Irish Americans -- Juvenile fiction; Mothers and sons -- Juvenile fiction; Poor -- Juvenile fiction; Widows -- Juvenile fiction
Jim's face darkened with resolution. "She thinks I can't," he said to
himself. "I will, I guess."
With vim he set to work, and the bed was made in a trice. Little Jim
stood off as far as he could and sharply eyed his work. "'Tain't done
good," he snapped. And he tore it to pieces again. It took longer to
make it the next time, for he was more careful, but still it didn't look
right. He tore the clothes off it again, this time with a sigh. "Beds is
awful," he said. "It's lots easier to lick a boy than to make a bed."
And then he went at it again. The third time it was a trifle more
presentable, and the school bell was ringing.
"I've got to go, and I hain't proved it to her," he said. "But I'll work
till I do, see if I don't. And then when I have proved it to her I won't
make no more beds."
Jim was no favorite at school, where he had fallen a whole room behind
the class he had started with. His teacher usually wore a long-suffering
air when she dealt with him.
"She looks like she thought I didn't know nothin' and never would," he
said to himself that morning when he had taken his seat after a decided
failure of a recitation. "I'll show her." And he set to work. His mind
was all unused to study, and--that day he didn't show her.
"Who'd 'a' thought it was so hard to prove things?" he said at night.
"There's another day a-comin', though."
Now some people are thankful for showing. To little Jim, showing was
degrading. Suddenly his mother perceived this, and felt a relief she had
not known before.
"Whativer else Jim's got or not got," she said, "he's got a backbone of
his own, so he has. Let him work things out for himsilf. Will I be
showin' him how to make a bed? I won't that. I've been praisin' him too
much, intoirely. I see it now. Praise kapes Pat and Moike and Andy doin'
their best to get more of it. But it makes little Jim aisy in his moind
and scornful loike, so his nose is in the air all the toime and nothin'
done. A very little praise will do Jim. And still less of
fault-findin'," she added.
"B'ys," she announced that evening "Jim's took a turn. We'll stand off
and watch him a bit. If he'll do roight for his own makin', sure and
that'll be better than for us to be havin' a hand in it. Give him his
head and plinty of chances to prove things, and when he has proved 'em,
own up to it."
The two brightened. "I couldn't believe little Jim was so bad, mother,"
said Mike.
"Bad, is it? Sure and he ain't bad yet. And now's the toime to kape him
from it. 'Tis little you can be doin' with a spoiled anything. Would you
belave it? He made his bed three toimes this mornin' and done his best
at it, and me a-seein' him through the crack of the door where it was
open a bit. But I can't say nothin' to him nor show him how, for
showin's not for the loike of him. And them that takes iverything hard
that way comes out sometimes at the top of the hape. Provin' things is a
lawyer's business. If Jim iver gets to be a lawyer, he'll be a good
wan."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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