 nursery-door and came back to me. Then 
 she took the stocking bag, saying : — 
 
 " I guess I '11 leave the dress till another 
 day." 
 
 We heard Frank for a while yelKng, "I 
 want my cup " over and over again, then all 
 was quiet. Margery came in to ask for him 
 and found him asleep on the floor. Then 
 Helen took him up and carefully laid him 
 on his bed. Of course when Frank awoke 
 an hour later he was a different child. He 
 came to our door and stood looking at us. 
 Then he walked over to his mother and 
 leaned against her. 
 
 "Don't you want to put on your shoes 
 now and go out doors ? " 
 
TEMPER 81 
 
 «Ye-es." 
 
 He fetched them and his mother helped 
 put them on. Just then Margery came in. 
 
 " Mamma, has Frank been naughty ? " 
 
 " Shall we tell dear sister all about it ? " 
 said Helen. 
 
 Frank shook his head. 
 
 " I can't tell you, Margery, unless Frank 
 is willing. Perhaps he will tell you himself 
 by and by." 
 
 Frank gave his mother a grateful kiss. 
 Then the children went out to resume their 
 play in the sand. In the kitchen Frank 
 asked for the cracked cup, but found his 
 own in the laundry. No reference was 
 made to his burst of temper until night-time. 
 
 " Mamma, see, I did wear out my shoes 
 
 some." 
 
 " Yes, and you wore out yourself some 
 too!" 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Why, you got tired out crying and 
 screaming." 
 
82 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " Did tiie sleep make me rested again ? " 
 
 " Yes, but you might have been out in 
 the fresh air all that time." 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " I should like to have you conquer that 
 naughty spirit." 
 
 " I don't know what 's conquering." 
 
 "Getting the better of it. If you let 
 that naughtiness have its own way, it beats 
 you, but when Temper wants to make a big 
 fuss and you don't let it, but instead keep 
 pleasant and quiet, you conquer it, you get 
 ahead of it, you beat it." 
 
 " Why didn't you punish him, mamma," 
 said Margery, " and make him do the right 
 thing?" 
 
 " I may have to some day if Temper gets 
 too big for Frank to manage, but I thought 
 he would rather fight it himself and conquer 
 it." 
 
 *' Oh yes, I would, mamma. I want to 
 fight him." 
 
 After the children had settled down for 
 
TEMPER 83 
 
 the night I found Helen standing at the 
 hall window looking out into the darkness. 
 I walked up behind and laid a hand on her 
 shoulder. She turned to include me in the 
 ■window space and also in her thought. 
 
 " I was just wondering if I did not make 
 a serious mistake with Margery in the way 
 I managed her temper." 
 
 " Margery ! " said I. 
 
 "Yes," said my sister. "I'm afraid I 
 did the child a wrong. I will tell you about 
 it and see what you think. Margery used 
 to have positively frightful attacks of tem- 
 per." 
 
 " Margery ! " 
 
 " Yes. These would often start in a little 
 thing, but they would grow into big storms 
 of passion. Once I actually sent for the 
 doctor, thinking she must be insane. She 
 •would crawl on the floor and seize me by 
 the feet or the hem of my dress. It was 
 terrible. We would both of us be perfectly 
 exhausted after one of these attacks. I 
 
84 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 became convinced that the greatest kind- 
 ness I could do her was to prevent the con- 
 tinuation of these passionate outbursts ; but 
 my inventive power was put severely to the 
 test in devising a way to do this. I could 
 always see the storm arising, and I would 
 frequently warn her, saying, * Now, Margery, 
 you are beginning one of those temper times. 
 If you don't stop now it wiU grow and grow 
 until you can't stop it, and it will end in a 
 bad headache ! ' But I was always too late 
 to prevent the storm. One day she had just 
 got well started in one of these fits of pas- 
 sion when a new girl, who had been with us 
 only a few days, came upstairs to ask me 
 something. To my surprise ' Margery in- 
 stantly stopped groveling and screaming, 
 although she still lay on the floor. When 
 the girl had gone downstairs the child re- 
 sumed her screams. ' Margery,' said I, * I 
 want you to go outdoors.' — * I don't want 
 to go. No ! No ! ' — * You must.' — ' No, 
 mamma. Please don't make me. Oh, mam- 
 
TEMPER 85 
 
 ma!' — and the child seized my dress again. 
 I walked to the stairs and Margery crawled 
 after me. ' You must go down, Margery.' 
 — ' Now, mamma ? ' * Yes, now.' — * Oh, 
 mamma ! ' — ' Go at once.' — At last, after 
 further struggles, she was downstairs and 
 out of doors. As I expected, when placed 
 where her cries might be overheard she re- 
 frained from screaming, and when allowed 
 later to come in, was quite her usual self. 
 The next time I saw the beginning of one 
 of these attacks I made her > go out at once. 
 Since then, to my great surprise, I have never 
 seen any symptoms of temper." 
 
 " I don't understand your trouble, Helen. 
 It seems to me that you found the vulner- 
 able spot and conquered the fault through 
 that." 
 
 " Yes, that 's just it. I wish I had waited 
 for her to conquer it herself. I was just 
 wondering if I had wronged the child." 
 
 " Nonsense, Helen." 
 
 " Well, I anxiously hope it is not so. Of 
 
86 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 late I have thought much of teaching, train- 
 ing, persuading the children to choose to do 
 right, as opposed to forcing them to take a 
 moral stand against their will. I do not 
 mean by this to question my right to receive 
 obedience, rather the wisdom of requiring it 
 in a case of this kind. I wonder whether 
 I did wisely to stop Margery, and whether in 
 so doing I may not have injured her strength 
 of character. If I by authority prevent 
 the continuance of an eruption of temper, 
 the child is benefited only as far as the ces- 
 sation of hostilities, and that of her own 
 excitement, is a benefit to her physically and 
 mentally. I question if there is any moral 
 benefit. But if she can be taught to rule 
 her own spirit, although it may take longer 
 to obtain permanent control, she stands in 
 the position of a conqueror instead of the 
 conquered. She has lost nothing ; her 
 powers and her peculiarities are there, but 
 she is master of them. What is temper? 
 Is it not largely made up of a high spirit 
 
TEMPER 87 
 
 joined to nerves and ■will? Now, these 
 qualities are not bad in themselves. They 
 are part of the desirable outfit of the adult. 
 ' We put bits in the horses' mouths and we 
 turn about their whole body/ but surely 
 that is not the way to train a child. If we 
 wish to make the most of our children, ought 
 we not to teach them to master themselves ? 
 Of course, meanwhile, they must gain no 
 advantage over us by screams and self-will ; 
 that would be to let them master us. Not 
 one inch of the parent's position should be 
 ceded while waiting for the passionate child 
 to subdue himself. Generally at first he 
 will not stop till quite exhausted, and parley 
 with him at the time is futile ; but a faithful 
 delineation of the passionate conduct later 
 on in a quiet moment, when the child is open 
 to gentle influences, may result in resolutions 
 on his part which would gradually develop 
 much strength of character." 
 
 " You seem convinced yourself, Helen, and 
 what you say sounds reasonable, but I have 
 
88 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 not thought enough about it to give an opin* 
 ion. I see it is not a question of simple 
 obedience." 
 
 " No, not at all. I am not referring to 
 clashes of will between a parent and child." 
 
 "Neither do you include fits of passion 
 which may affect another's rights ? " 
 
 " No ; if Margery is attacked by Prank, it 
 is my duty to prevent her from being hurt 
 by him. I referred to temper as it affects 
 the individual himself when there are no 
 outside considerations." 
 
 "Well, I'm inclined to think you are 
 right, but it is n't the way we were brought 
 up, and I don't see but you 've turned out 
 pretty well, Helen ! " 
 
 With that we both laughed and went 
 down to join Edward. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 HABITS 
 
 " Mamma, have I got to have my hands 
 washed?" 
 
 "Let me look at them. Why Erank, 
 where have you been ? " 
 
 " But have I got to have 'em washed ? " 
 
 " Certainly. What should you think, 
 auntie, of having those hands near you at 
 table?" 
 
 I smiled. 
 
 " I don't want 'em washed. I like to 
 have 'em dirty." 
 
 "Do you really think so, Frank? Run 
 down and put them beside the tablecloth 
 and see how they look." 
 
 The child was glad to have the washing 
 deferred and disappeared at once, followed 
 
90 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 by Margery. They soon returned, Margery 
 laughing as she said, — 
 
 '^ Oh, mamma, they looked as black as a 
 coalman's ! " 
 
 Frank now had his hands behind him. 
 
 "Would you Kke to have mamma wash 
 them for you ? " 
 
 «Ye-es." 
 
 « Come, then." 
 
 Later Helen took Frank on her lap, and 
 after singing one of his favorites gathered 
 his hands into hers and looked at them. 
 
 " Oh, I love those clean little, pink little 
 hands. I must kiss them. Don't you 
 think they are nicer than they were before 
 they were washed, Frank ? " 
 
 "Ye-es." 
 
 " I think clean hands feel nicer than dirty 
 ones." 
 
 " I do too, mamma," said Margery. 
 
 " I do too," said Frank. 
 
 For many days after this Frank showed 
 much interest in keeping his hands clean. 
 
HABITS 91 
 
 He would wash them himself when the 
 nurse-girl was not by, and would come to his 
 mother, holding them up for the hiss. 
 
 " Custom alone without personal interest 
 will not of necessity make permanent hab- 
 its," said Helen one day. " We might have 
 Frank wash his hands till he is twenty-one, 
 and if he does not care for the result ob- 
 tained, he will stop washing them the day 
 he is away from observation. But if he be- 
 gins now to take pleasure in the result of 
 the wkshing, he will -wish to be clean, even 
 if he is cast by himself on a desert island." 
 
 " I have often wondered," said I, " at the 
 careless ways of some who were brought up 
 nicely. That would account for it. But 
 how much less hold good habits have than 
 bad ones ! " 
 
 " Yes," said my sister. " Everything 
 good leads us upward, and it is always easy 
 to go down hiU ! But if we become accus- 
 tomed to the pure air of the higher eleva- 
 tions, perhaps we shall not be content to 
 
92 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 stay down in the valleys, and if we do slip 
 back, we shall wish to climb again." 
 
 " When you hear of a man hitherto per- 
 fectly honorable doing something dishonest, 
 how do you explain it ? " 
 
 ** I do not pretend to explain it. Some- 
 times I wonder if the man's previous con- 
 duct has been based on principle or merely 
 on habits imitated by him because respected 
 by the world in general. It is better, I be- 
 lieve, to have the reason for a good habit 
 understood by children, and to awaken their 
 interest in it. But even so, and with every 
 desire to do what is right, and the habit of 
 years to aid you, have you not yourself some- 
 times found a thought of evil, opposed to all 
 your previous desires and manner of life, 
 come to you with the force of a temptation ? 
 I confess that this has been the case with 
 me, and even when it has lasted but a mo- 
 ment, in that time I have been able to com- 
 prehend the power of sin, and what it must 
 be to those poor souls who have never known 
 
HABITS 93 
 
 moral training, as well as to those who have, 
 and drift away from it. If their thoughts 
 and time be filled with ambition and the 
 thirst for money, they grow into believing 
 that all aids to these ends are permissible. 
 We need to grapple good habits to our char- 
 acters with hoops of steel." 
 
 " How is it, Helen," said I, " don't you 
 ever let any of the children's slips go by 
 without notice ? " 
 
 "There may be accidents, as Margery's 
 at the table this morning. I always avoid 
 noticing such, unless of an extremely care- 
 less kind or too frequent. If a child recog- 
 nizes his error in neglecting a regular habit, 
 I say little or nothing ; but if the habits I 
 am trying to teach are disregarded thought- 
 lessly, I rarely let the occasion go without a 
 remark ; at least I do not intend to. Some- 
 times I may forget if there is no opportunity 
 to speak at the moment of omission. Com- 
 mon habits relating to manners at the table 
 and elsewhere, to neatness, thoroughness. 
 
94 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 courtesy, and proper language must always 
 be enforced, otherwise their opposite bad 
 habits, which are much harder to obliterate, 
 will be formed. While external habits are 
 not so important, of course, as those relating 
 to the moral nature, they should receive con- 
 tinual attention also. The former must be 
 inculcated because they are right, the latter 
 because they are expedient." 
 
 My sister had a good system with regard 
 to correct speech and courteous manners, 
 which I mentally commended. I now found 
 myself thinking of this. When the children 
 failed in polite expression, or repeated before 
 their mother undesirable words gathered 
 from the servants or from other children, 
 Helen would quietly say the correct form, 
 or if the error was of a particularly common 
 and obstinate kind, she would say it twice. 
 She did not oblige the children to repeat 
 these corrections, trusting rather to the 
 gradual effect on the ear of her own repeti- 
 tions. On my giving speech now to these 
 reflections, Helen replied : — 
 
HABITS 95 
 
 *' I don't like bad grammar, and I stamp 
 on * ain't ' every time it appears ; but some 
 quaint little incorrectnesses of speech I let 
 alone. Margery says, * I Strang the beads ' 
 — * I brang the water ' — ' They have 
 dranken it aU up ' — 'I have wroten the 
 letter ; ' and looking upon these as childicisms 
 and not vulgarities, I really like to hear them. 
 It seems to me a pity, however, to teach 
 children bad grammar through nursery 
 rhymes. To my mind antiquity should give 
 way to purity of speech. This is the way 
 we say 'Hickory, dickory, dock' in this 
 family: — 
 
 " ' Hickory, diokory, dock ! 
 The mouse ran up the clock. 
 The clock stmck one, 
 And he ran down. 
 Hickory, dickory, dock ! ' 
 
 " * Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son ' has three 
 gross errors, but can be altered into this : — 
 
 « ' Tom, Tom, the piper's son, 
 Stole a pig and away did run. 
 For this they had bad Tom to beat. 
 And Tom ran crying down the street.'" 
 
96 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 "Now, really," said I, " do you think that 
 has the charm of ' The pig was eat and Tom 
 was beat ' ? That has a swing to it, you 
 know." 
 
 Helen laughed heartily. 
 
 " Well, you shall go on saying it all your 
 life as you learned it when young ! But if 
 you had learned it this way, you 'd probably 
 think this the best, and the present popular 
 method very crude." 
 
 After a miaute my sister continued : — 
 
 " I think I 'm right because these two cor- 
 rected versions are Frank's and were Mar- 
 gery's favorites among all the nursery jingles. 
 If you should hear the children say them a 
 few times I think you would change your 
 mind. But whether you did or not, the 
 corrected form has proved more than satis- 
 factory to my own children, and I believe 
 would be an improvement for general use." 
 
 My sister ceased speaking, and I thought 
 on, this time of her courteous treatment of 
 the children. It would have been strange 
 
HABITS 97 
 
 had their manners not been good. So many 
 grown persons think it not worth while to 
 use polite forms in addressing little ones. 
 If Helen's dress happened to upset some 
 structure on the floor, if she happened to 
 run against a child in the dark, it was always, 
 " Excuse me, darling." If at table a piece 
 of bread was left untouched beside either 
 child's plate, and Helen wished to take it, or 
 if she wished to put her cutting-table just 
 where the children were playing with their 
 blocks, it was not her way to appropriate 
 without first asking in her most courteous 
 manner, "Will you care?" or "Will it 
 trouble you if I do this? " — I never heard 
 the children reply to this in any other than 
 an obliging mood. 
 
 My sister now continued : — 
 
 " These habits of courteous and correct 
 speech have no part in the solid foundations 
 of the characters we are building. They are 
 the external ornaments, or better, may be 
 considered the smoothing and polishing pro- 
 
98 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 cess o£ the building materials. Yet they are 
 important in adding beauty and completeness 
 to the work." 
 
 " We were talking a few minutes ago of 
 lapses in good habits," said I. " When a 
 child has acquired positively bad habits, 
 you would of course be even more persist- 
 ent?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; attack them as I would a ven- 
 omous reptile trying to get lodgement in 
 my child's heart. I have a fight before me 
 now to persuade the children to give up 
 their " comforts," not so much a bad habit 
 as an imdesirable one." 
 
 Helen referred here to a practice, begun 
 by each child in babyhood, of holding some- 
 thing soft to the nose. Margery and Frank 
 stiU clung to the remnants of the chuddahs 
 which had been wrapped about them when 
 infants ; Margery used hers only when going 
 to sleep, Frank relied on his besides in times 
 of pain or grief. Some care was needed to 
 keep clean pieces always on hand, and if by 
 
HABITS 99 
 
 any chance these were missing at bedtime 
 the whole household was often called upon 
 to join in the search for the lost treasures. 
 On the other hand, however serious the griev- 
 ance or the hurt, a piece of his old shawl 
 never failed to comfort little Frank. So the 
 practice had its useful side. 
 
 " If he did not at the same time put his 
 fingers in his mouth I should be less anxious 
 about the matter," said Helen. " I feel that 
 the time is approaching when the children 
 must face the habit and conquer it, but un- 
 til we can give our whole attention to it I 
 should be sorry for them to think much 
 about it. If they persist in a habit after it 
 has been presented to them as unadvisable, 
 their character is weakened. I am arming 
 myself now in anticipation of a hard battle 
 in which we must soon engage." 
 
 After all Helen did not choose the time 
 for this attack on the " comforts." We often 
 laughed over it afterwards, that Edward 
 should have charged the field and carried off 
 the banners of victory. 
 
100 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 One evening, when he happened to look 
 into the nursery and found the children 
 settling down for the night with their re- 
 spective pieces held to their noses, he 
 exclaimed : — 
 
 " How long are you children going to keep 
 that up ? Look here, Margery, if you will 
 go a week without that miserable rag, I '11 
 give you a bright new ten-cent piece just 
 out of the mint." 
 
 "When, papa?" 
 
 " Next Monday, a week from to-day." 
 
 " Take it, then, papa ; here it is." 
 
 " Me too, papa ? " asked Frank. 
 
 " Certainly, you too." 
 
 After he had gone out with the captured 
 pieces Margery said, — 
 
 " But I don't know how to go to sleep 
 without it, mamma." 
 
 " Take long breaths slowly with your eyes 
 shut, and you '11 soon be asleep." 
 
 I went out of the room, and Helen ex- 
 tinguished the light. In another minute 
 
HABITS 101 
 
 Margery was unconscious, but for little 
 Frank the conflict was harder. Helen soon 
 came out of the room, saying : " You go 
 down and tell Edward I shall stay till 
 Frank gets to sleep." 
 
 She told me afterwards how she sat be- 
 side his bed holding the empty hand. 
 
 " He tossed about and cried until I took 
 him up and rocked him to sleep, but when I 
 laid him down his little hand went fluttering 
 about, hunting for the comfort." 
 
 Margery had no trouble in renouncing 
 her habit, but Frank had two to conquer 
 and a younger character than his sister's. 
 His second night was as hard as the first, 
 and he said : — 
 
 "Mamma, I don't want any shiny ten- 
 cent piece. I want my dear little comfort." 
 
 " Let us wait a while first," said his mother. 
 " I will rock you again and hold the little 
 lonesome fingers. I '11 help you all I can, 
 and I want you to be very, very brave." 
 
 The third night was easier, and when the 
 
102 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 week was up, papa could give the promised 
 piece of money to each child. 
 
 " Now, you know, I don't believe in rock- 
 ing the children every night, nor in staying 
 with them till they go to sleep," said Helen 
 afterwards, referring to these evenings. 
 "Special times ca|ll for special actions. If 
 a child has a battle of any kind to fight, 
 make it as easy for him as you can with 
 consistency. We may need to centre all the 
 forces for the time being at the point of 
 attack, but after the victory the regular 
 rank and file can be maintained again. The 
 mother's laws must not be so inflexible that 
 love cannot bend them. There must be 
 occasional exceptions to rules in families as 
 in text-books, /'tlhildren cannot be brought 
 up by line ana plummet, but they can be 
 trained as a vine in any direction.] I often 
 pity babies nowadays. There are mothers 
 who bring them up so rigidly by theory that 
 the rules would not be broken if the sky 
 should fall." 
 
HABITS 103 
 
 " Young mothers, are n't they, Helen ? " 
 " Yes, and generally with but one child. 
 Unfortunately, ia these times the only child 
 is not uncommon. A mother must have 
 more than one to correct the mistakes she 
 makes with the first. Of course we should 
 guard against making undesirable habits for 
 the children by allowing customarily^hen 
 
 -TriiiL ii jii.il I i.M iiiii ^ ?'^'^^^'''^^ 
 
 they are little, what is not to be continued 
 la'fgFM"f"an3ryet^"wEaFl want specially to 
 say is, that there are occasions when the 
 rules must be disregarded. Edward was 
 even more set against walking with a baby 
 than I, and yet, when Margeiy at ten 
 months had a bad fall, he walked with her 
 half the night. Once does not make a 
 habit, nor twice. Now I believe in bringing 
 up children to go to sleep in the dark, and 
 Margery was well started in that direction. 
 Indeed, as a baby she would fuss till the 
 light was extinguished. But when she was 
 three in some way she became accustomed 
 to a light (I cannot recall how this origi- 
 
104 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 nated) and seemed afraid to be left in the 
 dark." 
 
 " Did you stay -with her ? " 
 
 " No, at least only a few times. She was 
 positively terrified when alone in the dark. 
 I concluded that she must have heard some- 
 thing to frighten her, but I could not learn 
 what, and I decided to yield the point. 
 Without further words with her I left the 
 light in the next room turned low tiU she 
 had gone to sleep, and I followed the plan 
 a whole winter. I must say it troubled me, 
 and I was glad when the summer made it 
 possible for her to go to sleep without a 
 light. But the next winter she did not ask 
 for one, and so the matter ended." 
 
CHAPTEK X 
 
 WOKK AND PAY 
 
 "You must be glad, Helen, that the 
 children have given up using their "com- 
 forts," I said a short time after this. 
 
 " Yes ; but without Ned's timely assist- 
 ance we should probably have had a harder 
 struggle, for I should not have ofEered 
 them a reward ; from me that would have 
 seemed like a bribe for doing right. But 
 Edward occupies himself so little with the 
 moral training of the children that I fancy 
 it had quite a difPerent aspect coming from 
 him. It was a hard sacrifice for them any- 
 way to give up their comforts, and the offer 
 of the shiny new piece did not appear so 
 much like money as a medal of honor. 
 Anyhow it was their father who chose that 
 method, and I do not question its advisabil- 
 
106 AS THE TWIG IS BENT ' 
 
 itj. Indeed, I am glad the fight was made 
 easier for them, they are so little ! " 
 
 I realized here that, although Edward's 
 ideals might not be so lofty as my sister's, 
 he had an equal right with her to the 
 management of the children, even if he 
 might not always care to exercise it; and 
 for the first time I comprehended the pa- 
 tience and forbearance that must exist in a 
 happy married life. 
 
 "If I had children," said I aloud, "I 
 should feel like a tiger, I know. I could 
 not suffer that the father himself should 
 meddle with my plans for them." 
 
 Helen looked across at me with a sweet 
 seriousness in her brown eyes. " Some 
 fathers must be trials," she said. " Now 
 Edward and I are quite unUke, but for that 
 very reason he can help me more with the 
 children, who, I should not forget, partake 
 of his nature as well as of mine. Then 
 I am incUned to be unpractical, and he 
 clips my wings with his prosaic common 
 
WOEK AND PAY 107 
 
 sense. I would have my children as good 
 and pure as the angels, but Edward reminds 
 me that they must be fitted to go through 
 this world also. We must live in the con- 
 ditions which are actually about us. The 
 husbands we choose to marry, it would be 
 absurd to object to as the fathers of our 
 children. The father is needed as well as 
 the mother to make up the proper home 
 influences. I have never for an instant re- 
 gretted that I married Edward. I cannot 
 imagine any other man as my husband, and 
 I could not wish for a more congenial father 
 for my children. I hope he has not re- 
 gretted that he married me ! " 
 
 " Helen, how ridiculous ! " 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 " I think if you were married, and to the 
 right man, you would feel as I do about 
 this. In any case it is not good for us to 
 travel by too smooth a road, and if our hus- 
 bands should put obstacles in our way, we 
 need be none the worse for them ; and it 
 
108 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 may be, although we may not see it, our chil- 
 dren are all the better when we cannot follow 
 all our pet theories in their education." 
 
 After this I fell a-musing, and presently, 
 retracing the succession of thoughts by 
 which we had come from the conquering of 
 a habit to the discussion of husbands and 
 fathers, I asked : — 
 
 " Do you believe in rewards at all ? " 
 
 " No, I don't believe I do, generally. 
 Something that has no intrinsic value may 
 sometimes have an influence with children 
 to encourage them in doing right. A re- 
 ward card expresses, I think, the teacher's 
 approbation, and if given as such might be 
 a help in the right direction. StOl, I think 
 it would be better, if given at all, that it 
 should come unexpectedly. I believe in 
 pay, though." 
 
 "Pay?" 
 
 " Yes, pay for work done with the under- 
 standing that a price is to be given for it. 
 I let the children have opportunities to earn 
 
WOEK AND PAY 109 
 
 money, and I sometimes wish they never re- 
 ceived money they did not earn. They 
 •would then understand better its true mean- 
 ing and its real value. It would be a mis- 
 take, however, to put too big a price on 
 their labor, as now at least they are at an 
 age when they ought to appreciate the value 
 of cents. Margery sometimes earns a httle 
 money taking the silver off the table to be 
 washed, or puUing out basting threads, or 
 picking up after a dressmaker ; Frank gets 
 a cent for sweeping the veranda, and I wish 
 you would notice how thoroughly he does 
 it. He can also clean up the yard very 
 nicely. He is quite sharp and anxious to 
 earn. Sometimes of late he has said, * How 
 much will you pay me ? ' when I have asked 
 him to go downstairs for something. But it 
 did n't take many words to teach him that 
 some things he must do without expectation 
 of pay, also that sometimes he can be paid 
 for doing the same thing that another time 
 he must do as a favor. 
 
110 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 "Work suited to the individual brings 
 such pleasure with it that I hope both chil- 
 dren will find this out early and appreciate 
 work itself, independent of its financial 
 value. One day Frank busied himself a 
 whole forenoon raking leaves. He had a 
 deUghtful time, and I often looked out at 
 him to smile at his earnestness. When he 
 came in, tired and dusty, I asked, * Did you 
 have a good time working?' and he an- 
 swered, * Dat was n't work, dat was play.' I 
 carried him over to the window and pointed 
 to the lawn. * Play did n't clean the lawn 
 like that.' Then I showed him the pile of 
 leaves, and said, ' Flay did n't get all those 
 leaves together.' He looked up into my 
 face, puzzled. * But it was play, mamma,' he 
 said. * I '11 tell you something,' said I. 
 ' Work that we like is better than play.' I 
 do hope that the Kttle lad will early learn 
 the truth of that statement. 
 
 " One can also do much at this tender 
 period of a child's life to teach the impor- 
 
WOKK AND PAY ill 
 
 tance of work. Being paid for it helps, 
 but is n't all. I sympathize with the old 
 adage, ' AU work and no play makes Jack 
 a duU boy,' but the portion of work that 
 seems to the parent desirable for the child 
 should be made to seem far more weighty 
 than any pastime. This can be done better 
 — don't you think so ? — by teaching him 
 to feel the duty contained in his work, 
 which makes it necessary for him to finish it 
 before he goes to his play. If he does this 
 he makes a good step toward a well-rounded, 
 honorable character. 
 
 " When I am out of change I sometimes 
 ask the children to lend me money. That 
 gives them great pleasure. To prevent 
 my forgetting to repay them I give them on 
 each occasion of this kind a promise to pay 
 written in simple language, and when I re- 
 turn their money they give me the paper 
 back. This may teach them to be careful 
 in money obligations, as they see the pains 
 I take to make no mistakes." 
 
112 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 My sister's ideas seemed sensible to me, 
 but I had not previously given much 
 thought to this subject. Another aspect of 
 the money question came up later. 
 
 One day my brother-in-law borrowed 
 a quarter from Margery, and in the even- 
 ing returned it with an additional cent. 
 " There 's a cent for interest," he ex- 
 plained. *' I give you one more than you 
 gave me." She took it, well pleased, and 
 ran up to put it in her bank. She had 
 scarcely left the room when Helen took up 
 the Bible. Turning the leaves she soon 
 found what she wanted, and said to Ed- 
 ward : — 
 
 "I wish to call your attention to this. 
 Read there." 
 
 He took the book and read aloud : — 
 
 " Deuteronomy xxiii. 19 : ' Thou shalt not 
 lend upon usury to thy brother. . . . Unto 
 a stranger thou mayest lend upon usury ; 
 but unto thy brother thou shalt not lend 
 upon usury.' " 
 
WORK AND PAY 113 
 
 Then he read it again, and the puzzled 
 look left his brow. 
 
 " By which you wish to indicate your dis- 
 approval of the extra cent to Margery ? " 
 
 " Most certainly." 
 
 " Well, I guess you 're in the right." 
 
 " Oh, I am, Edward," she said. " I know 
 I am. It can't be right to teach a child to 
 receive such profit from a father." 
 
 " Well, I won't do it again." 
 
 Margery might have forgotten all about it 
 if it had not happened that the very next 
 day her mother wished to borrow a dime 
 from her. 
 
 " When you pay me back, are you going 
 to give me more ? " she asked. 
 
 Her mother said, — 
 
 " Why, no. That is paying you for 
 lending me the money. Do you want pay 
 for a kindness ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma," she answered sweetly, 
 " but papa paid me more." 
 
 " That was kind in papa," said her mother j 
 
114 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 « but I should n't think you would wish him 
 to pay you for letting him take the money. 
 That 's what the big banks in the city do, 
 and it 's aU right for you to get it from them, 
 but it is n't nice in our own family to take 
 interest." 
 
 That evening Margery said to her mother, 
 " I should like to give papa back that cent, 
 but I put it in the starch-box bank." 
 
 " You can give him the next one you get," 
 said Helen, looking pleased. 
 
 Margery earned one the following day, and 
 gave it to her father with so much dignity that 
 I was sorry Helen was not by to see. Edward 
 grasped the situation at once and put the 
 money in his vest-pocket. 
 
 "I didn't know," said he to Margery, 
 " that my little daughter was such a business 
 lady." 
 
 That evening he held the cent out to 
 Helen, saying : — 
 
 " Do you know what that is ? " 
 
 **It looks like a common brown cent." 
 
WOEK AND PAY 115 
 
 " Well, it is n't. It 's pure gold, and I 'm 
 going to keep it always for luck. My 
 daughter gave it to me." 
 
 " Oh — Oh ! " said Helen, nodding. 
 
CHAPTEK XI 
 
 THE child's happiness 
 
 I HAD been watching Edward. He was 
 invariably polite to all and kind and atten- 
 tive to the children ; but he seemed to me a 
 little heavy. I thought this might be at- 
 tributed to the warm weather, but wondered 
 i£ that were the only cause. One evening 
 some of the neighbors came in, and it being 
 quite chilly out of doors, we stayed in the 
 house and played whist. As the evening 
 advanced, Edward became more and more 
 entertaining. I was surprised at his bril- 
 liancy in repartee and the spontaneous heart- 
 iness of his laugh. Helen in a more quiet 
 way seemed to enjoy the evening too. Even 
 at breakfast the next morning my brother- 
 in-law looked brighter and happier than 
 
THE CHILD'S HAPPINESS 117 
 
 usual and left us all laughing when he went 
 off to his train. 
 
 " Do you go out much in the winter ? " 
 I asked my sister. 
 
 " Oh, no, very little since the children 
 came. We are steady stay-at-homes and find 
 our pleasure by our own fireside." 
 
 " But surely the children don't need you 
 evenings ? " 
 
 " Well, no, not now ; but last winter they 
 had the whooping-cough, and I would often 
 need to run up to them in the evening." 
 
 « Does Edward like this quiet life ? " 
 
 " He does n't seem to object to it," said 
 Helen, smiling. " There 's a club here, but 
 he does n't care to join it ; says he prefers 
 to spend his evenings with me." 
 
 " Well, far be it from me to criticise, but 
 I noticed how thoroughly he seemed to en- 
 joy last evening, and I wondered if he went 
 out as much as he would like." 
 
 " Why, he does n't seem unhappy, does 
 he?" 
 
118 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 "No, — oh no, — not unhappy, only 
 quiet." 
 
 " Well, perhaps we can go out more this 
 coming winter. I really suppose we ought 
 to. When the children were babies I told 
 Ned that I felt my first duty to be with 
 them, and he agreed with me. Now that 
 they are older, perhaps I can give more at- 
 tention to him without neglecting them." 
 
 « Do, Helen." 
 
 " Why, you funny creature ! I shall have 
 to tell him what a champion he has in you. 
 I am sure he does not seem to me so badly 
 treated ! Anyway, there is n't much chance 
 to do anything this weather but keep cool, 
 and I am glad the matter must be deferred. 
 I 'm getting lazy about social duties." 
 
 One evening as we sat at tea, not long 
 after this, a neighbor came in and proposed 
 our joining an electric-car party that was 
 to leave about seven. Edward was quite in 
 the mood for it, so Helen proposed that I 
 should go with him. 
 
THE CHILD'S HAPPINESS 119 
 
 " You go, Helen, and I will stay with the 
 childrten," said I. 
 
 "The children!" echoed Edward impa- 
 tiently. " Let Mary put them to bed. Come, 
 wife, go and put your duds on." 
 
 Helen looked at me for a moment, then 
 rose, saying, " Come, let 's get ready." 
 
 As we went upstairs I assured her that my 
 head was aching too badly for me to enjoy 
 the breeze, and that I should prefer to stay 
 quietly at home. " I 'U see the children to 
 bed, and then go myself," said I. "I'm 
 delighted that you are going." 
 
 We were neither of us prepared for the 
 opposition of the nursery. Margery threw 
 her arms about her mother, crying, " Oh, 
 mamma, don't leave us ! " and Frank cried 
 with tears streaming down his face, " Oh, 
 mamma, don't go away." 
 
 "I never heard of anything so ridiculous 
 in my life," said Helen, laughing into their 
 wet faces. " You silly children, I 'm only 
 going out for a while, and auntie will be 
 
120 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 here "with you. This is nonsense, and I have 
 no time to stop and talk about it. Here 's 
 a kiss for you both, and away I must go ; I '11 
 come and kiss you when I come back." 
 
 She had shut the door, but Frank 
 screamed, — 
 
 " Mamma, mamma ! " 
 
 She put in her head. 
 
 " Quick, what is it ? I have n't a moment." 
 
 " I shall need you, mamma. What shall 
 I do if I need you ? " 
 
 " I must go now, Frank ; auntie is here 
 and you can call her if you need anything. 
 Good-by." 
 
 Helen was gone. Frank cried a little, 
 then was diverted. The next day Helen 
 told the children that she hoped they would 
 behave better another time. 
 
 *' Now that you are getting older, I can 
 leave you more often, and when I do I want 
 you to be brave about it. Some mothers 
 slip away from their children and don't tell 
 them they are going. Would you like me 
 to do that?" 
 
THE CHILD'S HAPPINESS 121 
 
 *' Oh no, mamma." 
 
 " Then you must he good when I go. I 
 don't gohecause I want to leave you, hut he- 
 cause it 's right for me to go. I must do 
 the right thing, and you must do the right 
 thing." 
 
 " This is my training time," said Helen to 
 me, referring to this episode, " and evening 
 is the best time to influence the tender minds 
 of children. I shall not lightly give up their 
 bedtime minutes, but it is not necessary to 
 have them every night. I want the children 
 to have a happy childhood, but I do not wish 
 it to be a selfish one. Their happiness should 
 neither be, nor seem to the children to be, 
 our highest aim. Children, Uke almost all 
 young in nature, should^ be petted by the 
 mother and allowed to play care;;-ⅇ but 
 in the human being the period of immaturity 
 is long, and I think should be largely one 
 of preparation. The character of the whole 
 after-life is affected by this early training. 
 The pursuit of duty, of honor, and all right 
 
122 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 conduct should be placed far ahead of per- 
 sonal happiness. Indeed, ■we know by our 
 own experience that the happiness we strive 
 for fails to please us when attained, and we 
 should not teach our children to strive for it. 
 But we can help them to acquire a happy 
 disposition, and in this, as in many other 
 things, we should begin early. Even in in- 
 fancy the mother's smile and caress can in- 
 fluence her child. In its first disappoint- 
 ments, while giving full sympathy, she can 
 encourage a hopeful spirit. If she is cheer- 
 ful, her child will naturally become so. Her 
 depressed moments she should conquer or 
 conceal for her children's sake. 
 
 " She should not fetter hunwith the 
 
 fears and superstitions she has herself. I 
 know a mother who is quite overcome with 
 terror in thunderstorms, but her children 
 have no idea of it. At such times she shuts 
 herself away from them, and they play un- 
 disturbed during a storm, or watch it fear- 
 lessly from the window. Although it seems 
 
THE CHILD'S HAPPINESS 123 
 
 natural to fear the vivid flashes of the Kght- 
 ning and the terrible voice of the thunder 
 (you know how restless birds and dogs are 
 at such times), yet it often happens that 
 children are not frightened unless they have 
 been taught this fear ; or i£ they are at first 
 afraid, are easily persuaded to the contrary 
 if older people about them remain cahu. 
 
 " One way of giving children a bent 
 towards happiness is to direct them to the 
 beautiful. We can early inculcate in them 
 a love of nature. We can teach them to 
 see the beauty in flowers, plants, birds, the 
 grass even, and the sky. We need not wait 
 for them to find this out for themselves. 
 Perhaps unaided they would never learn it. 
 It is not the material possessions we give 
 our children that insure their happiness. 
 Without the contented mind, all the wealth 
 in the world would not make a man happy ; 
 with it, even in poverty he is not entirely 
 miserable." 
 
 " Yes, Helen," said I, " his poverty can- 
 
124 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 not deprive him of the sky, even if he may 
 have but a small piece of it, and often he 
 can have trees as well to look at ! I remem- 
 ber reading somewhere that the pleasure de- 
 rived in observing nature outlasts in old age 
 every other. If that is true, your system 
 would ensure an endowment of happiness 
 for all time." 
 
 " Yes, and with good security." 
 " I have noticed Prank's love for flowers. 
 I wonder whether he would have had it had 
 you not so influenced him." 
 
 "I don't know. With him and with 
 Margery I began early. I remember the 
 first time Margery walked out with me over 
 the grass in the spring. I showed her the 
 tiny green blades starting up, and, pointing 
 to the deep blue sky, said, * Pretty, pretty.' 
 I think Frank, however, has more love for 
 nature than she. He at least more often 
 calls my attention to the flowers and sun- 
 
 " She may be more reticent," said I, " but 
 
THE CHILD'S HAPPINESS 125 
 
 as a teacher I have noticed that boys are 
 generally more observing than girls." 
 
 " Some children are by nature happier than 
 others. A child needs an atmosphere of 
 love and sympathy. Assured or these, it 
 matters httie what we are able to give to 
 him or to do for him. Better too few, rather 
 than too many possessions. Self-rehance, in- 
 dependence, and originality are to be encour- 
 aged. Well-merited praise should not be 
 withheld, but in this we need not foster van- 
 ity and conceit. While the child must feel 
 sure of the parents' care and protection, he 
 should not be overmuch meddled with." 
 
 " And yet it is really hard not to help 
 him," I put in. 
 
 " Yes, we see him struggling over some 
 piece of work which we could do so easily. 
 We long to take it from him, but second 
 and wiser thoughts restrain us. Often the 
 child himself is displeased if we make the 
 mistake of doing the work for him. He 
 prefers to do it unaided. We must have 
 
126 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 patience to wait for him. Neither must we 
 mar^out a fixed pathT for his little feet. 
 With suitable food for his mind and body, 
 and suitable opportunities for exercising his 
 muscles and faculties, we must let him browse 
 about a good deal and nibble here and there 
 somewhat at his own wiU. Often children 
 in their investigations will go further than 
 their mothers can really enjoy to witness, 
 much less sympathize with. It would often 
 be wrong, however, to restrain them. We 
 must let them climb higher than we like to 
 see ; we must let them face other dangers. 
 We cannot, even if we would, eUminate 
 dangers from their life ; often to lessen the 
 exposure is not only useless but productive 
 of more perils. One must guard a baby 
 from fire and light, but after a few years he 
 is bound to experiment with matches. Better 
 let him light some occasionally in the pre- 
 sence of the mother and forbid his touching 
 them away from her, than prohibit his hand- 
 ling them altogether. This course will sat- 
 
THE CHILD'S HAPPINESS 127 
 
 isfy a reasonable child, while the contrary 
 tempts him to slyness, the possible result of 
 which in the matter of matches is horrible 
 to consider." 
 
 " I have wondered to see you let Margery 
 use the sewing-machine. Is this your rea- 
 son?" 
 
 "Yes, the child is fascinated with tools 
 and machinery. I should not dare to abso- 
 lutely forbid her ever touching my machine. 
 As it is she is satisfied with turning the 
 wheel in my presence, and never goes to it 
 when I am not by. I have explained the 
 danger there is in using it carelessly, but if 
 I should forbid her having anything to do 
 with it I should throw a big temptation into 
 her path, which might be too great for her, 
 and if in ignorance she went to it when alone, 
 she might be seriously injured when I was not 
 by to protect her. Perhiaps you think my the- 
 ories about children somewhat peculiar ? " 
 
 " Some of them are new to me, Helen, 
 but on the whole I believe you are right. I 
 
128 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 think with you that children develop better 
 when not too constantly guided and directed 
 if they have any originality and imagination, 
 and I also think it is foolish to make the 
 world bend to their caprices." 
 
 " But," said my sister, " although I would 
 not wish the children to feel that I placed 
 their present happiness above aU other con- 
 siderations, yet I do believe in providing for 
 them special extraordinary pleasures, to be 
 scattieted j iiot too frequently7here'ana there 
 through their life as opportunity offers, the 
 thought of which will be prominent in their 
 future recollections." 
 
 "Do you remember, Helen, that time 
 mother woke us up in the middle of the 
 night to take us to a fire ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed. How often I have recalled 
 it ! The surprise that we should be allowed 
 to go added much to our enjoyment of the 
 grand spectacle. Then you remember the 
 day father took us out fishing in a sail- 
 boat?" 
 
THE CHILD'S HAPPINESS 129 
 
 "Yes, and you pulled in the biggest 
 fish?" 
 
 " Yes, and it did n't seem quite right to 
 call it mine when I couldn't haul him in un- 
 aided." 
 
 We laughed. 
 
 " Do you remember," asked Helen, " the 
 night -we went in to see the fireworks on 
 Boston Common ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and do you remember the rides up 
 in the country under the sleigh-robe ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and those summers at grandpa's ? " 
 
 " And the party we had ? " 
 
 " We had plenty of good times, and I am 
 sure your childhood must seem a happy one. 
 Mine was, and yet we were left largely to 
 ourselves, and I know it was a time of rigid 
 economy with mother and of real anxiety at 
 times as to the expense account. We did 
 not have many gifts (think of those the 
 modern child receives ! ), but we can recall 
 nearly every one we ever received, each 
 meant so much to us." 
 
130 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " I don't see, Helen, how it would ever be 
 possible to repeat for the modern child those 
 ideal days of simple, wholesome life." 
 
 "No, we can give him summers at the 
 seashore, but even there, alas ! unless we 
 are fortunate in selection, ultra-civilization 
 crowds its claims upon him. We may be 
 able to shield our own to some extent from 
 outside influences, yet children are affected, 
 must be, by the superabundance of modern 
 life, and may feel that they are deprived 
 of legitimate conditions if we restriet their 
 possessions. On the other hand, the luxury 
 of modern existence is in some respects of 
 benefit to them: in so far as it furnishes 
 more tools, the field of a child's activities is 
 wider, more useful, and hence happier. 
 
 *' The multiplicity of toys is an evil. I 
 feel sometimes like founding a settlement 
 where children could be brought up simply. 
 Our life of the present day is too complex." 
 
 " But I don't see how you can largely 
 affect the conditions surrounding your chil- 
 
THE CHILD'S HAPPINESS 131 
 
 dren unless you keep your family secluded, 
 and you would n't think that wise ? " 
 
 " No, I am only uttering a protest. My 
 aim must he to do the hest I can under the 
 existing conditions. Now, I would gladly 
 keep Margery and Frank always at home in 
 playtime. I should feel safer about them, 
 but I foresee that as they grow older, if I 
 wish them to have companions, this will not 
 always be right. My duty is not alone to 
 my own children. To keep them happy 
 when at home, and to make their playmates 
 happy here with them, I may furnish the 
 means of occupations, but I should never 
 try to influence other children to find any 
 place happier than their own homes. Other 
 mothers have rights too." 
 
 " But aU mothers do not equally appreci- 
 ate them," said I. 
 
CHAPTER Xn 
 
 THE child's thought OP DEATH 
 
 My sister's method of treating the sub- 
 ject of death had especially impressed me in 
 the beginning of my visit. 
 
 Shortly after I arrived, Margery was 
 standing by the window one day playing 
 with some photographs. 
 
 " Who is this, mamma ? " she asked. 
 
 " That is a picture of my mother, your 
 grandmother." 
 
 " I don't know her, do I ? Where is she 
 now?" 
 
 " Up in God's home, Margery." 
 
 " How did she get there ? " 
 
 " God took her. I don't know just how." 
 
 "Does she like it there?" 
 
 ** Oh, yes. She could n't help liking it. 
 
CHILD'S THOUGHT OF DEATH. 133 
 
 It 's a lovely place, where no one is ever 
 sick or troubled, and no one ever cries." 
 
 " Is n't she coming here any more ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "None of the people ever do that go 
 there." 
 
 « Who else is there? " 
 
 " A great many, many people ; and some 
 day we shall go there too." 
 
 "Go together?" 
 
 ** I don't know. We don't need to worry 
 about that. God will take us when the 
 time comes for us to go. He knows all 
 about it." 
 
 " I should n't like to go without you, 
 mamma." 
 
 "No, I don't suppose you would, dear. 
 Many people don't go till they are very old. 
 When they grow old, God takes them to His 
 home and gives them a new body that can't 
 grow old. Sometimes He takes people when 
 they are very sick. The time that God 
 
134 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 'wants us to go is just the best time for 
 
 us." 
 
 Margery took up another card. " Who 
 is this?" 
 
 " That is a lady named Mrs. Williams." 
 
 " Is she up in God's home ? " 
 
 " No, she is in New York." 
 
 Thus the conversation was turned into 
 another direction. 
 
 One day we were all out riding and passed 
 a cemetery. 
 
 " Mamma, -what are all those white 
 things ? " said Margery. 
 
 Helen did not at once answer. I wondered 
 what her reply would be, for I knew her 
 desire was to keep Margery from getting an 
 unhappy idea of death. 
 
 Margery repeated her question. 
 
 " Those — those are the stones on which 
 are written the names of the persons up 
 in God's home." 
 
 " Oh, yes. How many there are ! " said 
 Margery. 
 
CHILD'S THOUGHT OF DEATH 135 
 
 About this time I had a little talk of my 
 own with Helen upon this subject. 
 
 " You can't keep Margery always from 
 hearing remarks about death," said I. 
 
 " Oh, no. But what I wish is to give her 
 first a thought of it different from the com- 
 mon one, and avoid the repulsive aspect 
 altogether, if possible." 
 
 Then Helen continued : — 
 
 " Do you remember the funeral of old Mr. 
 Jones? Why, we must have been quite 
 small at the time, but the thought of his be- 
 ing buried gave me a shock which I did not 
 get over for years. I wish to avoid such an 
 experience for Margery." 
 
 " Well, I certainly agree with you, Helen, 
 if you can do it. But other children will 
 enlighten yours before long." 
 
 " I know that," said my sister. " I must 
 get ahead of them. Why, just the other 
 day I heard a little boy telling his sister that 
 somebody had been put in a box in the 
 ground. How dreadful ! " 
 
136 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 After this I watched with interest my 
 sister's training of the new thought in little 
 Margery's mind. In the neighborhood was 
 a lady in the last stage of consumption. I 
 several times heard Helen speak of her in the 
 following way to her little daughter : — 
 
 " No, she 's no better, Margery. She '11 
 be glad to go up to God's home some day, 
 won't she ? I think He wiU take her before 
 long." 
 
 When the end occurred, Helen cautioned 
 us all not to mention the word death in con- 
 nection with Mrs. Blake. Margery came to 
 me with the remark : — 
 
 " Is n't it lovely, auntie, that Mrs. Blake 
 has gone up to God's home? She won't 
 cough any more, mamma says. I wish I had 
 seen her go." 
 
 Things developed rather faster than Helen 
 expected, but, after all, in a natural sequence. 
 Margery heard us speaking of the funeral, 
 and inquired about it. She knew we were 
 going. 
 
CHILD'S THOUGHT OF DEATH 137 
 
 " Well, you see, Margery, the minister -will 
 come and talk to Mrs. Blake's family and 
 any friends wko are there. He wiU tell them 
 not to feel badly when they miss her, for she 
 won't be sick any more where she has gone. 
 He will tell them about God's home, what a 
 lovely place it is, and that after a while they 
 can all go there too and see her again." 
 
 " May I go to the funeral with you, 
 mamma?" 
 
 "No, I think you would better stay at 
 home." 
 
 Later Margery saw the carriages. 
 " Where were they all going, mamma ? " 
 
 " They were going to the place where they 
 will some day put a stone with her name 
 on it." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I 'member those stones. 
 What was that long, funny carriage, 
 mamma ? " 
 
 Evidently Helen had not expected this, 
 and she gave me a twinkling glance before 
 she replied : — 
 
138 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " That, my dear, was the carriage in which 
 they put Mrs. Blake's old body that she was 
 all through with. She won't want it any 
 more. She wiU have a nice new body, you 
 know." 
 
 " What will they do with the old body ? " 
 
 " Oh, they '11 just put it down in the 
 ground. It 's of no use now, you know." 
 
 Helen's voice trembled. Here was the 
 test of her theories. Would Margery be 
 shocked ? Far from it. She asked calmly, 
 " Where will they put it ? In the garden ? " 
 
 " No, some people do put the old bodies in 
 the gardens ; but Mrs. Blake's old body will 
 be put in the place where they will have the 
 stone put with her name on it." 
 
 « Oh, yes." 
 
 Later we heard Margery telling her little 
 brother about this. " Only the heads go 
 up, Frankie. The old bodies are planted in 
 the ground, and God fastens a new body on 
 the heads when they get up to His country." 
 
 Helen called the children to her and 
 asked, — 
 
CHILD'S THOUGHT OF DEATH 139 
 
 "What part of you is it that loves 
 mamma ? " 
 
 " Our eyes," said the little boy. 
 
 " No ; shut your eyes. You love me now. 
 What is it that loves me ? " 
 
 " Yight here," said Frank. His hand 
 vpas over his stomach. 
 
 " Well, let 's put it another way. Shut 
 your eyes again, and tell me if you remem- 
 ber the day when auntie came." 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " You 're thinking about it, are you ? 
 You're thinking how she looked when she 
 came up the steps ? Now, what is it that is 
 thinking? Is it your hands ? Your feet?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 " Your heads ? " 
 
 " Is it, mamma ? " asked Margery. 
 
 " We use the head to think with, but the 
 thinking is not the head. The thinking and 
 loving part of us lives inside our bodies un- 
 til God takes it out of the old body and gives 
 it a new one. That thinking and loving 
 
140 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 part is really what we are. Our bodies are 
 only a covering to it. When I think of 
 Margery, I mean the thinking and loving 
 part that lives in Margery's body. Can you 
 understand this, my little girl ? Frankie is 
 yet too young." 
 
 " I know what you mean, mamma. When 
 I think of you at night I think of the kind 
 part that Hves inside. But it seems to me, 
 mamma, it looks out of your eyes." 
 
 " May be it does look out of the eyes, 
 Margery ; but the eyes are not a part of it. 
 The head belongs to the body and does not 
 go up to God's home. That is what I 
 wanted to tell you. Now run ofE and play." 
 
 One thing was wanting to make the child's 
 lesson a finished one. As yet she did not 
 associate the word " death " with the passing 
 of the soul. 
 
 Not long after this we were much startled 
 by the sudden departure of a prominent 
 neighbor. This item of news was in every 
 one's mouth and it was not strange that some 
 
CHILD'S THOUGHT OF DEATH 141 
 
 of the remarks reached Margery. Without 
 comprehending her own words, she came to 
 us in great excitement, exclaiming : — 
 
 " Just think, mamma ! Mr. Storrs is dead 
 in his bed ! Just think, auntie ! He 's dead 
 in his bed ! " 
 
 Helen shut her lips firmly for an instant, 
 and I could easily believe she was uttering a 
 mental anathema against servants and gossips 
 in general. Her reply was ready, however. 
 Putting her hand on Margery's head to cahn 
 her, she said quietly, — 
 
 " That 's only his old body, dear. When 
 people speak of any one as dying, they 
 always mean the old body. Mr. Storrs is 
 not dead." 
 
 " Has he gone to God's home ? " 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " He was n't sick, was he, mamma ? I saw 
 him yesterday." 
 
 "No, he wasn't sick, and no one knew 
 God was going to take him. It was a sur- 
 prise." 
 
142 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I 'm sorry he 's gone away. 
 He can't take me to ride any more, can he ? 
 I 'most feel like crying, mamma." 
 
 " You may cry, dear. I cried too when I 
 heard about it. But I will teU you something 
 that will make you feel happier. A good 
 many years ago Mr. Storrs had two little 
 boys, but God thought it would be better 
 for them to be up in His home, so He took 
 them. Mr. Storrs has felt very badly about 
 it, for, you see, he missed them all these 
 years very much indeed, and they were all 
 the children he had. Now you can just 
 guess how happy he must be to see them 
 again." 
 
 After Margery had left the room, Helen 
 exclaimed : — 
 
 "There! That's over with, and I'm 
 thankful. She has heard it all now, and 
 I 'm positively sure she can never have the 
 horror of death that haunted me as a child." 
 
CHAPTEK XIII 
 
 THE child's BBLIGION 
 
 " When Margery was about two," said 
 Helen, " I taught her to say a little prayer, 
 and had her repeat it every night on going 
 to bed. ' God bless Margery,' — that was aU 
 at first ; but I showed her how to kneel, and 
 she understood that the prayer was always 
 to come before lying down for the night. 
 Of course the name God meant nothing to 
 her, and the three words together nothing 
 at all. My only idea was to have her begin 
 to pray so early that it would be second 
 nature to her to say her evening prayer, and 
 indeed that she should not be able to recall 
 a time when she did not say it. As she 
 grew older I suggested, ' God bless papa. 
 God bless mamma. God bless Frank. God 
 bless Margery,' and this was the form for 
 
144 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 some time, but was altered to admit others 
 from time to time, and often stretches out 
 now into a long list of friends and rela- 
 tives. 
 
 " Not for a long time did I try to teach 
 her anything about God ; but it was prob- 
 ably in answer to some questions of hers 
 that I explained, when she was old enough 
 to be interested, that God loves us, that He 
 is the Father of all the people in the world, 
 that He wants every one to do what is right, 
 that He sees everything that happens, that 
 He is glad when we do right and sorry 
 when we do wrong, and that He has a home 
 where He takes His children when they are 
 through with this world. 
 
 " Of course in his turn Frank was taught 
 to pray, and of course he has heard much of 
 what I have told Margery at an earlier age 
 than she heard it. As I think about them 
 and their relation towards God, I know that 
 what I want for them is, to have God in 
 their lives, to lean upon Him now, that they 
 
THE CHILD'S EELTGION 145 
 
 may depend upon Him all through life, and 
 look to Him at all times for help in trouble, 
 or in gratitude for whatever good comes to 
 them. I should not wish to live myself 
 without God, which would leave me indeed 
 without hope in the world, and I want my 
 children to grow up into this same depend- 
 ence upon Him." 
 
 While Helen had always when young been 
 a little shy in talking about religious matters, 
 she now showed no trace of this feeling. I 
 not infrequently heard her say when the 
 children were near : " I thank God for this 
 beautiful day." — "I thank God for this 
 lovely rain." — "I thank God that papa is 
 all right again." — "I thank God that He 
 sent you to me, my darling child." — "I 
 thank God that no bones were broken in that 
 fall." I told Helen one day that she reminded 
 me of the " Lord save us " of some of our 
 humbler fellow Christians ! 
 
 "I think I learned it from them," she 
 answered, a twinkle rippling over her face. 
 
146 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 " I say it in my heart every time my feet 
 are kept from falling, but I say it aloud 
 when the children are near that they may 
 know my dependence upon God. 
 
 " It is so easy and natural for a child to 
 believe in God's love and to feel His exist- 
 ence. Children drink in the beauty and 
 happiness that come from the knowledge of 
 heavenly things and call for more. It is 
 perhaps the very mystery of God's nature 
 that makes the subject so fascinating. 
 
 " Although I had not intended to do more 
 than direct their thoughts Godward, they 
 would ply me with questions about Him 
 night after night. Now Margery had been 
 repeating a prayer for a good many months 
 before she realized the privileges of prayer. 
 One night she said to me as I tucked her up 
 for the night, ' Mamma, what do people do 
 when they want things ? ' Not quite under- 
 standing her I yet answered, 'If it is some- 
 thing to buy, and they have money and 
 know it is all right to buy it, why, they go 
 
THE CHILD'S RELIGION 147 
 
 and get it.' * But if it is n't to buy with 
 money, and they don't know how to get it ? ' 
 * I '11 tell you what I do, Margery, I ask God 
 to let me have it i£ it is good for me, but 
 that I don't want it i£ it is n't.' ' How do 
 you ask Him ? ' * I say, " God, if it is 
 best, help me to get this thing, and don't let 
 me have it if it is n't good for me." ' ' Oh, 
 yes, now I know. If I whisper it, can He 
 hear ? ' * Yes, indeed, or if you just think 
 it, He will know all about it.' She told me 
 afterwards what it was she wanted, and that 
 she had asked for it. 
 
 "When little Frank comprehended that 
 Margery was asking for specific things, he 
 too began to think of requests. As his 
 great desire was to be strong, this was his 
 first voluntary petition, ' Make me strong.' 
 Later he added, ' Make me kind,' and another 
 night, * Make me grow up a good man.' One 
 night as the little fellow lay in bed, his eyes 
 wide open with thought, he said to me, 
 'Mamma, God is good, and I love Him, and 
 
148 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 I'm going to put Him in my prayer.' Then, 
 after a list of persons whom he wished God 
 to bless, he ended with ' God bless me. God 
 bless God, Amen. Make me grow up strong 
 and a good man.' As I thought over the 
 tender feeling that led to his praying thus, 
 I did not venture to meddle with it, and 
 he still uses the same petition every night. 
 Some day I will explain the words to him, 
 and he will understand things better. Mar- 
 gery's original supplication ends with, * And 
 make me grow up kind, and make me grow- 
 up to a good lady and a good cook.' 
 
 " One night I heard Margery say, ' Mine 
 was a bigger prayer than yours, Frank.' 
 * Oh,' said I, ' that does n't matter. Some- 
 times you will say a long prayer and some- 
 times a short one. Never ask for anything 
 more than you want, for God can look right 
 into your heart and He knows what you 
 reaUy wish to ask Him. He does n't care 
 whether it 's a long prayer or a short one. 
 Sometimes you will be too tired to make a 
 
THE CHILD'S EELIGION 149 
 
 long prayer, but I hope you will never want 
 to go to sleep without sending up some 
 prayer to Him.' 
 
 " One evening I was late in getting to the 
 children, and Frank seemed to be asleep. 
 As I kissed him he stirred and sleepily mur- 
 mured, ' Good-night.' ' Too tired to say 
 your prayer ? ' ' Ye-es ; ' then rousing, he 
 said, ' No, I 'm 'fwaid God 'ould miss it.' 
 
 " It might have been about this time that 
 Margery asked me if it was necessary to 
 kneel when praying. ' No, dear,' I replied. 
 'If you were not well it would be quite 
 proper for you to say your prayer in bed, and 
 God would listen to it just as surely. Often 
 when I am out walking I send little thoughts 
 up to Him as I go along. In some churches 
 the people kneel when praying, in others 
 they bow their heads or cover their eyes. 
 Still it seems to me better in the regular 
 prayer at night, or in the morning, to kneel. 
 I don't know that we need to, but I hke to. 
 I always kneel when I say my night prayer.' 
 
150 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 This had its influence with Margery, for 
 since then, no matter how sleepy she is, she 
 always insists upon kneeling. 
 
 " As to Sunday, I have been satisfied in 
 making a difference between that day and 
 the others. From their earliest playdays 
 we have called the stone blocks ' Sunday 
 blocks,' and certain toys we leave untouched 
 on that day, as for instance the trains. I 
 give free expression to my own love for my 
 church and let the children go with me as a 
 great privilege, Margery generally and Frank 
 once in a while. 
 
 " Fearing to confuse their minds, I have 
 only recently told them about Jesus ; but 
 they love to hear about Him, about the dear 
 little baby born in the stable, the perfect 
 boy, the perfect man, the stories Jesus told, 
 the kind things He did, the lessons He 
 taught the people ; just a little about His 
 death, His position in Heaven and His in- 
 terest in us all. Many of the parables are 
 
THE CHILD'S EELIGION 151 
 
 just suited to little children and just long 
 enough for them. Dear me ! I believe you 
 have gone to sleep under my sermon ! " 
 
 "Far from it, Helen. It isn't a sermon 
 about children that sends me to sleep." 
 
CHAPTEE XIV 
 
 A FINAL TALK WITH HELEN 
 
 " Do you realize, Helen," said I one after- 
 noon, after we had settled again to our sew- 
 ing, " that in another fortnight I ought to 
 be back in my school ? " 
 
 "I don't like to think of it," my sister 
 was good enough to say. 
 
 " I shall be sorry to leave you, Helen, but 
 I actually burn to put into practice the many 
 things I have been learning here. Above 
 all, I 'm going to love those children in my 
 school. You need n't think you mothers 
 have all the good work to do. I 'm going 
 to be a secondary mother, and in the case 
 of the stupid and naughty children, who 
 of course are always the most uninteresting 
 to the teacher, I 'm going to look for what 
 
A FINAL TALK WITH HELEN 153 
 
 their mothers find in them. Who can tell 
 how much good I may do ? " 
 
 " Who, indeed ? " said Helen. 
 
 "But how I shall miss Margery and 
 Frank ! Do you know, I think the principal 
 charm of that little girl of yours is her un- 
 afPectedness. When we were in the electric 
 car the other day, I particularly noticed how 
 wanting in self-consciousness she is. She 
 was telling me about something she had seen, 
 and although she was not a bit noisy, all in 
 the car who could see her seemed hstening 
 to her Uttle story. It was so pretty ! Her 
 little hands went fluttering about and her 
 eyes sparkled, but she was quite unaware of 
 the attention she attracted. I felt prOud of 
 the child. How have you managed, with 
 all her attractiveness and originality, to keep 
 her so unconscious ? " 
 
 "By being constantly on the watch to 
 shield her from unwise flattery," said my 
 sister. " I began when she was first leam- 
 ■jig to talk. When I foimd it necessary, I 
 
154 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 always asked those who listened to her quaint 
 remarks to refrain from smiling or showing 
 surprise, and of course I specially forbade 
 any reference to her prettiness. It was our 
 custom in the family, when we ourselves 
 could hardly keep from spoiling our dainty 
 baby-girl by indiscreet praise, to say, 
 ' Does n't she look clean ? * We let that 
 harmless adjective express all the superla- 
 tive words we wanted to utter. 
 
 " You know too that I do not repeat the 
 children's sayings or talk about them when 
 they can overhear me. Neither do I ask 
 them to be good for appearance' sake, no 
 matter what the temptation is with visitors 
 present on a naughty day. Why should I 
 use as a motive, * What will this person think 
 of you,' when I want their conduct built on 
 the foundation of God's law ? 
 
 " Children are often made to feel them- 
 selves of too much importance, and that 
 makes them self-conscious and vain. This 
 is a great pity, for it is so far from the true 
 
A FINAL TALK WITH HELEN 155 
 
 state of things. Their lives are mere atoms 
 in the world's history. There is much in 
 this big planet for them to consider without 
 being too much occupied with their own 
 tiny selves." 
 
 " I don't wonder children feel important," 
 said I. " In how many homes everything 
 is done according to the children's whims ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Helen, " their little worlds 
 must often seem to revolve about them, and 
 it is not surprising that they see things out 
 of focus. When a child conquers a weak- 
 ness or a sin, it is right that he should be 
 encouraged, but we ought not to praise nat- 
 ural ability or inherent traits. This but 
 makes him feel unduly important. What 
 has he that he has not received? Why 
 should he glory in it ? " 
 
 "My dear, my dear," said I, "you are 
 giving me many ideas. Of this imprudence 
 at least I have been guilty in the schoolroom. 
 I wiU be wiser in the future." 
 
 « I should think," said Helen, " that the 
 
166 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 children of the third grade might be already 
 pretty well influenced by lower motives be- 
 fore they get to you." 
 
 ''Yes, and it isn't often the teacher's 
 fault. The children influence one another, 
 laugh at originaUties, and criticise parents 
 and teachers." 
 
 " For that reason I hesitate to send Mar- 
 gery to the only school there is here. I 
 should think you could do little for public 
 school children unless you take them at the 
 start. But in any case you lose them at the 
 end of a year, and where is your influence ? " 
 
 " I might take a primary school and then 
 specially request each year to be promoted 
 with my children till they get to an age 
 where another teacher would be desirable." 
 
 " Yes," said my sister. " If you could do 
 that I should think your work would be more 
 encouraging." 
 
 With food for abundant thought we 
 stitched on for some time in silence. 
 
 " Helen," said I suddenly, " what do you 
 wish the children to be ? " 
 
A FINAL TALK WITH HELEN 167 
 
 " I don't know. I do not consciously 
 shape any desire as to their future work. I 
 should be glad to know Margery were to be 
 spared the need of earning her bread; but 
 when she grows older and I can better judge 
 of her capabilities, I intend to prepare her 
 for some honorable work for which she may 
 seem suited. With all the world of activi- 
 ties open to a boy, I should find it hard to 
 choose Frank's life-work, if indeed I dai;ed to 
 do so. We shall not bias him, but wait for 
 his own instincts to point out his opportu- 
 nity. All I can now see my way to do is to 
 lay the foundation of a good character and 
 a thorough general education. What he will 
 build on it later, time wUl show." 
 
 " I wonder, Helen, that you do not worry 
 about the children. You bear the care so 
 easily. It seems to me I should be anxious 
 about them all the time." 
 
 " I don't understand you," said my sister. 
 « Why should I worry about them ? " 
 
 " I was thinking particularly of that night 
 
158 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 when Margery was so ill. The anxiety was 
 almost too much for me, and I wondered how 
 you, her mother, could bear it. Don't mis- 
 understand me, Helen ; I knew your love 
 was far greater than mine ; that was what 
 mystified me. I should think the greater the 
 love, the greater would be the anxiety." 
 
 " Yes, it is so, the greater the love, the 
 greater the anxiety. Indeed a mother's anx- 
 iety is almost unbearable." 
 
 " But you seemed so calm, Helen. Once 
 I felt like screaming, and just then you 
 smiled and spoke to Margery as if you knew 
 she was going to get well." 
 
 " Oh, no, I had no such assurance. I 
 buried her more than once in those dreadful 
 days." 
 
 " You buried her ! " 
 
 " Yes, I faced the worst that could hap 
 pen ; that is the only way I can bear care 
 and anxiety. The first time Margery was 
 ever iU was when she was teething. She 
 had a convulsion and I fully believed she 
 
A FINAL TALK WITH HELEN 159 
 
 was dying. It seemed as if my heart stopped 
 its beating and my lungs their breathing. 
 For a few minutes I felt suffocated with 
 my anxiety, but I did not entirely lose my 
 judgment ; the remedies I resorted to were 
 speedily effectual, and that terrible anxiety 
 was removed. But the next day and the 
 next I was oppressed with the terrible pos- 
 sibilities the future held for me; — and then 
 I faced them. Death was what I dreaded 
 for my child ; then I must face death. Sup- 
 pose she should die, what then ? What was 
 death ? I thought it all out, and it did not 
 seem so terrible after all. There are things 
 in life much worse than death, but we may 
 not be required to face them. Death, we 
 know, will come to us all, and we may as well 
 familiarize our minds with it. We do not 
 know what experiences our children must 
 pass through ; it would be impossible for us 
 to foresee and useless to imagine them. But 
 in the midst of life we are in death, and 
 death must come to us all ; of that we are 
 
160 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 sure. Now if I should lose my darlings, I 
 should probably find the reality much worse 
 than my imaginings ; yet the fear of their 
 dying I have conquered, and it is surprising 
 how much anxiety is removed if we conquer 
 the fear of death. 
 
 ** When Frank was born, I said, ' It may 
 be Grod's will that he should not grow up ; 
 I 'm going to be thankful for every day I 
 have him.' This is an instinctive mel^od of 
 protecting myself from .disappointment ! " 
 
 "ThrarelseetheoldHelen!" I exclaimed. 
 '^You always said you preferred to expect 
 little — do you remember? — then the plea- 
 sures that came would be surprises, and there 
 could be no disappdbtinents ! " 
 
 "Did I? I rememb^ feeling so years 
 ago about expected pleasures. All might 
 not care to use the same system, but it helps 
 me. I feel above all that we are in God's 
 hand. What He permits to happen I must 
 in any case submit to; I am happier to 
 choose to submit to it." 
 
A FINAL TALK WITH HELEN 161 
 
 Later we talked of the power of the 
 parent's influence, and my sister said, — 
 
 " One thing that sometimes lessens this is 
 the disagreement between father and mother 
 on subjects discussed before the children. 
 The latter are sure to form more or less of 
 an opinion in the matter considered and to 
 take part with one parent against the other. 
 I remember when as children we went to 
 visit at Uncle John's, we would hear him 
 and Aunt Mary discuss the food a child 
 should eat. Aunt Mary had been brought 
 up strictly to eat whatever was set before 
 her. Uncle John believed all should be 
 allowed to exercise choice in the matter. 
 Although they were perfectly good-natured, 
 we felt obliged to side one way or the 
 other; and so did their children, as you 
 must remember." 
 
 I smiled and nodded. 
 
 *' Perhaps I should not recall this, or 
 place any particular value on it, if I had not 
 been much impressed by something a good 
 
162 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 man, a minister, once told me. He had 
 lived in a wicked city on the continent and 
 there brought up a family of boys. To an 
 outsider the mother appeared to be a selfish 
 woman with no high ideals. Surrounded 
 by evil on all sides, it surprised me to see 
 those lads grow up fair and pure as lilies in 
 the river-mud. When I had the opportunity, 
 I ventured to ask the father how he had 
 managed, and this was his reply : — 
 
 " ' Under God I believe we owe it to a 
 resolution made by my wife and me on the 
 birth of our first child. We determined 
 then that before our children we would have 
 no differences, even in trivial matters, that 
 what matters demanded discussion should 
 be considered in private. This made our 
 word seem infallible to them.' I never saw 
 this good man again, but have learned that 
 to-day those sous (I think there are five) 
 are all ministers. 
 
 " My dear little children ! K I can only 
 help them on to goodness and a peaceful 
 
A FINAL TALK WITH HELEN 163 
 
 life ! I try to utilize this springtime of 
 theirs, dropping in little seeds of thought 
 which I hope will bear fruit throughout 
 their lives. It may seem siUy to you, but 
 even when they are asleep, as I tuck them 
 up more thoroughly for the night, I often 
 whisper to each, * Be good, darUng, be 
 good ! ' Frank says now if he could be 
 only one thing he would rather be good 
 than strong. God grant he may always 
 feel so ! " 
 
 It so happened that this was the last 
 opportunity my sister and I had for a good 
 long talk together. A few weeks later I 
 was again in my schoolroom, and my chats 
 with Helen but memories; yet they chng 
 about my simple duties and beautify them. 
 How motherly I feel, sometimes, as I look 
 over my school-children. It is wonderful 
 what a change this love makes in me as well 
 as in them. As they look up from their 
 work, they smile confidentially into my face, 
 and I rarely see anything sly in their con* 
 
164 AS THE TWIG IS BENT 
 
 duct. In truth, I am no longer on the 
 watch for slyness, and if sometimes I find 
 in my group a child with really bad in- 
 stincts, how my heart goes out to him! 
 Yes, I may as well confess it, sometimes I 
 whisper to myself : " I will be better to him 
 than his own mother I he is mine tooP*