"Felix, you and Hattie were so delighted with that little poem which I read to you from the Journal of Eugenie de Guerin, that I have tried to set it to music for you. The tune does not suit it exactly, but we can use it until I find a better one." She went to the piano and sang that pretty nursery ballad, "JOUJOU, THE ANGEL OF THE PLAYTHINGS." Hattie clapped her hands with delight, and Felix partly forgot his woes and grievances. "Now, I want you both to learn to sing it, and I will teach Hattie the accompaniment. On Felix's birthday, which is not very distant, you can surprise your father and mother by singing it for them. In gratitude to the author I think every little child should sing it and call it 'Eugenie's Angel Song.' Hattie, it is eleven o'clock, and time for you to practice your music-lesson." The little girl climbed upon the piano-stool and began to count aloud, and after a while Edna bent down and put her hand on Felix's shoulder. "You grieved your mother this morning and spoke very disrespectfully to her. I know you regret it, and you ought to tell her so and ask her to forgive you. You would feel happier all day if you would only acknowledge your fault. I hear your mother in her own room; will you not go and kiss her?" He averted his head and muttered: "I don't want to kiss her." "But you ought to be a dutiful son, and you are not; and your mother has cause to be displeased with you. If you should ever be so unfortunate as to lose her, and stand as I do, motherless, in the world, you will regret the pain you gave her this morning. Oh! if I had the privilege of kissing my mother, I could bear almost any sorrow patiently. If it mortifies you to acknowledge your bad behavior, it is the more necessary that you should humble your pride. Felix, sometimes I think it requires more nobility of soul to ask pardon for our faults than to resist the temptation to commit them." She turned away and busied herself in correcting his Latin exercise, and for some time the boy sat sullen and silent. At length he sighed heavily, and taking his crutches, came up to the table where she sat. "Suppose you tell my mother I am sorry I was disrespectful." "Felix, are you really sorry?" "Yes." "Well, then go and tell her so, and she will love you a thousand times more than ever before. The confession should come from your own lips." He stood irresolute and sighed again: "I will go if you will go with me." She rose and they went to Mrs. Andrew's room. The mother was superbly dressed in visiting costume, and was tying on her bonnet when they entered. "Mrs. Andrews, your son wishes to say something which I think you will be glad to hear." "Indeed! Well, Felix, what is it?" "Mamma--I believe--I know I was very cross--and disrespectful to you--and oh, mamma! I hope you will forgive me!"