her, he never see a
coach in the street when we are at play but he runs arter it."

"After, not arter," said Mr. Roger Morton, taking the pipe from his
mouth.

"Why do you go after the coaches, Sidney?" said Mrs. Morton; "it is very
naughty; you will be run over some day."

"Yes, ma'am," said Sidney, who during the whole colloquy had been
trembling from bead to foot.

"'Yes ma'am,' and 'no, ma'am:' you have no more manners than a cobbler's
boy."

"Don't tease the child, my dear; he is crying," said Mr. Morton, more
authoritatively than usual. "Come here, my man!" and the worthy uncle
took him in his lap and held his glass of brandy-and-water to his lips;
Sidney, too frightened to refuse, sipped hurriedly, keeping his large
eyes fixed on his aunt, as children do when they fear a cuff.

"You spoil the boy more than do your own flesh and blood," said Mrs.
Morton, greatly displeased.

Here Tom, the youngest-born before described, put his mouth to his
mother's ear, and whispered loud enough to be heard by all: "He runs
arter the coach 'cause he thinks his ma may be in it. Who's home-sick, I
should like to know? Ba! Baa!"

The boy pointed his finger over his mother's shoulder, and the other
children burst into a loud giggle.

"Leave the room, all of you,--leave the room!" said Mr. Morton, rising
angrily and stamping his foot.

The children, who were in great awe of their father, huddled and hustled
each other to the door; but Tom, who went last, bold in his mother's
favour, popped his head through the doorway, and cried, "Good-bye,
little home-sick!"

A sudden slap in the face from his father changed his chuckle into a
very different kind of music, and a loud indignant sob was heard without
for some moments after the door was closed.

"If that's the way you behave to your children, Mr. Morton, I vow you
sha'n't have any more if I can help it. Don't come near me--don't touch
me!" and Mrs. Morton assumed the resentful air of offended beauty.

"Pshaw!" growled the spouse, and he reseated himself and resumed his
pipe. There was a dead silence. Sidney crouched near his uncle, looking
very pale. Mrs. Morton, who was knitting, knitted away with the excited
energy of nervous irritation.

"Ring the bell, Sidney," said Mr. Morton. The boy obeyed-the
parlour-maid entered. "Take Master Sidney to his room; keep the boys
away from him, and give him a large slice of bread and jam, Martha."

"Jam, indeed!--treacle," said