the place
come,--I'm going."

He was walking defiantly from the door, when he heard his mother's voice
at her window. "I never can sleep, John, with a horse crying around. I
wish you'd go down to see what the trouble is. And do lock the shed
door. I haven't slept five minutes to-night."

[Illustration: "_The old family horse_."]

What was Bert to do now? To go forward in the moonlight, with his mother
watching from above, would be foolish, indeed. To remain in the shed, to
be discovered by his father, seemed equally unwise.

[Illustration: "_Bert came into the shed, and watched his father as he
mended an old harness_."]

He had very little time to think about the matter, for at that moment
he heard the well-known footsteps on the stairs. He darted over to the
shed closet, shut the door, and tremblingly awaited the result.

And the result was that, after standing painfully still for about ten
minutes, during which Prince's significant sniffs and growls had thrice
driven him to the very verge of disclosure, he was left unmolested in
the dark old closet. He opened the door; but the shed seemed darker yet.
No loving cat or friendly dog was there to cheer or to betray. Nothing
but thick, black darkness. Was it possible that the moon was still
shining outside?

He wondered if the boys were having a good time. He would open the door
and go to them as soon as he dared. But while he was thinking and
wondering, waiting until he was sure his father and mother were asleep
again, the old clock rang out the hour of twelve. Midnight! It was of no
use to go then; the boys would be gone.

And so Bert crept up stairs to his room, cross and dissatisfied, feeling
that the fates were against him.

He was late to breakfast the next morning. His mother laughingly
inquired if the weight of his bedclothes had affected his hearing.

"Yes'm--no'm. I mean--I guess not," he replied absently.

It was a rainy morning, and the weather was disagreeably warm. After
breakfast Bert came into the shed, and watched his father as he mended
an old harness.

"What sort of boy is that Ned Sellars?" inquired his father at length.

Bert started.

"I don't know. I think he's a pretty good boy. Why?"

"I passed the house this morning. Some one was getting a terrible
flogging, and I think it must have been Ned."

"What for? Do you know?"

"Yes. They spoke very loud, and I couldn't help hearing. It was for
running off last night. Going swimming,