“Yes, mamma.” And Louis got up, book and all, and walked across the room, reading all the way. After knocking his head against the door, and walking into the library instead of into the school-room, he at last found himself at the table where his writing-desk stood, without any further excuse, but there he stood for a minute or two reading, and then, still continuing, felt for his key, and slipped it along the front of his desk for some time in the most absent and fruitless manner. Being obliged, at length, to lay aside the book, he unlocked the desk, and opening it, laid the dear volume thereon, and read while he carried his desk to another table. Then a few books were fetched in the same dawdling way, Louis all the while persuading himself—foolish boy—that he was merely occupying the time of walking across the room in reading. A few minutes more, and a chair was dragged along, and Louis seated. Then he reluctantly laid his book down open beside him and commenced. It would be tiresome to say how often when the dictionary or something else had to be referred to, a half page or more of the story was read, and to remark how equally Louis enjoyed his amusement and profited by his study. He was finally overwhelmed with confusion when his father, entering the room, came and looked over his shoulder, making some remark on the economy of time exhibited in thus ingeniously blending together his work and play without profiting by either.
“But indeed, papa, I don't know how it is; I made up my mind to be very industrious, and I was very steady yesterday.”
“You put me in mind of a story of a man who made a vow to abstain from frequenting beer-shops, and who, on the first day of his resolution, passed several successively, until he came to the last that lay on his way home, when he stopped and exclaimed, ‘Well done, Resolution! I'll treat you for this,’ and walked in.”
“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Louis, laughing.
“Don't you think this looks very much like treating resolution?” said his father, taking up the open book.
“I can't tell how it is, papa,” said Louis, looking ashamed. “I assure you I did not mean to waste time; I cannot help being interested in stories, and unless I leave off reading them altogether, I don't know what to do.”
“As reading stories is not a duty,” said his father, “I would certainly advise your leaving off reading them if they interfere with what is so clearly one; but do you not think there is any way of arranging your affairs so as to prevent a harmless recreation from doing this?”
“I can't depend upon myself, papa. If it were Reginald, he could throw his book down directly, and do at once what he ought, and so would Neville, but it is quite a trouble to me sometimes even to bring my thoughts to bear upon dry studies, particularly mathematics, which I hate.”
“I allow there is some difference of constitution; Reginald is not so fond of reading as you are, and has naturally more power of turning his attention from one subject to another; but this power may be acquired, and if you grow up with this inclination to attend only to those things for which you take fancies and fits, you will not be a very useful member of society; for it must always be remembered that consistency is essential to a useful character, and that without it, though many may love, few will respect you.”
“I wish I could be like Neville; he is like a clock, and never lets any one thing interfere with another, and he always has time for all he wants to do, and is never in a hurry and flurry as I am; I think he has nothing to struggle with.”