r it."

"I guess he must," said his mother. "It was a dreadful wicked thing, and
he should be punished now if I didn't think he'd suffered enough from
his own guilty conscience for this time, and would never as long as he
lived do such a terrible thing again."

"I won't--I--won't!" choked Benjamin.

At supper-time, when the new milk was brought in from the barn, Benjamin
filled a saucer with it and carried it to the door for Seventoes. He
filled it so full that he spilled it all the way over the clean kitchen
floor, but his mother said nothing. Seventoes lapped his milk happily;
Benjamin, with his little contrite, tear-stained face, stood watching
him, and grandsir sat in his arm-chair. Over in the fields the
hay-makers were pitching the last loads into the carts; the east sky was
red with the reflected color of the west. Everything was sweet and cool
and peaceful, and the sun was not going down on Benjamin's childish
wrath. His grandfather put out his hand and patted his little red
cropped head, "You're always going to be a good boy after this, ain't
you, sonny?"

"Yes, sir," said Benjamin, and he got down on his knees and hugged
Seventoes.

LITTLE MIRANDY AND HOW SHE EARNED HER SHOES

By the 1st of June Mrs. Thayer had the sun-bonnets done. There were four
of them, for the four youngest girls--Eliza, Mary Ann, Harriet, and
Mirandy. She had five daughters besides these, but two were married and
gone away from home, and the other three were old enough to make their
own sun-bonnets.

There were four Thayer boys; one of them came next to Mirandy, the
youngest girl, the others ranked upward in age from Harriet, who was
eleven, to Sarah Jane, who was sixteen. There were thirteen sons and
daughters in all in Josiah Thayer's family, and eleven were at home. It
was hard work to get enough from the stony New England farm to feed
them; and let Mrs. Thayer card and spin and dye and weave as she would,
the clothing often ran short. And so it happened that little Mirandy
Thayer, aged six, had no shoes to her feet.

One Sunday in June she cried because she had to go to meeting
barefooted.

"Ain't you ashamed of yourself, a great big girl like you, crying?" said
her mother, sternly. "You go right over there, and sit down on the
settle till father gets hitched up, and Daniel, you go and sit down
'side of her, and teach her the first question in the catechism. She'd
ought to find out there's something else to be tho