“No, sir, not now, particularly.”
“Well, as I happened to overhear you, I can repeat your words, though I hardly think I can get your very tone and manner. Your words were, ‘Here, lend me your knife, Bill!’ and your voice and manner were exceedingly offensive. I did not at all wonder that William refused your request. If you had spoken to him in a kind manner, I am sure he would have handed you his knife instantly. But no one likes to be ordered, in a domineering way, to do anything at all. I know you would resent it in William, as quickly as he resents it in you. Correct your own fault, my son, and in a little while you will have no complaint to make of William.”
Edgar felt rebuked. What his father said he saw to be true.
“Whenever you want William to do anything for you,” continued the father, “use kind words instead of harsh ones, and you will find him as obliging as you could wish. I have observed you both a good deal, and I notice that you rarely ever speak to William in a proper manner, but you are rude and overbearing. Correct this evil in yourself, and all will be right with him. Kind words are far more powerful than harsh words, and their effect a hundred-fold greater.”
On the next day, as Edgar was at work in the garden, and William standing at the gate looking on, Edgar wanted a rake that was in the summer-house. He was just going to say, “Go and get me that rake, Bill!” but he checked himself, and made his request in a different form, and in a better tone than those words would have been uttered in.
“Will you get me the small rake that lies in the summer-house, William?” he said. The words and tone involved a request, not a command, and William instantly replied,—
“Certainly;” and bounded away to get the rake for his brother.
“Thank you,” said Edgar, as he received the rake.
“Don’t you want the watering-pot?” asked William.
“Yes, I do; and you may bring it full of water, if you please,” was the reply.