that letter, if it is for
the rest of your life; but mamma will not talk with you, as she did
yesterday. She tried all day yesterday to help you, and you would not help
yourself; to-day you must do it all alone."

"Mamma, are you sure I shall ever say it?" asked Willy.

"Yes, dear; perfectly sure. You will say it some day or other."

"Do you think I shall say it to-day?"

"I can't tell. You are not so strong a little boy as I thought. I believed
you would say it yesterday. I am afraid you have some hard work before
you."

Willy begged her to go down and leave him alone. Then he begged her to
shut him up in the closet, and "see if that wouldn't make him good." Every
few minutes he would come and stand before her, and say very earnestly,
"Are you sure I shall say it?"

He looked very pale, almost as if he had had a fit of illness. No wonder.
It was the whole battle of life fought at the age of four.

It was late in the afternoon of this the third day. Willy had been sitting
in his little chair, looking steadily at the floor, for so long a time
that his mother was almost frightened. But she hesitated to speak to him,
for she felt that the crisis had come. Suddenly he sprang up, and walked
toward her with all the deliberate firmness of a man in his whole bearing.
She says there was something in his face which she has never seen since,
and does not expect to see till he is thirty years old.

"Mamma!" said he.

"Well, dear?" said his mother, trembling so that she could hardly speak.

"Mamma," he repeated, in a loud, sharp tone, "G! G! G! G!" And then he
burst into a fit of crying, which she had hard work to stop. It was over.

Willy is now ten years old. From that day to this his mother has never had
a contest with him; she has always been able to leave all practical
questions affecting his behavior to his own decision, merely saying,
"Willy, I think this or that will be better."

His self-control and gentleness are wonderful to see; and the blending in
his face of childlike simplicity and purity with manly strength is
something which I have only once seen equalled.

For a few days he went about the house, shouting "G! G! G!" at the top of
his voice. He was heard asking playmates if they could "say G," and "who
showed them how." For several years he used often to allude to the affair,
saying, "Do you remember, mamma, that dreadful time when I wouldn't say
G?" He always used the verb "wouldn't" in speaking of it