k o'er well, and
Master Benden, as he was a-coming away, looked as sour as crabs. And
old Tabby--Oh, lack-a-daisy-me! didn't she have at him! She's a good
un, and no mistake! She stuck to his heels all the way along, and she
beat him black and blue with her tongue, and he looked like a butt of
alegar with a hogshead o' mustard in it. Hooray for old Tabby!"--and
Silas announced that sentiment to the neighbourhood at the top of his
very unsubdued voice.

CHAPTER FIVE.

REPENTANCE.

"Sil-van-us Par-due!" Five very distinct syllables from his mother
greeted the speech wherein Master Silas expressed his appreciation of
the action of Mrs Tabitha Hall. "Silas, I would you were as 'shamed of
yourself as I am of you."

"Well, Mother," responded Silas, with a twinkle in a pair of shining
brown eyes, "if you'll run up yonder ladder and take half a look at
Esdras, you'll not feel nigh so 'shamed of me at after!"

This skilful diversion of the attack from himself to his brother--a feat
wherein every son of Adam is as clever as his forefather--effected the
end which Master Silvanus had proposed to himself.

"Dear heart alive!" cried Mrs Pardue, in a flutter, "has that lad tore
his self all o' pieces?"

"There isn't many pieces left of him," calmly observed Silas.

Mrs Pardue disappeared up the ladder, from which region presently came
the sound of castigation, with its attendant howls from the sufferer,
while Silas, having provided himself with a satisfactory cinder,
proceeded, in defiance of Penuel's entreaties, to sketch a rather clever
study of Mrs Tabitha Hall in the middle of his mother's newly washed
table-cloth.

"Eh, Pen, you'll never do no good wi' no lads!" lamented Mrs
Bradbridge, rising to depart. "Nought never does lads a bit o' good
save thrashing 'em. I'm truly thankful mine's both maids. They're a
sight o' trouble, lads be. Good even."

As Mistress Bradbridge went out, Mr Pardue was stepping in.

"Silas, let be!" said his father quietly; and Silas made a face, but
pocketed the cinder for future use. "Pen, where's Mother?"

Mrs Pardue answered for herself by coming down the ladder.

"There! I've given it Esdras: now, Silas, 'tis thy turn."

No pussy cat could have worn an aspect of more exquisite meekness than
Mr Silvanus Pardue at that moment, having dexterously twitched a towel
so as to hide the work of art on which he had been engaged the moment
before.

"I've done nothing, Mother,