At this the little fellow uttered a distressing cry. His heart was almost broken by disappointment. He had interpreted my words according to his own wishes, and not according to their real meaning. Unprepared for an occurrence of this kind, I was not in the mood to sympathise with my child fully. To be met thus, at the moment of my return home, disturbed me. "I didn't promise to buy you a wagon; and you must stop crying about it," said I, seeing that he had given way to his feelings, and was crying in a loud voice. But he cried on. I went up stairs to lay off my things, and he followed, still crying. "You must hush, now," said I, more positively. "I cannot permit this. I never promised to buy you a wagon." "You said may be so," sobbed the child. "May be so, and yes, are two different things. If I had said that I would buy you a wagon, then there would have been some reason in your disappointment; but I said no such thing." He had paused to listen; but, as I ceased speaking, his crying was renewed. "You must stop this now. There is no use in it, and I will not have it," said I, resolutely. My boy choked down for a few moments at this, and half stifled his grief; but o'ermastering him, it flowed on again as wildly as ever. I felt impatient. "Stop this moment, I say!" And I took hold of his arm firmly. My will is strong, and when a little excited, it often leads me beyond where I would go in moments of reflection. My boy knew this by experience. By my manner of speaking he saw that I was in earnest, and that, if he did not obey me, punishment would follow. So, with what must have been a powerful effort for one so young, he stifled the utterance of his grief. But, the storm within raged none the less violently, and I could see his little frame quiver as he strove to repress the rising sobs. Turning away from me, he went and sat down on a low seat in a corner of the room. I saw his form in the glass as I stood before it to arrange my hair, after laying aside my bonnet; and for the first time my feelings were touched. There was an abandonment in his whole attitude; an air of grief about him that affected me with pity and tenderness. "Poor child!" I sighed. "His heart is almost broken. I ought to have said yes or no; and then all would have been settled." "Come," said I, after a few moments, reaching my hand towards the child--"let us go down and look out for father. He will be home soon." I spoke kindly and cheerfully. But he neither moved, looked up, nor gave the smallest sign that he heard me. "Oh, well," said I, with some impatience in my voice--"it doesn't matter at all. If you'd rather sit there than come down into the parlor and look out for dear father, you can please yourself."