ss? and you knew how I prized them both.
Oh, Primmins!" Primmins began to sob.

"Don't tell fibs, nursey," said a small, shrill voice; and Master Sisty,
coming out of the house as bold as brass, continued rapidly--"don't
scold Primmins, mamma: it was I who pushed out the flower-pot."

"Hush!" said nurse, more frightened than ever, and looking aghast
towards my father, who had very deliberately taken off his hat, and was
regarding the scene with serious eyes wide awake. "Hush! And if he did
break it, ma'am, it was quite an accident; he was standing so, and he
never meant it. Did you, Master Sisty? Speak!" this in a whisper, "or Pa
will be so angry."

"Well," said my mother, "I suppose it was an accident; take care in
future, my child. You are sorry, I see, to have grieved me. There's a
kiss; don't fret."

"No, mamma, you must not kiss me; I don't deserve it. I pushed out the
flower-pot on purpose."

"Ha! and why?" said my father, walking up.

Mrs. Primmins trembled like a leaf.

"For fun!" said I, hanging my head,--"just to see how you'd look, papa;
and that's the truth of it. Now beat me, do beat me!"

My father threw his book fifty yards off, stooped down, and caught me to
his breast. "Boy," he said, "you have done wrong: you shall repair it by
remembering all your life that your father blessed God for giving him a
son who spoke truth in spite of fear! Oh! Mrs. Primmins, the next fable
of this kind you try to teach him, and we part forever!"

From that time I first date the hour when I felt that I loved my father,
and knew that he loved me; from that time, too, he began to converse
with me. He would no longer, if he met me in the garden, pass by with a
smile and nod; he would stop, put his book in his pocket, and though his
talk was often above my comprehension, still somehow I felt happier
and better, and less of an infant, when I thought over it, and tried
to puzzle out the meaning; for he had away of suggesting, not teaching,
putting things into my head, and then leaving them to work out their
own problems. I remember a special instance with respect to that same
flower-pot and geranium. Mr. Squills, who was a bachelor, and well-to-do
in the world, often made me little presents. Not long after the event
I have narrated, he gave me one far exceeding in value those usually
bestowed on children,--it was a beautiful large domino-box in cut ivory,
painted and gilt. This domino-box was my delight. I was never wea