“There are two ways, Robert,” said he, “of explaining things.  One is by telling what they are, directly, and the other is by telling what they do.  I find that my children generally like the last of these methods better than they do the first; and I am not sure but, on the whole, it is quite as good as the other.  At any rate, I shall try to describe conscience by pointing out some of its effects.  In other words, I shall tell you a story.  Some twenty-five years ago—­it may be thirty; how time slides away!—­I knew a boy who had one of the kindest of mothers, but whose father had died before his recollection.  I think—­indeed I know—­he loved his mother, though he was sometimes thoughtless, and once in a while disobedient.  One day, in midsummer, when the blackberries were ripe in the woods, and the trout were sporting merrily in the brook, Charles—­for that was the name of the boy—­came running to his mother, all out of breath, and said that Joseph Cone and Charley Corson had come with their baskets and fish-lines, and wanted he should go with them.  ’Oh, such fine times as they are going to have, mother!  Mayn’t I go?  Blackberries are ripe now, and there are lots of them over in Mr Simpson’s woods.  And oh! such splendid trout!  One of the boys caught a trout last Saturday, so big that he couldn’t hardly pull it out of the water!  Oh, I do want to go, mother!  I’ll bring home a fine string of trout—­I know I will.  Ha! ha! ha!’ And Charley danced up and down the room, and clapped his hands, and laughed very loudly at the idea, I suppose, of his outwitting the simple little fish.”

Robert laughed, too, when his father came to this part of the story, and said he thought that was something like counting the chickens before they were hatched.

“Yes,” continued Mr Mason; “but I am afraid that was not the worst of it, by a good deal; for Charles knew well enough that his mother wanted him at home that day, and he ought not to have urged her so hard.  ‘My dear,’ said that kind, indulgent lady, ’I will let you do just as you choose about going.  You know I want you to help me about the house to-day, and I should be very sorry to have you leave me.  But I don’t wish to govern you by force.  I want to see you mind because you love me—­not because you are obliged to.  So I shall not say any more.  Do as you please, this time.’

“Charles thought a moment or two.  He saw plainly enough that there were two sides to the question about going a-fishing that day.  His mother was not very well.  He thought of that; and he thought that if he went, she would have more work to do, and perhaps she would then be quite sick.  His conscience was at work, you see.  ‘Well,’ he thought, ’I guess I will let the trout stay where they are to-day,’ But just then he heard one of the boys say, ’Halloo, Charley! what do you say?  We’re tired of waiting.  Shall we go without you, or will you come along?’

“Well, what do you think Charley did, Robert?”