"Did you strike Polly, daughter?"
"Yes 'em, Mamma."
"What did you strike her for, daughter?"
"She wouldn't say her lesson, Mamma, and she knew it all the time. And she rolled her eyes at me so, and stuck out her lip and looked so ugly, I just couldn't help it, that's all."
"I am sorry, daughter, that you gave way to your temper so. For remember, you are only the sower that plants the seed, and God takes care of all the rest. If you really try to teach Polly, and she won't be taught, you mustn't make a personal thing of it, but just leave it with God. Then, again, daughter, unless you practice self-control, teaching others is a farce. I know Polly has been very trying, indeed. But I want you to show a real forgiving spirit, as one should always show when one is working for the Master. I want you to tell Polly you are sorry you struck her. For you are sorry, I know—I see it in your face."
A kind of staccato snuffle was heard in the direction of Polly.
Roberta gave another look at the surly, unprepossessing countenance, then said, in a low voice:
"I will, Mamma, if you will let me hide my face in your lap while I am saying it."
"But why hide your face in my lap, daughter?"
"Because—because—Mamma—I am afraid—if she looks at me as she did before, that I will slap her again. I don't believe I could keep from it this evening; I am all out of sorts."