of very impulsive emotions, sat
down crying on what she supposed was a cushion, but which was George's
tall hat, accidentally covered with one end of a comforter which had
slipped off the bed. Bess was a very plump little creature, and as she
picked herself up and held up the hat, George angrily exclaimed:

"You're always smashing my things!" But the next minute he was sorry
for the words.

Bess retreated toward the door, quivering under the injustice of the
charge. At the door she halted. She had something of Clara's
passionate temper, and once in a while she let even her adored brother
George feel it, small as she was.

"George Hardy, if you think more of your old stovepipe hat than you do
of your sister, all right! You'll never get any more of my month's
allowance. And if I do smash your things, I don't come home drunk at
night and break mother's heart. That's what she's crying about this
morning--that, and father's queer ways. Oh, dear! I don't want to
live; life is so full of trouble!" And little twelve-year-old Bess
sobbed in genuine sorrow.

George forgot his headache for a minute.

"Come, Bess, come, let's kiss and make up. Honest, now, I didn't mean
it. I was bad to say what I did. I'll buy a dozen hats and let you
sit on them for fun. Don't go away angry; I'm so miserable!"

He lay down and groaned, and Bess went to him immediately, all her
anger vanished.

"Oh, let me get you something to drive away your headache; and I'll
bring you up something nice to eat. Mother had Norah save something
for you--didn't you, mother?"

Bessie asked the question just as her mother came in.

Mrs. Hardy said "Yes," and going up to George sat down by him and laid
her hand on his head as his sister had done.

The boy moved uneasily. He saw the marks of great suffering on his
mother's face, but he said nothing to express sorrow for his disgrace.

"Bess, will you go and get George his breakfast?" asked Mrs. Hardy; and
the minute she was gone the mother turned to her son and said:

"George, do you love me?"

George had been expecting something different. He looked at his mother
as the tears fell over her face, and all that was still good in him
rose up in rebellion against the animal part. He seized his mother's
hand and carried it to his lips, kissed it reverently, and said in a
low tone:--

"Mother, I am unworthy. If you knew--"

He checked himself as if on the verge of confession. His mother