Bend lower and let me whisper a secret in your ear: it is not five minutes since that boy’s mother said to him: “Charlie, can’t you run upstairs and get that letter on my bureau and mail it for me?” And Charlie, with three wrinkles on his forehead, and a pucker on each side of his mouth, said: “O, mamma! I don’t see how I can! I’m late now; and the office is half a block out of my way.”
And the mother said, well then he needn’t mind, for she didn’t want him to be late at school. So he didn’t mind, but left the letter on the bureau, and went briskly on his way until stopped by Mrs. Hampstead.
What was the matter with Charlie Holland? Was he an untruthful boy? He did not mean to be. He prided himself on his strict honesty.
It was growing late, and he felt in a hurry, and he hated to go upstairs. Of course it would not do to refuse Mrs. Hampstead, and by making an extra rush, he could get to school in time; but the other lady was only his mother. Her letter could wait.
“Only his mother!” Didn’t Charlie Holland love his mother, then?
You ask him, with a hint of doubt about it in your voice, and see how his eyes will flash, and how proudly he will toss back his handsome head and say:
“I guess I do love my mother! She’s the grandest mother a boy ever had.”
Oh! I didn’t promise to explain Charlie’s conduct to you; I am only introducing him; you are to study for yourselves. Do you know any boy like him?
Pansy.