“I will not try any more. Everything goes wrong to-day,” exclaimed Charley Morris, throwing down his slate in a pet.
“Nothing succeeds that I try to do. Everything turns out just the wrong way.”
“I want you to run and get me the book,” said his mother, “which I left on the seat at the farther end of the garden; then afterwards we will see if anything can be done to coax events into a better humour.”
Charley returned with his face a little brighter from a moment’s exercise in the fresh air, and seated himself at his mother’s feet.
“Do you believe in unlucky days, mother?” said he.
“I do not believe they come very often,” said Mrs. Morris.
“But how can you help their coming, mother?”
“Treat them in such a way when they occur that they will not return very soon. But now I want you to tell me what has made this day ‘unlucky,’ and then perhaps I can tell you what to do about it.”
“Well, you see, mother, I overslept myself this morning, and was late at breakfast. That put me out. Then Agnes laughed at me for being so late, and that made me cross.”
