sultation in Mr Benson's study one morning. Ruth was
there, quiet, very pale, and with compressed lips, sick at heart as
she heard Miss Benson's arguments for the necessity of whipping, in
order to cure Leonard of his story-telling. Mr Benson looked unhappy
and uncomfortable. Education was but a series of experiments to them
all, and they all had a secret dread of spoiling the noble boy, who
was the darling of their hearts. And, perhaps, this very intensity of
love begot an impatient, unnecessary anxiety, and made them resolve
on sterner measures than the parent of a large family (where love
was more spread abroad) would have dared to use. At any rate, the
vote for whipping carried the day; and even Ruth, trembling and cold,
agreed that it must be done; only she asked, in a meek, sad voice, if
she need be present (Mr Benson was to be the executioner--the scene,
the study); and being instantly told that she had better not, she
went slowly and languidly up to her room, and kneeling down, she
closed her ears, and prayed.

Miss Benson, having carried her point, was very sorry for the child,
and would have begged him off; but Mr Benson had listened more to her
arguments than now to her pleadings, and only answered, "If it is
right, it shall be done!" He went into the garden, and deliberately,
almost as if he wished to gain time, chose and cut off a little
switch from the laburnum-tree. Then he returned through the kitchen,
and gravely taking the awed and wondering little fellow by the hand,
he led him silently into the study, and placing him before him, began
an admonition on the importance of truthfulness, meaning to conclude
with what he believed to be the moral of all punishment: "As you
cannot remember this of yourself, I must give you a little pain to
make you remember it. I am very sorry it is necessary, and that you
cannot recollect without my doing so."

But before he had reached this very proper and desirable conclusion,
and while he was yet working his way, his heart aching with the
terrified look of the child at the solemnly sad face and words of
upbraiding, Sally burst in:

"And what may ye be going to do with that fine switch I saw ye
gathering, Master Thurstan?" asked she, her eyes gleaming with anger
at the answer she knew must come, if answer she had at all.

"Go away, Sally," said Mr Benson, annoyed at the fresh difficulty in
his path.

"I'll not stir never a step till you give me that switch, as you'v