is mother.

The boy was only twelve, but he had been bred in a difficult school and
was old for his years. He looked again at the heaps of cast-off clothing
on the floor and his gorge rose within him.

"I tell you," he cried, before his father could speak, "that I'll never
wear another donation party pair of pants. No, nor a shirt-tail shirt,
either. I'm through with having the boys make fun of me. I'll earn my
own clothes every summer and I'll earn mother's too."

"You'll do nothing of the sort, sir," thundered Jason's father, his
great bass voice rising as it did in revival meetings. "You'll do
nothing but wear donation clothes as long as you're under my roof. I've
long noted your tendency to vanity and mammon. To my prayers, I shall
begin to add stout measures."

Jason threw back his head, a finely shaped head it was with good breadth
between the eyes.

"I tell you, sir, I'm through with donation pants. If folks don't think
enough of the religion you preach to pay you for it I'd--I'd advise you
to get another religion."

Under his beard, Ethan Wilkins went white, but not so white as Jason's
mother. But she spoke quietly.

"Jason, apologize to your father at once."

"I couldn't accept an apology now," said the minister. "I shall have to
pray to get my mind into shape. In the meantime Jason shall be punished
for this. Not until everyone in the town who desires to read his
_Harper's Monthlies_ has done so, can Jason touch them."

"O father, not that," cried Jason. "I'll apologize! I'll wear the pants!
Why, it would be Christmas before I'd see them again!"

"I can't accept your apology now. Neither your spirit nor mine is right.
And I cannot retract. Your punishment must stand."

Jason was all child now. "Mother," he cried, "don't let him! Don't let
him!"

Mrs. Wilkins' lips quivered. For a moment she could not speak. Then with
an inscrutable look into her husband's eyes she said:

"You must obey your father, Jason. You have been very wicked."

Jason put down his candle and sobbed. "I know it. But I'll be good. Let
me have my magazines. They're mine. I paid for them."

"No!" roared the minister. "Go to bed, sir, and see to it that you pray
for a better heart."

Jason's sobs sounded through the little house long after his father and
mother had gone to bed. The minister sighed and turned restlessly.

"Why was I given such a rebellious son, do you suppose?" he asked
finally.

"Perhaps God hopes it'll