keep out of mischief as much as he could.

He was so softened, so penitent and earnest, that even the severe Mrs.
Royden was inclined to forgive him. Her husband did more. He talked
kindly to the young offender, declaring his willingness to overlook
everything, and to do as well by Sam as by his own children, if he would
be a good and honest boy. The latter was so overcome that he cried for
half an hour about the affair in the shed; that is to say, until the cat
made her appearance, wearing a portion of the old twine harness, and he
thought he would divert his mind by making her draw a brick.

"In mischief again!" exclaimed Mr. Royden, coming suddenly upon him.

"No, sir!" cried Sam, promptly, letting pussy go.

"What were you doing?"

"You see, this butter won't come, and I've been churning stiddy on it
all day----"

"What has that to do with the cat?" demanded Mr. Royden.

"Nothing; only I expect to have to go to help milk the cows in a little
while; and I was afraid she would jump up on the churn, and lick the
cream, while I was gone; so I thought I'd tie a brick to her neck."

Mr. Royden laughed secretly, and went away.

"That was only a white lie," muttered Sam. "Darn it all! I've got so
used to fibbing, I can't help it. I didn't think then, or I wouldn't
have said what I did."

The boy really felt badly to think he had not the courage to speak the
truth, and made a new resolution, to be braver in future.

The relief of mind which followed the bursting of the clouds over his
head brought a keen appetite; and he remembered that he had eaten
nothing but an apple or two since breakfast. Hunger impelled him to
apply himself to the churn; five minutes of industrious labor finished
the task, and he was prepared to go to supper with the family.

In the evening a number of young people, living in the neighborhood,
called, in honor of Chester's return from school. The parlor was opened
for the "company," and the "old folks" occupied the sitting-room.

Chester was very lively, for he was fond of sociability, and loved to be
admired for his grace and wit; but he seemed at length to find the
conversation of his old acquaintances insipid.

"Father Brighthopes," he said, gayly, entering the sitting-room, "I wish
you would go in and teach our friends some better amusement than kissing
games. I am heartily sick of them."

"If Jane Dustan was here, I guess you would like them," said Lizzie, who
had preferred to li