“And do you think, my good friend”--here the Doctor laid a hand on his friend’s arm, and peered at him with twinkling eyes and gravely set mouth--“do you think it possible that he has--a--_inherited_ this little weakness? A grandfather, perhaps?” “You mean me, I know; yes, it’s a fact. And I got it from my father, and he, from his. We’re not a good stock. I know I’m an irascible fellow, and it has stood in my way all through life.” “Fair and softly, my dear fellow! go not so fast. I cannot let you say bad things of my best friend. But this I allow; there are thorns, bristles all over; and they come out at a touch. How much better for you and for Science had the father cured all that!” “As I must for Guy! Yes, and how much happier for wife, children, and servants; how much pleasanter for friends. Well, Guy is the question now. What do you advise?” The two sat far into the night discussing a problem on the solution of which depended the future of a noble boy, the happiness of a family. No wonder they found the subject so profoundly interesting that _two_ by the church clock startled them into a hasty separation. Both ladies resented this dereliction on the part of their several lords. They would have been meeker than Sarah herself had they known that, not science, not politics, but the bringing up of the children, was the engrossing topic. _Breakfast-time three days later. Scene, the dining-room._ NURSE _in presence of_ MASTER _and_ MISTRESS. “You have been a faithful servant and good friend, both to us and the children, Harriet, but we blame you a little for Guy’s passionate outbreaks. Do not be offended, we blame ourselves more. Your share of blame is that you have worshipped him from his babyhood, and have allowed him to have his own way in everything. Now, your part of the cure is, to do exactly as we desire. At present, I shall only ask you to remember that, Prevention is better than cure. The thing for all of us is to take precautions against even one more of these outbreaks. “Keep your eye upon Guy; if you notice--no matter what the cause--flushed cheeks, pouting lips, flashing eye, frowning forehead, with two little upright lines between the eyebrows, limbs held stiffly, hands, perhaps, closed, head thrown slightly back; if you notice any or all of these signs, the boy is on the verge of an outbreak. Do not stop to ask questions, or soothe him, or make peace, or threaten. Change his thoughts. That is the one hope. Say quite naturally and pleasantly, as if you saw nothing, ‘Your father wants you to garden with him,’ or, ‘for a game of dominoes;’ or, ‘your mother wants you to help her in the store-room,’ or, ‘to tidy her work-box.’ Be ruled by the time of the day, and how you know we are employed. And be quite sure we _do_ want the boy.” “But, sir, please excuse me, is it any good to save him from breaking out when the passion is there in his heart?”