now, and done with, than think about
it a week."

VI.

MORNING AT THE FARM.

On the following day Samuel's ankle was so badly swollen as to make a
frightful appearance. Mrs. Royden had to call him three times before he
could summon courage to get up; and when, threatened with being whipped
out of bed, he finally obeyed her summons, he discovered, to his dismay,
that the lame foot would not bear his weight.

With great difficulty Sam succeeded in dressing himself, after a
fashion, and went hopping down stairs.

"You good-for-nothing, lazy fellow!" began Mrs. Royden, the moment he
made his appearance, "you deserve to go without eating for a week. The
boys were all up, an hour ago. What is the matter? What do you hobble
along so, for?"

"Can't walk," muttered Sam, sulkily.

"_Can't walk!_"--in a mocking tone,--"what is the reason you cannot?"

"'Cause my ankle's hurt, where I fell down."

"There! now I suppose you'll be laid up a week!" exclaimed Mrs. Royden,
with severe displeasure. "You are always getting into some difficulty.
Let me look at your ankle."

Crying with pain, Sam dropped upon a chair, and pulled up the leg of his
pantaloons.

When Mrs. Royden saw how bad the hurt was, her feelings began to soften;
but such was her habit that it was impossible for her to refrain from
up-braiding the little rogue, in her usual fault-finding tone.

"You never hurt that foot by falling over a stone, in this world!" said
she. "Now, tell me the truth."

Sam was ready to take oath to the falsehood of the previous night; and
Mrs. Royden, declaring that she never knew when to believe him, promised
him a beautiful flogging, if it was afterwards discovered that he was
telling an untruth. Meanwhile she had Hepsy bring the rocking-chair into
the kitchen, where Sam was charged to "keep quiet, and not get into more
mischief," during the preparation of some herbs, steeped in vinegar, for
his ankle.

The vein of kindness visible under Mrs. Royden's habitual ill-temper
affected him strangely. The consciousness of how little it was deserved
added to his remorse. He was crying so with pain and unhappiness, that
when Georgie and Willie came in from their morning play out-doors, they
united in mocking him, and calling him a "big baby."

At this crisis the old clergyman entered. He was up and out at sunrise,
and for the last half-hour he had been making the acquaintance of the
two little boys, who were too cross to be