Charlie never could wait. It was no use telling him "more haste less speed," "slow and sure," or anything of that kind. You might as well talk to the winds. He scrambled up in the morning, scurried over the parts of his toilet that he was trusted to do for himself, hurried over his breakfast, rushed through his lessons, with many mistakes of course, and by his hasty, impatient behavior worried his quiet, gentle little sister Ethel nearly out of her wits, and almost drove patient Miss Smith, the governess, to despair. He burnt his mouth with hot food, because he couldn't wait for it to cool; fell down-stairs, racing down, times out of number; his toys were always getting broken because he couldn't stop to put them away; his canary flew away because he, fuming with impatience about something, neglected to fasten the cage door one day; and indeed space would fail to tell of all the troubles he brought upon himself by his perpetual, heedless haste.

There were some exceptions to this general state of things. He didn't hurry to begin his lessons,—nor to go to bed. Here he would wait as long as you liked to let him. One thing he was obliged to wait for, sorely against his will, and that was to grow up. It did take such a long time, and oh, the things he meant to do when once he was a man! Father hoped he would alter a great deal before that time came, for, as he told him, a hasty, impatient man makes other people unhappy and cannot be happy himself.

Charlie meant to have a balloon when he grew up, and a sweet-stuff shop, an elephant, a garden full of apples and plums, a tall black horse, and a donkey.

"You needn't wait so long for the donkey," Father said one day. "I have seen a boy with two nice donkeys in Pine-tree Walk; when you and Ethel have been good children at your lessons, Miss Smith shall let you ride them, and when you can ride nicely I will buy you each a donkey of your own."

Lessons certainly went better after this, and the rides were much enjoyed on every fine day, though timid little Ethel was always just a wee bit afraid at first starting. Miss Smith always safely mounted Ethel first.

"Wait a minute, Charlie!" she said one day, when he was pulling and tugging impatiently at Neddie's bridle, "we'll have you up directly."

But Charlie couldn't wait: he dragged the donkey into the road and scrambled upon its back.

"Charlie! Charlie! you mustn't start without us. Wait a minute!"

"I can ride by my own self now," he said; and jerking the bridle, off he went clattering down the road, the donkey-boy after him.

To mount a donkey is one thing, to manage him another, especially if you don't know how. On galloped Neddie, and after having knocked down a little girl and upset a barrow of fruit, he pitched Charlie over his head, and having thus got rid of his rider began to enjoy himself on the grass. Poor Charlie! He had such a bruised face that he was obliged to stay at home for days.

Miss Smith couldn't take him out like that. It hurt him very much, but it hurt him more when Father said that such a silly, impatient boy was not fit to be trusted to ride, and that he must wait a whole year before he could be allowed to mount a donkey again. "For your own sake, Charlie, and for other people's."

The little girl he had knocked down was more frightened than hurt; but Charlie was very sorry, for he was not at all an ill-natured boy; and when he was at home by himself, while Ethel went for her donkey-rides, he had plenty of time to think things over, and made a good use of it. At first he found it very hard to be patient, but after a little while he found it becoming much easier to wait, and every time he tried it became easier still.

Next summer, when Father gave him and Ethel the promised donkeys, he said, "I am proud to trust you now, Charlie, and hope that you will have some happy times with your Neddie."

And very happy times they had.