self
that she was still safe. She was putting on her bonnet and shawl, with
the evident intention of leaving the house.

"Did he strike you, Robert?" she asked, through the open window, with
more of indignation than terror in her manner.

"Not he," replied Robert. "I can keep out of his way easy enough."

"Don't go near him again--that's a good boy. There's no knowing what he
may do. He's as ugly as sin when he has had two or three glasses and
wants more."

"But where are you going, mother?" asked the boy.

"I don't know where to go yet; but I'm not going to stay here to-day. I
can't bear it any longer. You will keep out of his way--won't you,
Robert?"

"I'm not afraid of him; but I'm going out a fishing as soon as the tide
makes enough to get the boat off."

"Well, I'll go up and spend the day with Mrs. Paine," added Mrs. Taylor.
"I hope your father will get over it before night."

"I've got about enough of this, mother; and if it wasn't for you, I'd
clear out this very day."

"Don't leave me yet, Robert," pleaded the poor woman. "I mean to leave
him myself if he don't behave better. He shan't abuse you."

"I don't mean he shall. But I think I can take care of myself better
than you can of yourself."

Mrs. Taylor did not think so; but she did not dispute the point. The
approach of Ezekiel caused the youth to beat another retreat; but, from
the other side of the street, he saw his mother leave the house and walk
towards the village. Satisfied that she was safe from the wrath of her
brutal husband, he soon followed her, though he did not overtake her,
for his course, after a short distance, led him in another direction.

"I'm glad that man is not my father," muttered Robert to himself, as he
walked towards the village.

A knowledge of this fact had come to him only a few days before, and it
was a great relief to him, for certainly there was no meaner man in
Camden than Ezekiel Taylor. He was sorry that he had ever been permitted
even to bear his name. He was sixteen years old, though, for his age, he
was rather short. But he was a stout, wiry, athletic little fellow. He
was just as much puzzled as the rest of the town's people to know how
his mother contrived to feed and clothe herself and him, when it was
patent to everybody that her husband spent all that he earned for rum.
She always had money enough to buy a beefsteak and to pay her store
bill. When everything seemed to have "gone to the dogs," and hi