How easy for a good-natured and watchful mother to do this!
It takes but a word.
"Oh, dear! I wish it had not rained to-day. It is too bad!"
"You do not really mean what you say, my darling. It is of much more
consequence that the grass should grow than that you should go out to
play. And it is so silly to complain, when we cannot stop its raining."
"Mamma, I hate this pie."
"Oh! hush, dear! Don't say so, if you do. You can leave it. You need not
eat it. But think how disagreeable it sounds to hear you say such a
thing."
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I am too cold."
"Yes, dear, I know you are. So is mamma. But we shall not feel any warmer
for saying so. We must wait till the fire burns better; and the time will
seem twice as long if we grumble."
"Oh, mamma! mamma! My steam-engine is all spoiled. It won't run. I hate
things that wind up!"
"But, my dear little boy, don't grumble so! What would you think if mamma
were to say, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little boy's stockings are full of
holes. How I hate to mend stockings!' and, 'Oh, dear! oh, dear! My little
boy has upset my work-box! I hate little boys'?"
How they look steadily into your eyes for a minute,--the honest,
reasonable little souls!--when you say such things to them; and then run
off with a laugh, lifted up, for that time, by your fitly spoken words of
help.
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