e realized father's strength. He got his hand in my
collar, and he jerked me out from under that counter, and shook me,
and held me off at arm's length.

"There, Mr. Burglar," said he, triumphantly, "sneak in here again
will--JOHN!"

The girls had been screaming and running, but they stood still now.

"Yes, _John_!" said I, in desperation. "The drawer came loose under
the counter, and I was nailing on a strip of board when those _young
ladies_ came in. I kept quiet, just for fun. They began to talk in an
interesting manner, curiosity got the better of politeness, and I'm
afraid I've played eavesdropper," and I made a killing bow, meant
especially for Belle.

"Well, you're a pretty one!" exclaimed father.

"_So they say_," said I. "Don't leave, young ladies. I'd like to sell
you a magnifying-glass, and some cold cream." But they all left in a
hurry. They didn't even buy a pair of gloves.

The girls must have told of it, for the story got out, and Fred
advised me to try counter-irritation for my bashfulness.

"You're not a burglar," said he, "but you're guilty of
counter-fitting."

"Nothing would suit me better," I retorted, "than to be tried for it,
and punished by solitary confinement."

And there was nothing I should have liked so much. The iron had
entered my soul. I was worse than ever. I purchased a four-ounce vial
of laudanum, went to my room, and wrote a letter to my mother:

"Mother, I am tired of life. My nose is turn-up, my mouth is large; I
pocket other people's saucers and napkins; I am always making
blunders. This is my last blunder. I shall never blush again.
Farewell. Let the inscription on my tombstone be--'Died of
Bashfulness.' JOHN."

And I swallowed the contents of the vial, and threw myself on my
little bed.

CHAPTER VI.

HE IS DOOMED FOR WORSE ACCIDENTS.

It may seem strange for you to hear of me again, after the conclusion
of the last chapter of my blunders. But it was not I who made the last
blunder--it was the druggist. Quite by mistake the imbecile who waited
upon me put up four ounces of the aromatic syrup of rhubarb. I felt
myself gradually sinking into the death-sleep after I had taken it;
with the thought of Belle uppermost in my mind, I allowed myself to
sink--"no more catastrophes after this last and grandest one--no more
red faces--big mouth--tea-napkins--wonder--if she--will be--sorry!"
and I became unconscious.

I was awakened from a comfortable slumber by lo