It was over.
Willy is now ten years old. From that day to this his mother has never had
a contest with him; she has always been able to leave all practical
questions affecting his behavior to his own decision, merely saying,
"Willy, I think this or that will be better."
His self-control and gentleness are wonderful to see; and the blending in
his face of childlike simplicity and purity with manly strength is
something which I have only once seen equalled.
For a few days he went about the house, shouting "G! G! G!" at the top of
his voice. He was heard asking playmates if they could "say G," and "who
showed them how." For several years he used often to allude to the affair,
saying, "Do you remember, mamma, that dreadful time when I wouldn't say
G?" He always used the verb "wouldn't" in speaking of it. Once, when he
was sick, he said, "Mamma, do you think I could have said G any sooner
than I did?"
"I have never felt certain about that, Willy," she said. "What do _you_
think?"
"I think I could have said it a few minutes sooner.
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