My boy choked down for a few moments at this, and half stifled his grief; but o’ermastering him, it flowed on again as wildly as ever.  I felt impatient.

“Stop this moment, I say!” And I took hold of his arm firmly.  My will is strong, and when a little excited, it often leads me beyond where I would go in moments of reflection.  My boy knew this by experience.  By my manner of speaking he saw that I was in earnest, and that, if he did not obey me, punishment would follow.  So, with what must have been a powerful effort for one so young, he stifled the utterance of his grief.  But, the storm within raged none the less violently, and I could see his little frame quiver as he strove to repress the rising sobs.

Turning away from me, he went and sat down on a low seat in a corner of the room.  I saw his form in the glass as I stood before it to arrange my hair, after laying aside my bonnet; and for the first time my feelings were touched.  There was an abandonment in his whole attitude; an air of grief about him that affected me with pity and tenderness.

“Poor child!” I sighed.  “His heart is almost broken.  I ought to have said yes or no; and then all would have been settled.”

“Come,” said I, after a few moments, reaching my hand towards the child—­“let us go down and look out for father.  He will be home soon.”

I spoke kindly and cheerfully.  But he neither moved, looked up, nor gave the smallest sign that he heard me.

“Oh, well,” said I, with some impatience in my voice—­“it doesn’t matter at all.  If you’d rather sit there than come down into the parlor and look out for dear father, you can please yourself.”

And turning away as I spoke, I left the chamber, and went down stairs.  Seating myself at the window, I looked forth and endeavored to feel unconcerned and cheerful.  But, this was beyond my power.  I saw nothing but the form of my grieving child, and could think of nothing but his sorrow and disappointment.

“Nancy,” said I to one of my domestics, who happened to come into the parlor to ask me some question, “I wish you would run down to the toy store in the next block, and buy Neddy a wagon.  His heart is almost broken about one.”

The girl, always willing, when kindly spoke to, ran off to obey my wishes, and in a little while came back with the article wanted.

“Now,” said I, “go up into my room and tell Neddy that I’ve got something for him.  Don’t mention the wagon; I want to take him by surprise.”

Nancy went bounding up the stairs, and I placed the wagon in the centre of the room where it would meet the child’s eyes on the moment of his entrance, and then sat down to await his coming, and enjoy his surprise and delight.

After the lapse of about a minute, I heard Nancy coming down slowly.

“Neddy’s asleep,” said she, looking in at the door.

“Asleep!” I felt greatly disappointed.