“Yes, Harriet, all the good in the world. Your master thinks that Guy’s passions have become a habit, and that the way to cure him is to keep him a long time, a month or two, without a single outbreak; if we can manage that, the trouble will be over. As for the passion in his heart, that comes with the outer signs, and both will be cured together. Do, Harriet, like a good woman, help us in this matter, and your master and I will always be grateful to you!” “I’m sure, ma’am,” with a sob (Harriet was a soft-hearted woman, and was very much touched to be taken thus into the confidence of her master and mistress). “I’m sure I’ll do my best, especially as I’ve had a hand in it; but I’m sure I never meant to, and, if I forget, I hope you’ll kindly forgive me.” “No, Harriet, you must not forget, any more than you’d forget to snatch a sharp knife from the baby. This is almost a matter of life and death.” “Very well, sir; I’ll remember, and thank you for telling me.” * * * * * Breakfast-time was unlucky; the very morning after the above talk, Nurse had her opportunity. Flo, for some inscrutable reason, preferred to eat her porridge with her brother’s spoon. Behold, quick as a flash, flushed cheeks, puckered brow, rigid frame! “Master Guy, dear,” in a quite easy, friendly tone (Harriet had mastered her lesson), “run down to your father; he wants you to help him in the garden.” Instantly the flash in the eye became a sparkle of delight, the rigid limbs were all active and eager; out of his chair, out of the room, downstairs, by his father’s side in less time than it takes to tell. And the face--joyous, sparkling, full of eager expectation--surely Nurse had been mistaken this time? But no; both parents knew how quickly Guy emerged from the shadow of a cloud, and they trusted Harriet’s discretion. “Well, boy, so you’ve come to help me garden? But I’ve not done breakfast. Have you finished yours?” “No, father,” with a dropping lip. “Well, I’ll tell you what. You run up and eat your porridge and come down as soon as you’re ready; I shall make haste, too, and we shall get a good half-hour in the garden before I go out.” Up again went Guy with hasty, willing feet. “Nurse” (breathless hurry and importance), “I must make haste with my porridge. Father wants me _directly_ to help him in the garden.” Nurse winked hard at the fact that the porridge was gobbled. The happy little boy trotted off to one of the greatest treats he knew, and that day passed without calamity. * * * * * “I can see it will answer, and life will be another thing without Guy’s passions; but do you think, Edward, it’s _right_ to give the child pleasures when he’s naughty--in fact, to put a premium upon naughtiness, for it amounts to that?”