376 ''May Be So." [August, 



"■ I did n't promise to bu}^ you a wagon ; and you must stop crying 

 about it," said I, seeing tbat he had given way to his feelings, and was 

 crying in a loud voice. 



But he cried on. I went up stairs to lay off my things, and he 

 followed, still crying. 



"You must hush now," said I, more positively. "I can not permit 

 this. I never promised to buy you a wagon." 



"You said 'may be so,"^ sobbed the child. 



"'May be so,' and yes, are two different things. If I had said that 

 I would buy you a wagon, then there would have been some reason in 

 your disappointment; but I said no such thing." 



He had paused to listen; but, as I ceased speaking, his crying was 

 renewed. 



"You must stop this now; there is no use in it, and I will not 

 have it," said I, resolutely. 



My boy choaked down for a few moments at this, and half-stifled 

 his grief; but overmastering him, it flowed on again as wildly as ever. 

 I felt impatient. 



Stop this moment, I say!'' And I took hold of his arm firmly. 

 My will is strong, and when a little excited it often leads me beyond 

 where I would go in moments of reflection. My boy knew this by ex- 

 perience. By my manner of speaking, he saw that I was in earnest, 

 and that, if he did not obey me, punishment would follow. So, with 

 what must have been a powerful effort for one so young, he stifled the 

 utterance of his grief. But the storm within raged none the less 

 violently, and I could see his little frame quiver as he strove to repress 

 the rising sobs. 



Turning away from me, he went and sat down on a low seat in the 

 corner of the room. I saw his form in the glass as I stood before it to 

 arrange my hair, after laying aside my bonnet; and for the first time 

 my feelings were touched. There was an abandonment in his whole 

 attitude; an air of grief about him that affected me with pity and 

 tenderness. 



"Poor child!" I sighed. "His heart is almost broken. I ought 

 to have said yes or no, and then all would have been settled." 



" Come," said I, after a few moments, reaching my hand toward 

 the child; "let us go down and look out for father. He will soon be 

 home." 



I spoke kindly and cheerfully. But he neither moved, looked up, nor 

 gave the smallest sign that he heard me. 



"Oh, well," said I with some impatience in my voice, "it doesn't 



