His son and heir, aged twelve, entered and took his seat at the table.
"Well," said his father, "and how did we get on at school to-day ?" "Oh, all right," answered the youngster, settling himself down to his dinner with evident appetite.
"Nobody caned ?" demanded his father, with--as I noticed--a sly twinkle in his eye.
"No," replied young hopeful, after reflection; "no, I don't think so," adding as an afterthought, as he tucked into beef and potatoes, "'cepting, o' course, me." When the Daemon will not work.
It is a simple science, philosophy.

The idea is that it never matters what happens to you provided you don't mind it.

The weak point in the argument is that nine times out of ten you can't help minding it.
"No misfortune can harm me," says Marcus Aurelius, "without the consent of the daemon within me." The trouble is our daemon cannot always be relied upon.

So often he does not seem up to his work.
"You've been a naughty boy, and I'm going to whip you," said nurse to a four-year-old criminal.
"You tant," retorted the young ruffian, gripping with both hands the chair that he was occupying, "I'se sittin' on it." His daemon was, no doubt, resolved that misfortune, as personified by nurse, should not hurt him.

The misfortune, alas! proved stronger than the daemon, and misfortune, he found did hurt him.
The toothache cannot hurt us so long as the daemon within us (that is to say, our will power) holds on to the chair and says it can't.