"O mamma, I didn't mean to do that!" he cried, throwing his arms about her neck. "I do love you dearly, dearly."
"I believe it, my son," she said, returning his caress, "but I want you to prove it by being obedient to your kind grandpa as well as to me, and by trying to conquer your faults."
"Mamma, I haven't been naughty—only I can't learn such hard lessons as grandpa gives."
"My son, I know you do not mean to be untruthful, but to say that you cannot learn your lesson is really not the truth; the difficulty is not so much in the ability as in the will. And are you not indulging a naughty temper?"
"Mamma," he said, hanging his head, "you don't know how hard Latin is."
"Why, what do you mean, my son?" she asked in surprise; "you certainly know that I have studied Latin."
"Yes, mamma, but wasn't it easier for you to learn than it is for me?"
"I think not," she said with a smile, "though I believe I had more real love for study and was less easily conquered by difficulties; and yet—shall I tell you a little secret?"
"Oh yes, ma'am, please do!" he answered, turning a bright, interested face to hers.
"Well, I disliked Latin at first, and did not want to study it. I should have coaxed very hard to be excused from doing so, but that I dared not, because my papa had strictly forbidden me to coax or tease after he had given his decision; and he had said Latin was to be one of my studies. There was one day, though, that I cried over my lesson and insisted that I could not learn it."