In after years Mrs. Humphrey many times recalled to mind a remark which
a friend made to her one day in regard to little Ernest, then six years
old. He came into the parlor where the two ladies were sitting, and
taking from the centre table an elegantly bound book, began turning the
leaves with fingers that were none of the cleanest. Mrs. Humphrey gently
requested him to replace the book, which request she was obliged to
repeat two or three times before he paid the slightest attention to it.
And then it was only to say in a coaxing voice--
"Ernest wants this pretty book; do let me keep it."
Mrs. Humphrey replied that the book was not suitable for little boys,
and again requested him to replace it on the table. When a few minutes
had passed, and he still continued to turn the leaves of the book, Mrs.
Humphrey again repeated her request in a decided manner, telling him to
replace the book immediately, when his childish temper burst forth in a
regular tempest. He tossed the book from his hand, and threw himself on
the floor in a corner of the room, where he gave vent to his anger by a
succession of screams, which were anything but melodious. But his desire
to retain possession of the coveted book was yet strong, and when the
ladies again became engaged in conversation he quietly approached the
table and, hastily taking the book therefrom, left the room, and Mrs.
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