"I am sorry to say, Maurice, that you are sadly wanting in patience and—"
"Mamma, I did get out the knot," exclaimed the boy, his cheeks crimsoning.
"Yes, at last you applied yourself to the business; if you had done that at first you would have prevented the reproof your papa gave you for tardiness, which he so much dislikes."
Without another word, Maurice set himself to his task with a will. Over and over again he whispered the words, his finger patiently following down the column. Not even when kitty, tired of her play, came to him with a plaintive "meow," did he turn his eyes from his book.
"Well done, Maurice!" exclaimed his mother, who had been watching him with a smile. "I may as well get out the memorandum-book, for I'm sure of having to put down the word perfect this morning."
He stood erect before her, his hands folded behind his back. He had conquered his lesson and was very happy in the thought that he had conquered himself. It was no matter now, whether his mamma went straight on with the words, or commenced at the bottom of the line, or whether she skipped about, he was sure of every syllable.
"It's a pleasure to hear such a lesson as that," said the lady.
"I'm going to be patient all the time, mamma," he cried, jumping up and down. "Now I'm going to get my geography."
Every lesson that morning was well learned, and the boy who usually dragged away the whole day at his studies, to his mother's great annoyance, now fairly earned the right to a long recess.
All in the family, from Cook in the kitchen, to Tom the stable-boy, knew by Maurice's bright, happy face, that something unusual had happened, and rejoiced with him in his efforts to learn patience.