"
"It can't be done in a day, Polly; it will take years and years;
perhaps it may be the work of a whole lifetime. But if, by
watching yourself and struggling to keep back the quick words that
come to you, after long years you could cure this temper, wouldn't
the 'well done' be yours just as truly as if, for instance, you
went on some mission abroad? It is often far more to rule
yourself, than it is to spend your life working among the poor and
wicked, and takes more courage and selfdenial. That may be the
work which is laid out for my little daughter, and I pray that she
may do it bravely and well, so that in time I may be as proud and
happy in my Polly as I now am fond of her."
As her mother spoke, she rested her face against Polly's curls,
and one bright tear sparkled among the soft little rings. Then she
resumed,--
"And now, about Alan. I shall not scold you, Polly, for your
punishment has come, as it always does, and is hard enough to
bear, without my adding a word. But the danger was great, and you
have only just escaped the most terrible sorrow that can ever come
to any human being. Still, Alan is very ill, and may be for a
long, long time to come. Anything that you can do, to make up to
him for this, must be at once your duty and your pleasure, and I
know that you will feel it to be so.
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