“Mrs. Markham blames me for all that happens,” went on Judson, “and Master Rolf knows that, and there is no checking him; he is not nearly so mischievous when his mother is near, because she loses patience, and has more than once boxed his ears soundly. She spoils him dreadfully, and he takes liberties with her as no child ought to take with a parent; but now and then, when he has aggravated her past bearing, I have known her punish him pretty sharply.” This was sad; injudicious indulgence, and injudicious severity. Who could wonder if the results were unsatisfactory? “No one dares to say a word to him except his mother,” went on Judson; “it is just her temper when she flies out at him; but she worships the very ground he walks on. If his finger aches she thinks he is going to die, and the house is in an uproar; and yet when he is ill he is as contrary as possible, and will not take a thing from her, for all her petting and coaxing.” It seemed a relief to Judson to pour out her woes, and I could hardly refuse to listen to her. She was evidently attached to her mistress, with whom she had lived since her marriage; but she was one of those helpless beings who are made the butt of other people’s wills and passions; she had no dignity of mind to repel even childish impertinence; her nervous, vacillating ways would only increase Rolf’s tyrannical nature. I could understand how a high-spirited boy would resist any command enforced by that plaintive voice. A few quick concise words would influence him more than a torrent of feeble reproaches from Judson. He was not without generous impulses—what English boy is?—he had grasped at once my meaning when I rebuked him for his want of gentlemanly honour, but he was precocious and over-bearing, and had lived too much in the society of grown-up people. My knowledge of the world was not great, but I know how deficient in reticence many grown-up people are in the presence of children; the stream of talk that is poured into the little pitchers is often defiled with low conventional views of duty, and painfully uncharitable remarks; the pure mirror of a child’s mind—and how pure that mind often is!—is frequently sullied by some unchristian observations from lips that to the child are half divine. “See how ye offend one of these little ones,” was the Master’s warning; and yet if we could look into one of these young minds, we should often see its placid serenity broken up and ruffled by some unthinking speech, flung like a pitiless pebble into its brightness. After all, we spent a pleasant afternoon on the beach, and I do not believe the children enjoyed themselves more than Hannah and I.