The Iron Rule | Page 5

All must bend to him, even at the risk of breaking.
Nearly half an hour did Mrs. Howland pass alone with her boy, striving to awaken the better impulses of his heart, and as they became active, seeking to implant in his mind a willingness to deny himself, in order to obey his father. But the father asked too much. There was no charge of evil against Emily as a reason for this interdiction. All the mother could say, was--
"It is your father's wish and command, my child, and you must obey him."
But this could not satisfy the boy's mind in a case where his feelings were so deeply interested. At length, Mrs. Howland turned to leave the room. Andrew followed her to the door, and looking up with a sad light in his large eyes, murmured--
"I do love you, mother!"
A tear fell upon his face as his mother stooped to kiss him. A little while after, and he was alone.
"I'm afraid," said Mrs. Howland, joining her husband soon after, "that we have done wrong in prohibiting all intercourse between Andrew and little Emily Winters."
"Why so?" was quickly asked, and in no very pleasant tone of voice.
"The children are very much attached to each other."
"That is no reason."
"It would be no reason if there was anything bad about Emily. But there is not. She is a very good little girl."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Mr. Howland.
"I never saw anything out of the way in her."
"It's more than I can say of her father, then," was replied. "There lies my chief objection. I want no intercourse between the families, and do not mean to have any. In this I am entirely in earnest. Andrew must seek another playfellow."
"I'm afraid we will have a great deal of trouble," sighed Mrs. Howland.
"I am not, then. Let me know whenever he disobeys in this matter, and I'll apply the remedy in a way to cure him. His will has to be broken, and the present occasion is as good as any other for effecting so all-important an object. The stronger he is tempted to disobey, the more effectual will be the subjugation of his will, when the conquest is made."
It was useless for Mrs. Howland to argue with her husband. He never yielded the smallest assent to any reasons she might bring, nor to any position she might assume. So, with a pressure on her heart, and a clear perception in her mind that he was wrong, she heard these last words in silence.
"Shall I call Andrew down?" asked the mother, as the tea-bell rung, soon after.
"No," replied Mr. Howland, firmly; "I wish him to understand that I am in earnest."
"Don't you think he has been punished sufficiently?" said Mrs. Howland, timidly.
"Of course I do not, or I would remit the penalty of transgression," coldly returned her husband. "He's a stubborn, self-willed boy, and must be made to feel that he has a master."
"Kindness and persuasion often does--"
"I will hear no more of that!" quickly returned Mr. Howland; "and I wish you, once for all, to understand, Esther, that I will not consent to an interference on your part with what I believe to be my duty. Thousands of children have been ruined by this weak kindness and persuasion, but this shall never be the case with mine."
Mr. Howland did not observe that his wife caught her breath, as he uttered the first few words of his harsh report. She made no further answer, but passed on with her husband to the tea-room. But she ate nothing. Dreamily rested her eyes on vacancy, as she sat at the table. Her mind took no note of images pictured on the retina, for her thoughts were in another place, and with her inner vision she saw the sad form of her wronged and suffering child shrinking in the lone chamber where he had been banished.
"Shall I take Andrew some supper?" she asked, as she arose, at length, from the table.
"He can have some bread and water," was coldly and briefly answered.
Will any one blame the mother, that she went beyond this? A few minutes afterward she entered the room in which Andrew had been punished, bearing in her hands a small tray, on which was a cup of milk and water, some toast, and a piece of cake. The twilight had already fallen, and dusky shadows had gathered so thickly that the eyes of Mrs. Howland failed to see her child on first entering the room.
"Andrew!" she called, in a low, tender voice.
But there was no reply.
"Andrew!"
Still all remained silent.
More accustomed to the feeble light that pervaded the chamber, Mrs. Howland now perceived her boy in a corner, sitting upon the floor, with his head reclining upon a low ottoman. He was asleep. Placing the