Now I knew a little boy once, who was unhappy a great deal of the time, because he would not be pleased with the playthings he had, but always wanted another kind, or something else. This little boy had a very kind father and mother, who loved him very much, and who tried to make him happy. They bought him good clothes to wear: they gave him good things to eat whenever he was hungry, and they bought him a great many pretty playthings. But though they were so kind, this boy was sometimes so naughty as to cry when they gave him a new plaything, because he had wanted a bunch of jack-straws, perhaps, instead of a pretty box of wooden blocks. If they had bought him some jack-straws, he would have wanted the blocks or something else. Nobody liked to give Charles any playthings or sugar-plums or any thing, because they did not make him happy: and they did not make him happy because he would not be pleased, but always thought of something else which he fancied he would rather have.
One day, Charles’ mother came into the room where he was playing, and said, “Charles, little brother William is going to walk with Susan. Should you like to go too?”
“Yes,” said he, “but I shall want to wear my new cap.”
“But I told you the other day,” said his mother, “that you could not wear it for a whole week again, because you threw it upon the floor when you came in yesterday, instead of hanging it on the nail.”
“Then I don’t want to go,” said Charles.
“Very well,” said his mother, and calling to Susan, she told her she need not wait any longer.
“But I shall want to go,” said Charles, beginning to cry.
“You must not go now,” said his mother, “for you said you did not want to go, just because you felt contrary, and out of humor.”
His mother then sat down to work. Charles, finding it was useless to cry, dried his tears, and began throwing his playthings about the room.
“Don’t you do so,” said his mother, “you will break that pretty box, and your white cards, with the pretty colored letters, will get soiled, and not fit to be used.”