“I don’t like James Parker, and I’ll never play with him again as long as I live,” said a little boy, warmly, whose name was Edward Lyon.

His father, hearing the words of his son, called him, and said,

“Edward, my son, what has happened to cause you to speak so unkindly of your little playmate? I thought you liked James very much.”

“So I did, father; but I don’t like him now.”

“Why not?”

“Because he got angry with me to-day, and struck me.”

“Struck you, my son!”

“Yes, indeed! he did so,—but I struck him back for it!”

When Edward’s father heard this, he was very much grieved. Taking his boy upon his knee, he asked him to tell him all about his difficulty with James Parker, and why James had struck him.

“Why, you see, father,” began Edward, “he was building a house with the blocks you told us we might have from the building, and had got it up very high, when I told him, in fun, that I would knock it down, and threw a great stone at it, just by way of make believe. Somehow or other, the stone slipped in my hand, and struck his house, and knocked it all to pieces. But I didn’t mean to do it. And then he came up to me, with his face as red as blood, and struck me with all his might.”

“And then you struck him back again?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And then what did he do?”

“He doubled up his fist, as if he was going to hit me again.”

“But didn’t do it?”

“No. He stopped a minute, and then began to cry, and went off home.”

“Suppose he had struck you again—what would you have done?”

“I should have hit him back.”

“Like a wicked boy, as you were, then.”

“But he was wicked, too, father.”

“Not so wicked as you, I think. In the first place, it was wrong in you even to pretend that you were going to knock his house down. Wrong in two ways. First, you told an untruth in saying that you meant to knock it down, when you did not intend to do so. And then you took pleasure in seeing him troubled, lest his house, the building of which gratified him so much, should be wantonly destroyed. Both the feeling and act here were evil. And my son, in indulging the one and doing the other, was not under good influences. And then, can you wonder that James, after what you had said, should have believed that you knocked his house down on purpose? You said that you meant to do it, and then did do it. What better evidence could he have had of your unjustifiable trespass upon his rights? Pleased with his house, its destruction could only arouse within him feelings of indignation against the one who had wantonly thrown it down. Put yourself in his place, and think whether you would not have felt as angry as he did; perhaps much more so. Carried away by this feeling, he struck you. This was wrong, but not half so much as the fact of your returning the blow. You knew that you had given him cause to feel incensed at your conduct, and you ought to have borne his blow as a just punishment for what you had done. But, instead of this, you made the matter ten times worse by striking him back. The fact, that he did not return your blow, but resisted the impulse he felt to strike you again, shows that he is a much better boy than you are, Edward; for you have declared, that if he had struck you again, you would have returned the blow, and have fought with him, I doubt not, until the one or the other of you had been beaten.”

“I am sorry I knocked his house down,” Edward said, as soon as his father ceased speaking, and he hung his head and looked ashamed and troubled. “And I was sorry the moment I saw that I had done it.”

“Then why did you not tell him so at once?”

“I would, if he had given me time. But he doubled up his fist and hit me before I could speak.”

“Still, knowing that you had provoked him to do so, you ought to have forgiven the blow.”

“And so I would, if I had only had time to think. But it came so suddenly”—

“You have had time to think since, my son, and yet you have declared that you do not like James, and never intend playing with him again.”

“I didn’t feel right when I said that, father. I was angry at him. But I don’t suppose he will ever play with me again after what has happened.”

“Why not?”

“Of course he is very angry with me.”

“More angry with himself for having struck you, I expect.”

“Oh, if I thought so, I would go at once and ask him to forgive me for knocking his house down, and for having struck him,” Edward said, his eyes filling with tears.

“That ought not to be your reason for asking his forgiveness, Edward.”

“Why not, father?”

“You should go to him and ask his forgiveness because you are conscious of having injured him. You ought not to think anything about what he may think or feel, but go to him and confess your wrong, simply because you have acted wrong.”

“But how do I know that he will take it kindly?”

“That you must not think of, my boy. Think only of the fact you have injured James, and that simple justice requires of you to repair that injury in the best way you can. Surely, the least you can now do is to go to him, and tell him that you are sorry for what you have done.”

For a time, pride and shame struggled in the breast of Edward, but at length he made up his mind to do as his father had proposed. He not only saw clearly that he had been wrong, but he also felt that he had been wrong. James Parker lived only a little way from his father’s house, and thither he at length turned his steps, though with reluctance, for he did not know how James would receive him.

As he came into the yard of the house where James’ father lived, he saw his little playmate seated quietly in the door, with his face turned away, so that he did not notice him, nor seem to hear the sound of his footsteps, until he was close to him. Then he turned quickly, and Edward saw that he had been weeping.

“James,” he said, holding out his hand, “I am sorry that I knocked your house down—but I didn’t mean to do it. And I am more sorry still that I struck you.”

“And I have been so sorry that I struck you, that I have cried ever since,” James said, taking the offered hand of his young friend. “I might have known that you did not mean to knock my house down when you threw the stone,—that it was an accident. But I was so angry that I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m so glad you have come. I wanted to see you so bad, and tell you how sorry I was; but was afraid you would not forgive me for having struck you.”

From that day Edward and James were firmer friends than ever. Each forgave the other heartily, and each blamed himself to the full extent of his error. And besides, each learned to guard against the sudden impulse of angry feelings, that so often sever friends, both young and old.

Table of Contents