or days he continued to repine at his hard fate, wishing once
in Matty's presence that Louis had never been born.

"Oh, husband," she cried, "how can you say that! Do you hate our
poor boy because he is a cripple?"

"A cripple!" roared the doctor. "Never use that word again in my
presence. My son a cripple! I can't have it so! I won't have it so!
for 'tis a max--"

Here he stopped, being for a second time in his life at a loss what
to say.

"Sarve 'em right, sarve 'em right," muttered John, whose quick eye
saw everything. "Ole Sam payin' him off good. He think he'll be in
the seventh heaven when he got a boy, and he mighty nigh torment
that little gal's life out with his mexens and things; but now he
got a boy, he feel a heap like the bad place."

Still much as John rejoiced that his master was so punished, his
heart went out in pity toward the helpless child whom he almost
worshiped, carrying him often to the fields, where, seeking out the
shadiest spot and the softest grass for a throne, he would place the
child upon it, and then pay him obeisance by bobbing up and down his
wooly head in a manner quite as satisfactory to Louis as if he
indeed had been a king and John his loyal subject. Old Hannah, too,
was greatly softened, and many a little cake and pie she baked in
secret for the child, while even Nellie gave up to him her favorite
playthings, and her blue eyes wore a pitying look whenever they
rested on the poor unfortunate. All loved him seemingly the more--all,
save the cruel father, who, as the months and years rolled on,
seemed to acquire a positive dislike to the little boy, seldom
noticing him in any way except to frown if he were brought into his
sight. And Louis, with the quick instinct of childhood, learned to
expect nothing from his father, whose attention he never tried to
attract.

As if to make amends for his physical deformity, he possessed an
uncommon mind, and when he was nearly six years of age accident
revealed to him the reason of his father's continued coldness, and
wrung from him the first tears he had ever shed for his misfortune.
He heard one day his mother praying that God would soften her
husband's heart toward his poor hunchback boy, who was not to blame
for his misfortune--and laying his head upon the broad arm of the
chair which had been made for him, he wept bitterly, for he knew now
why he was not loved. That night, as in his crib he lay, watching
the stars which shone upon hi