Everyone wanted to kiss him, and I carried him from one to another. Joyce had left me at once for her mother. Some of the ladies questioned me about the children. They spoke very civilly, but their inquisitive glances made my face burn, and it was with difficulty that I made suitable replies. Once I looked up, and saw that Mr. Morton was watching me. His glance was critical, but not unkindly. I had a feeling then that he was subjecting me purposely to this test. I must carry out my theory into practice. I am convinced all this was in his mind as he looked at me, and I no longer bore a grudge against him. Not long afterwards I had an opportunity of learning that he could own himself fallible on some points. He was exceedingly just, and could bear a rebuke even from an inferior, if it proved him to be clearly in the wrong. One afternoon he came into the nursery to play with the children for a few minutes. He would wind up their mechanical toys to amuse them. Reggie was unusually fretful, and nothing seemed to please him. He scolded both his father and his walking doll, and would have nothing to say to the learned dog who beat the timbrels and nodded his head approvingly to his own music. Presently he caught sight of his favourite woolly lamb placed out of his reach on the mantelpiece, and began screaming and kicking. “Naughty Reggie,” observed his father, complacently, and he was taking down the toy when I begged him respectfully to replace it. He looked at me in some little surprise. “I thought he was crying for it,” he said, somewhat perplexed at this. “Reggie must not cry for things after that fashion,” I returned, firmly, for I felt a serious principle was involved here. “He is only a baby, but he is very sensible, and knows he is naughty when he screams for a thing. I never give it to him until he is good.” “Indeed,” a little dryly. “Well, he seems far off from goodness now. What do you mean by making all that noise, my boy?” Reggie was in one of his passions, it was easy to see that; the toy would have been flung to the ground in his present mood; so without looking at his father or asking his permission, I resorted to my usual method, and laid him down screaming lustily in his little cot. “There baby must stop until he is good,” I remarked, quietly, and I took my work and sat down at some little distance, while Mr. Morton watched us from the other room. I knew my plan always answered with Reggie, and the storm would soon be over. In two or three minutes his screams ceased, and I heard a penitent “Gargle do;” then “Nur, nur.” I went to him directly, and in a moment he held out his arms to be lifted out of the cot. “Is Reggie quite good?” I asked, as I kissed him. “Ood, ood,” was the triumphant reply, and the next moment he was cuddling his lamb.