The pa.s.sionate child, who had been spoiled by injudicious management, got a sound whipping and was shut up in a room by himself. After performing this rather unpleasant task, Mrs. Martinet returned to the parlour, flushed, excited, and trembling in every nerve.

"I expect that boy will kill me yet," she said, as she sank, panting, into a chair. "It is surprising how stubborn and self-willed he grows. I don't know how to account for it. He never has his own way--I never yield an inch to him when he gets in these terrible humours. Oh, dear! I feel sometimes like giving up in despair."

I did not make a reply, for I could not say any thing that would not have been a reproof of her impatient temper. After my friend had grown calmer, she renewed her narrative about the dinner.

"As I was saying, when that boy interrupted us, I left the kitchen very much worried, and felt worried all the morning. Several times I went down to see how things were coming on, but it was plain that Hannah did not mean to have dinner at the hour. When it was time to put the meat on to roast, the fire was all down in the range. Half an hour was lost in renewing it. As I expected, when my husband came home for his dinner, at the regular time, the table was not even set.

"'Bless me!' he said, 'isn't dinner ready? I told you that I wished it at the hour, particularly. I have a business engagement at half-past two, that must be met. It is too bad! I am out of all patience with these irregularities. I can't wait, of course.'

"And saying this, Mr. Martinet turned upon his heel and left the house. As you may suppose, I did not feel very comfortable, nor in a very good humour with Hannah. When she made her appearance to set the table, which was not for a quarter of an hour, I gave her about as good a setting down, I reckon, as she ever had in her life. Of course, I was paid back in impudence which I could not stand, and therefore gave her notice to quit. If ever a woman was tried beyond endurance, I am. My very life is becoming a burden to me. The worst part of it is, there is no prospect of a change for the better.

Things, instead of growing better, grow worse."

"It is not so bad as that, I hope," I could not help remarking.

"Have you never thought of a remedy for the evils of which you complain?"

"A remedy, Kate! What remedy is there?"

Mrs. Martinet looked at me curiously.

"If not a remedy, there is, I am sure, a palliative," I returned, feeling doubtful of the effect of what I had it in my mind to express.

"What is the remedy or palliative of which you speak. Name it, for goodness' sake! Like a drowning man, I will clutch it, if it be but a straw."

"The remedy is _patience_." My voice slightly faltered as I spoke.

Instantly the colour deepened on the face of Mrs. Martinet. But our close intimacy, and her knowledge of the fact that I was really a friend, prevented her from being offended.

"Patience!" she said, after she had a little recovered herself.

"Patience is no remedy. To endure is not to cure."

"In that, perhaps, you are mistaken," I returned. "The effect of patience is to cure domestic evils. A calm exterior and a gentle, yet firm voice, will in nine cases in ten, effect more than the most pa.s.sionate outbreak of indignant feelings. I have seen it tried over and over again, and I am sure of the effect."

"I should like to have seen the effect of a gentle voice upon my Harry, just now."

"Forgive me for saying," I answered to this, "that in my opinion, if you had met his pa.s.sionate outbreak at the wrong he had suffered in losing his top-cord, in a different manner from what you did, that the effect would have been of a like different character."

My friend's face coloured more deeply, and her lips trembled. But she had good sense, and this kept her from being offended at what I said. I went on--

"There is no virtue more necessary in the management of a household than patience. It accomplishes almost every thing. Yet it is a hard virtue to practise, and I am by no means sure that, if I were in your place, I would practise it any better than you do. But it is of such vital importance to the order, comfort, and well-being of a family, to be able patiently and calmly to meet every disturbing and disorderly circ.u.mstance, that it is worth a struggle to attain the state of mind requisite to do so. To meet pa.s.sion with pa.s.sion does no good, but harm. The mind, when disturbed from any cause, is disturbed more deeply when it meets an opposing mind in a similar state. This is as true of children as of grown persons, and perhaps more so, for their reason is not matured, and therefore there is nothing to balance their minds. It is also more true of those who have not learned, from reason, to control themselves, as is the case with too large a portion of our domestics; who need to be treated with almost as much forbearance and consideration as children."

These remarks produced a visible effect upon Mrs. Martinet. She became silent and reflective, and continued so, to a great extent, during the half-hour that I remained.

Nearly two weeks elapsed before I called upon my friend again. I found her, happily, in a calmer state of mind than upon my previous visit. We were in the midst of a pleasant conversation, half an hour after I had come in, when one of the children, a boy between seven and eight years old, came into the room and made some complaint against his brother. The little fellow was excited, and broke in upon our quiet chitchat with a rude jar that I felt quite sensibly.

I expected, of course, to hear him ordered from the room instantly.

That had been my friend's usual proceeding when these interruptions occurred; at least it had been so when I happened to be a visitor.

But instead of this, she said in a low, mild, soothing voice,

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

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

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

"I want him to come and play."

"You were not kind to w.i.l.l.y, and he doesn't wish to play with you."

"Come, w.i.l.l.y, and play, and I will be kind," said Harry.

"Will you let me be the master sometimes?" asked the little fellow, raising himself up from where he remained seated beside his mother.

"Yes, you shall be master, sometimes."

"Then I'll play," and w.i.l.l.y sprang from the sofa and bounded from the room, as happy as he could be.

The mother smiled, and looking into my face, as soon as we were alone, said--

"You see, Kate, that I am trying your remedy, patience."

"With most happy results, I am glad to see."

"With better results than I could have believed, certainly.

Gentleness, consideration, and firmness, I find do a great deal, and their exercise leaves my own mind in a good state. There is a power in patience that I did not believe it possessed. I can do more by a mildly spoken word, than by the most emphatic command uttered in a pa.s.sion. This is the experience of a few weeks. But, alas! Kate, to be able to exercise patience--how hard a thing that is! It requires constant watchfulness and a constant effort. Every hour I find myself betrayed into the utterance of some hasty word, and feel its powerlessness compared to those that are most gently spoken."

"Do you get on with your domestics any better than you did?"

"Oh, yes! Far better."

"I suppose you sent Hannah away some time ago?"

"No. I have her yet."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, and she does very well."

"Does she get your meals ready in time?"

"She is punctual to the minute."

"Really she must have changed for the better! And is this, too, the result of patience and forbearance on your part?"

"I suppose so. What you said in regard to having patience, at your last visit, struck me forcibly, and caused me to feel humbled and self-condemned. The more I thought of it, the more satisfied was I that you were right. But it was one thing to see the use of patience, and another thing to exercise it. To be patient amid the turbulence, ill-tempers, and disobedience of children, and the irregularities, carelessness and neglect of domestics, seemed a thing impossible. I was in this state of doubt as to my ability to exercise the virtue so much needed in my household, when Hannah came to the door of the room where I was sitting in no very happy mood, and notified me of some want in the kitchen in an exceedingly provoking way. I was about replying sharply and angrily; but suddenly checking myself, I said in a quiet, mild way, 'Very well, Hannah. I will see that it is supplied.'

"The girl stood for some moments, looking at me with an expression of surprise on her face, and then walked away. This was a victory over myself, and I felt, also, a victory over her. Not half an hour elapsed, before, on pa.s.sing near the kitchen, she said to me, in a very respectful manner:

"'I forgot to tell you, this morning, that the tea was all out. But I can run round to the store and get some in a few minutes.'