"Mother's advice is always excellent," said May, proudly. "When it is hard to take, the way she says it—so calm and sweet—takes the sting out. I don't think we need to learn much except what mother tells us."
"Always think so, my boy," said the General, brokenly.
"Your mother must have been like mine," hazarded May. "How much you must have loved her!"
To speak of his beloved mother was to make a short cut to the General's heart, and at that moment May could have demanded and received any boon of him.
"You were reading when I came in," said May, after a brief pause. "I hope I am not interrupting you."
"Not at all; I learned my lesson fifty years ago and I have not forgotten it."
"What were you reading?" asked May, who was a sad chatterbox when at ease.
"I was reading a classic—do you know what that means?"
"Oh, yes; a classic is a book in a leather binding. Alice studies in them, and I think there must be something very sad inside for I've often seen her crying over them."
"Classics are touching tales to youth. What would you think, Gay, of a goddess who corrected her children with a thunderbolt?"