“But what could you have done, Stephen, to make him so angry with you?”

“I was selling half a quire of writing paper to a lady:  he counted the sheets after me, and found thirteen instead of only twelve; they had stuck together so that I took two for one.  I tried to explain, but he was in a passion, and gave me a blow.  The lady said something to him about his improper conduct, and he said that I was such a careless little rascal, that he lost all patience with me.  That hurt me a great deal more than the blow.  It was a falsehood, and he knew it; but he wanted to excuse himself.  I felt that I was going into a passion, too, but I thought of what you are always telling me about patience and forbearance, and I kept down my passion; I know he was sorry for it after, from the way he spoke to me, though he didn’t say so.”

“I have no doubt he suffered more than you, Stephen,” said Mary; “he would be vexed that he, had shown his temper before the lady, vexed that he had told a lie, and vexed that he had hurt you when you bore it so patiently.

“Yes, mother, but that doesn’t make it easier for me to bear his ill temper; I’ve borne it now for more than a year for your sake, and I can bear it no longer.  Surely I can get something to do; I’m sturdy and healthy, and willing to do any kind of work.”

Mary shook her head, and remained for a long time silent and thoughtful.  At length she said, with a solemn earnestness of manner that almost made poor Stephen cry,

“You say that, for my sake, you have borne your master’s unkind treatment for more than a year; for my sake, bear it longer, Stephen.  Your patience must, and will be rewarded in the end.  You know how I have worked, day and night, ever since your poor father died, when you were only a little infant in the cradle, to feed and clothe you, and to pay for your schooling, for I was determined that you should have schooling; you know how I have been cheered in all my toil by the hope of seeing you, one day, getting on in the world, And I know, Stephen, that you will get on.  You are good, honest lad, and kind to your poor mother, and God will reward you.  But not if you are hasty; not if you are impatient.  You know how hard it was for me to get you this situation; you might not get another; you must not leave; you must not break your indentures; you must be patient and industrious still; you have a hard master, and, God knows, it costs me many at heartache to think of what you have to suffer; but bear with him, Stephen; bear with him, for my sake, a few years longer.”

Stephen was now fairly crying and his mother kissed off his tears, while her own flowed freely.  Her appeal to his affection was not in vain.  He soon smiled through his tears, as he said,