Her mother could not but laugh, but she asked her if such inattention was kind to herself when she was so ill as scarcely to be able to speak, much less to question over and over again a girl who did not care whether she learned or not.
"But I do care, mother," cried Bessie, coloring.
"Then why do you try me so? Take your book and study your spelling properly."
Bessie did so, and this time, mastering her inclination to think of other things, soon accomplished her task.
"It is not because you are a dull child," said her mother, "that you do not learn, but because you are a careless one. The least thing comes between you and your lessons. This morning, I suppose you are somewhat to be excused, but I cannot express to you how you weary me, day after day, by the same conduct."
These words filled Bessie with shame. She really loved her mother, and there were few things she would not have done to please her. She did not realize how simple thoughtlessness can pain and annoy those whom we would not purposely wound.
"Well, mother," said Bessie, casting down her eyes, "I do wish I was good. Maybe I am not big enough yet, am I, mother?"
Her mother smiled, saying, "You are plenty big enough, and plenty old enough too."
Bessie smiled too, and was happy to see that her mother was not as vexed with her as she thought. She went up to her and gave her a little shy kiss on her cheek.