The Adventures of Don Lavington | Page 6

room; "and I don't know what to do for the best. I hate finding fault and
scolding, but if the boy is in the wrong I must chide."
"Try and be patient with him, Josiah," said Mrs Lavington pleadingly.
"He is very young yet."
"Patient? I'm afraid I have been too patient. That scoundrel at the yard
has unsettled him with his wild tales of the sea; and if I allowed it, Don
would make him quite a companion."
"But, Josiah--"
"There, don't look like that, my dear. I promised you I would play a
father's part to the boy, and I will; but you must not expect me to be a
weak indulgent father, and spoil him with foolish lenity. There, enough
for one day. I daresay we shall get all right in time."
"Oh, yes," cried Mrs Lavington, earnestly. "He's a true-hearted, brave
boy; don't try to crush him down."
"Crush him, nonsense!" cried the merchant, angrily. "You really are too
bad, Laura, and--"
He stopped, for just then Don re-entered the room to flush up angrily as

he saw his mother in tears; and he had heard enough of his uncle's
remark and its angry tone to make him writhe.
"Ill using her now," he said to himself, as he set his teeth and walked to
the window.
The closing of the door made him start round quickly, to find that his
mother was close behind him, and his uncle gone. "What has Uncle Jos
been saying to you, mother?" he cried angrily.
"Nothing--nothing particular, my boy," she faltered. "He has," cried
Don fiercely; "and I won't have it. He may scold and abuse me as much
as he likes, but I will not have him ill use you."
"Ill use me, Don?" cried Mrs Lavington. "Nonsense, my dear boy. Your
uncle is all that is kind and good; and he loves you very dearly, Don, if
you could only try--try a little more, my dear boy, to do what he likes,
and please him."
"I do try, mother, but it's no good."
"Don't say that, Don. Try a little harder--for my sake, dear, as well as
your own."
"I have tried, I am always trying, and it's of no use. Nothing pleases
uncle, and the men in the yard know it."
"Don, my boy, what foolish obstinate fit is this which has come over
you?" said Mrs Lavington tenderly.
"I'm not obstinate," he said sullenly; "only unhappy."
"Is it not your own fault, my darling?" she whispered; "believe me,
your uncle is one of the kindest and best of men."
Don shook his head.
"Are you going to prefer the opinion of the men of the yard to mine,
dear?"

"No, mother, but uncle is your brother, and you believe in him and
defend him. You know how harsh and unkind he is to me."
"Not unkind, Don, only firm and for your good. Now come, my boy, do,
for my sake, try to drive away these clouds, and let us all be happy once
more."
"It's of no use to try, mother; I shall never be happy here, tied down to a
desk. It's like being uncle's slave."
"What am I to say to you, Don, if you talk like this?" said Mrs
Lavington. "Believe me you are wrong, and some day you will own it.
You will see what a mistaken view you have taken of your uncle's
treatment. There, I shall say no more now."
"You always treat me as if I were a child," said Don, bitterly. "I'm
seventeen now, mother, and I ought to know something."
"Yes, my boy," said Mrs Lavington gently; "at seventeen we think we
know a good deal; and at forty we smile as we look back and see what
a very little that `good deal' was."
Don shook his head.
"There, we will have no more sad looks. Uncle is eager to do all he can
to make us happy."
"I wish I could think so," cried Don, bitterly.
"You may, my dear. And now, come, try and throw aside all those
fanciful notions about going abroad and meeting with adventures.
There is no place like home, Don, and you will find out some day that
is true."
"But I have no home till I make one," said the lad gloomily.
"You have an excellent home here, Don, the gift of one who has kindly
taken the place toward you of your father. There, I will listen to no
more from you, for this is all foolish fighting of your worse against

your better self."
There was a quiet dignity in his mother's words which awed Don for
the moment, but the gentle embrace given the next minute seemed to
undo that which the firmness had achieved, and that