  When Rollo was about five years old, his mother one evening took him up in her lap, and said, “Well, Rollo, it is about time for you to go to bed.” “Did you know,” said his mother, “that it is wrong for you to say that?” “Why, mother,” said Rollo, surprised. “When I think it is time for you to go to bed, it is wrong for you to say or do any thing which shows that you are not willing to go.” “Why, mother?” “Because that makes it more unpleasant for you to go, and more unpleasant for me to send you. Now whenever I think that it is time for you to go, it is my duty to send you, and it is your duty to go, and we never ought to do any thing to make our duty unpleasant.” Rollo then said nothing. He sat still a few minutes thinking. “Yes, mother,” said Rollo. “Suppose now any mother should say to her boy, ‘Come, my boy, it is time for you to go to bed;’ and the boy should say, ‘I won’t go.’ Would that be right or wrong?” “Oh, very wrong,” said Rollo. “Suppose he should begin to cry, and say he did not want to go?” “That would be very wrong too,” said Rollo. “Suppose he should begin to beg a little, and say, ‘I don’t want to go now, I should think you might let me sit up a little longer.’ What should you think of that?” “It would be wrong.” “Suppose he should look up into his mother’s face sorrowfully, and say, ‘Must I go now, mother?’” “Suppose he should not say a word, but look cross and ill-humored, and throw away his playthings in a pet, and walk by the side of his mother, reluctantly and slowly. What should you think of that?” “I think it would be wrong.” “Suppose he should look pleasantly, and say, ‘Well mother,’ and come pleasantly to take her hand, and bid the persons in the room good night, and walk off cheerfully.” “That would be right,” said Rollo. “Yes,” said his mother, “and always when a child is told to do any thing, whether it is pleasant to do or not, he ought to obey at once, and cheerfully.” |
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