"MY boy," said an aged1 Father to his fiery2 and disobedient Son, "a

　　hot temper is the soil of remorse3. Promise me that when next you

　　are angry you will count one hundred before you move or speak."

　　No sooner had the Son promised than he received a stinging blow

　　from the paternal4 walking-stick, and by the time he had counted to

　　seventy-five had the unhappiness to see the old man jump into a

　　waiting cab and whirl away.