Old age must be respected, no matter how
unlovely.
"As for Aunt Patricia,--if you would only remember how good she was to
you after your accident, how she nursed you, and waited on you, and
read to you hour after hour,--she has been tender and loving to all of
you, especially little Elsie, and is trying to help me bring up my
children as best we can, alone. And, Phil, my boy, sometimes it is as
hard for us as it is for you, to always know what is best to do
without the little mother's help."
Phil's arm stole around his father's neck. "I'll ask Aunt Patricia's
pardon in the morning, the very first thing," he said, in a low voice.
"I'll tell her that I didn't understand her, just like she didn't
understand me, and after this I'll be like the three wise monkeys of
Japan."
"How is that?" asked his father, smiling.
"Why, never say or hear or see more than I ought to. Keep my hands
over my eyes or ears or mouth, whenever I'm tempted to be rude.
Instead of thinking that she's fussy and particular, I'll only see the
wrinkles in her face that the trouble made, and I'll remember how good
she's been to you and all of us."
His father hugged him closer. "If you can always remember to do that,"
he said, "your part of the world will certainly be a happy place to
live in. If you can be blind and deaf to other people's faults and
speak only pleasant things.
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