We had been residing with Mr. Ward about three years, when a slight incident occurred which has impressed itself so strongly upon my memory that I cannot forbear relating it. Mr. Ward had sent me with a message into the City, where, in consequence of the person being from home, I was detained several hours. When I returned, it appeared that Mr. Ward had gone out shortly after me, and had not mentioned the circumstance of his having despatched me into the City. I found my mother in a state of violent agitation. She inquired where I had been, and I told her. "I can hardly believe you, John," she said; "are you sure you are telling me the truth?" I was silent. She repeated the question. I would not answer; and she bestowed upon me a sound beating. I bore my punishment with dogged sullenness, and retired into the back kitchen; in a corner of which I sat down, and, with my head between my hands, began to brood over the treatment I had received. Gradually there crept into my heart the same feeling I remembered to have conceived against my father,--a feeling of bitter malignity revived by a fresh object. I endeavoured to quell it, to subdue it, but I could not. I recalled all my mother's former kindness to me, her present affection for me; and I reminded myself that this was the first time she had ever raised her hand against me. This thought only nourished the feeling, till the aching or my brain caused it to subside into moody stupefaction. I became calmer in about an hour, and arose, and went into the front kitchen. My mother was seated at the window, employed at her needle; and, as she raised her eyes, I perceived they were red with weeping. I walked slowly towards her, and stood by her side. "Mother!" I said, in a low and tremulous voice. "Well, John; I hope you are a good boy now?" "Mother!" I repeated, "you don't know how you have hurt me." "I am sorry I struck you so hard, child; I did not mean to do it;" and she averted her head. "Not that--not that!" I cried passionately, beating my bosom with my clenched hands. "It's here, mother--here. I told you the truth, and you would not believe me." "Mr. Ward has returned now," said my mother; "I will go ask him;" and she arose. I caught her by the gown. "Oh, mother!" I said, "this is the second time you would not believe me. You shall not go to Mr. Ward yet!" and I drew her into the seat. "Say first that you are sorry for it--only a word. Oh, do say it!" As I looked up, I saw the tears gathering in her eyes. I fell upon my knees, and hid my face in her lap. "No, no; don't say anything now to me--don't--don't!" A spasm rose from my chest into my throat, and I fell senseless at her feet. My mother afterwards told me that it was the day of the year on which my father died, and she feared from my lengthened stay that I had come to harm. Dear, good woman! Oh! that I might hope to see her once more, even though it were but for one moment,--for we shall not meet in heaven!