Home Scenes and Home Influence; a series of tales and sketches

"Tee de watch!" said Tommy more emphatically.

"Here, come see mine," said the father.

"No," replied the child, angrily.

Mr. Pelby, to quiet Tommy, now took him upon his lap, and called his attention to a large cameo breast-pin. This pleased him at once, and he amused himself with pulling at it, and sadly rumpling the visitor's snow-white bosom. Next he began to dive into his pockets, revealing pen-knife, tooth-pick, etc. etc. This was worse than to let him have the watch; and so, as a lesser evil, the gold lever was again drawn from its hiding-place. The little fellow was once more wild with delight.

But Pelby was so evidently annoyed, that Mr. Little could not help observing it; and he at length said to his wife—

"Hadn't you better take Tommy up-stairs, my dear? He is too troublesome."

Mr. Pelby had it on his tongue's end to say, "Oh, no, he don't trouble me at all!" But he was afraid—not to tell a falsehood—but that the child would be suffered to remain; so he said nothing.

"Come, Tommy," said Mrs. Little, holding out her hands.

"No!" replied the child emphatically.

"Come."

"No!" still louder and more emphatic.

"Yes, come, dear."

"No, I won't!"

"Yes, but you must!" Mrs. Little said, taking hold of him.

At this, Tommy clung around the neck of Mr. Pelby, struggling and kicking with all his might against the effort of his mother to disengage him; who finally succeeded, and bore him, screaming at the top of his voice, from the room.

"If that were my child," said Mr. Pelby, after they had left the house, "I'd half kill him but what I'd make a better boy of him! I never saw such an ill-behaved, graceless little rascal in my life!"

"Children are children, Mr. Pelby," quietly remarked his auditor, Mr. Manly, who had half a dozen "little responsibilities" himself.

"Hard bargains at the best, I know. But then I have seen good-behaved children; and, if parents would only take proper pains with them, all might be trained to good behaviour and obedience. If I had a child, it would act different, I know, from what that one did this evening."

"Old bachelors' children, you know," Mr. Manly said, with a smile.

"O yes, I know. But silly adages don't excuse neglectful parents," replied Mr. Pelby, a little touched at the allusion.

"That is true, Mr. Pelby. But what I meant you to understand by the remark was, that those who have no children of their own are too often wanting in a due consideration and forbearance towards those of other people. I have quite a house full and I know that I take great pains with them, and that the true management of them costs me much serious consideration; and yet I have known some of mine to act much worse than Tommy Little did this evening."

"Well, all I have to say in the matter, friend Manly, is this:—If I had a child that acted as rudely as that young one did to-night, I would, teach him a lesson that he would not forget for the next twelve months."

"You don't know what you would do, if you had a child, Pelby. An active, restless child requires patience and continued forbearance; and, if it should be your lot to have such a one, I am sure your natural affection and good sense would combine to prevent your playing the unreasonable tyrant over it."

"Perhaps it would. But I am sure I should not think my natural affection and good sense pledged to let my child do as he pleased, and annoy every one that came to the house."

"You were exceedingly annoyed, then, to-night?"

"Annoyed! Why, I could hardly sit in my chair towards the last. And when the young imp came pawing me and climbing over me, I could hardly help tossing him off of my lap upon the floor."

"You did not seem so much worried. I really thought you were pleased with the little fellow."

"Now, that is too bad, Manly! I'd as lief had a monkey screwing and twisting about in my lap. It was as much as I could do to be civil to either his father or mother for suffering their brat to tease me as he did. First, I must be kissed by his bread and butter mouth; and then he made me suffer a kind of martyrdom in fear of my elegant lever. A watch is not the thing for a child to play with, and I am astonished at Little for suffering his young one to annoy a visitor in that way."

"Blame them as much as you please, but don't feel unkindly towards the child," said Manly. "He knows no better. Your watch delighted him, and of course he wanted it, and any attempt to deprive him of it was very naturally resisted. His parents are fond of him—and well they may be—and pet him a great deal; thus he has learned to expect every visitor to notice him, and also expects to notice and make free with every visitor. This is all very natural."

"Natural enough, and so is it to steal; but that don't make it right. Children should be taught, from the first, to be reserved in the presence of strangers, and never to come near them unless invited. If I had one, I'll be bound he wouldn't disgrace me as Little's child did him to-night."

"We'll see, one of these days, perhaps," was Manly's quiet remark; and the friends parted company.

Ten years often make a great difference in a man's condition, habits, and feelings. Ten years passed away, and Mr. Pelby was a husband, and the father of three interesting children,—indulged, of course, and "pretty considerably" spoiled, yet interesting withal, and, in the eyes of their father, not to be compared for beauty, good manners, etc. with any other children inhabiting the same city. William, the oldest boy, had not quite completed his sixth year. Emma, a rosy-cheeked, chubby little thing, when asked her age, could say—

"Four years old last June."

And Henry was just the age that Tommy Little was when he so terribly annoyed Mr. Pelby. Now, as to Henry's accomplishments, they were many and various. He could be a good boy when he felt in a pleasant humour, and could storm, and fret, and pout in a way so well understood by all parents, that it would be a work of supererogation to describe it here. But strange mutation of disposition!—Mr. Pelby could bear these fits of perverseness with a philosophy that would have astonished even himself, could he have for a moment realized his former state of mind. When Henry became ill-tempered from any cause, he had, from loving him, learned that to get into an ill-humour also would be only adding fuel to flame; and so, on such occasions, he sought affectionately to calm and soothe his ruffled feelings. If Henry, or Emma, or William, from any exuberance of happy feelings, were noisy or boisterous, he did not think it right to check them suddenly, because he was a little annoyed. He tried, rather, to feel glad with them—to partake of their joy. In short, Mr. Pelby had grown into a domestic philosopher. A wife and two or three children do wonders sometimes!

Now it so happened about this time, that Mr. and Mrs. Manly and Mr. and Mrs. Little were spending an evening with Mr. and Mrs. Pelby. William and Emma had their suppers prepared for them in the kitchen, and then, as usual, were put to bed; but "dear little Henry" was so interesting to his parents, and they naturally thought must be so interesting to their company, that he was allowed to sit up and come to the tea-table. As Mrs. Pelby had no dining-room, the back parlour was used for this purpose, and so all the progressive arrangements of the tea-table were visible.

"Oh, dinne weddy! dinne weddy!" cried little Henry, sliding down from the lap of Mrs. Little—whose collar he had been rumpling so that it was hardly fit to be seen—as soon as he saw the cloth laid; and, running for a chair, he was soon perched up in it, calling lustily for "meat."

"Oh, no, no, Henry! dinner not ready yet!" said Mrs. Pelby, starting forward, and endeavouring to remove the child from his seat; but Henry screamed and resisted.

"Oh, let him sit, mother!" interfered Mr. Pelby. "The little dear don't understand waiting as we do."

"Yes, but, father, it is time that he had learned. Tea isn't near ready yet; and if he is allowed to sit here, he will pull and haul every thing about," responded Mrs. Pelby.

"Oh, never mind, mother! Give him some meat, and he'll be quiet enough. I never like to see little folks made to wait for grown people; they cannot understand nor appreciate the reason of it."

And so little Henry was permitted to remain at the table, picking first at one thing and then at another, much to the discomfort and mortification of his mother, who could not see in this indulgence any thing very interesting. Mrs. Little was relieved, although her collar was disfigured for the evening past hope.

After a while tea was announced, and the company sat down.

"Me toffee! me toffee!" cried Henry, stretching out his hands impatiently. "Me toffee, ma! me toffee, ma!" as soon as Mrs. Pelby was seated before the tea-tray, and had commenced supplying the cups with cream and sugar.

"Yes—yes—Henry shall have coffee. H-u-s-h—there—be quiet—that's a good boy," she said, soothingly. But—

"Me toffee, ma! me toffee, ma! me toffee, ma!" was continued without a moment's cessation. "Ma! ma! ma! me toffee! me toffee!"

"Yes, yes, yes! you shall have coffee in a moment; only be patient, child!" Mrs. Pelby now said, evidently worried; for Henry was crying at the top of his voice, and impatiently shaking his hands and vibrating his whole body.

But he ceased not a moment until his mother, before any of the company had been served, prepared him a cup of milk and warm water, sweetened. Placing his lips to the edge of the cup, Henry drank the whole of it off before the table was more than half served.

"Me more toffee, ma!"

Mrs. Pelby paused, and looked him in the face with an expression of half despair and half astonishment.

"Me more toffee, ma!" continued Henry.