Leland dropped his hoe,
reached toward his child. The little fellow threw up his hands, and
writhed his body as if expecting a blow.
"Willie," said the father, in a low, gentle voice. Willie looked up
with half fright, half amazement. "Willie, boy," said the father in
a new tone, which had never passed his lips before, and he felt the
deep, calm power of his own words. "Willie, boy, don't walk on pa's
plants. Go back, and stay there till pa is done."
The child turned as by the irresistible power of the slow-spoken,
gentle words, and walked back and resumed his seat, evidently not
intending to transgress again.
As Leland stood with the words dying on his lips, and his hand
extended, a sudden and singular idea struck him. He felt that he had
just said the most impressive and eloquent thing he had ever said in
his life! He felt that there was a power in his tone and manner
which he had never used before; a power which would affect a judge
or a jury, as it had affected Willie. The curse cursed here too! It
was that hasty, nervous disposition, which gave manner and tone to
his very public speaking; which made his arguments unconvincing, his
pathos unaffecting.
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