ll this time?"

"Nothing," was the answer.

"Nowhere? Nothing? Don't nowhere and nothing me, Sir. Those are the
replies--the lying replies--of a boy who has been in mischief. If you
had not been where you shouldn't have been, and doing as you shouldn't
have done, you would not be ashamed to tell. Now, Sir, tell me at once,
where you have been and what you have been doing?"

The boy grew pale, but made no reply, and in the eyes fixed on Mr.
Allan's face was a provokingly stubborn look. The man's wrath waxed
warmer. His voice rose. In a tone of utter exasperation he cried, "Tell
me at once, I say, or you shall have the severest flogging you ever had
in your life!"

The boy grew paler still, and his eyes more stubborn. A scowl settled
upon his brow and a look of dogged determination about his mouth, but
still he spoke not a word.

Mrs. Allan looked from one to the other of these two beings--husband and
son--who made her heart's world. The evening was warm and she wore a
simple white dress with low neck and short sleeves. Anxiety clouded her
lovely face, yet never had she looked more girlishly sweet--more
appealing; but the silent plea in her beautiful, troubled eyes was lost
on John Allan, much as he loved her.

"Tell him, Eddie dear," she implored. "Don't be afraid. Speak up like a
man!"

Still silence.

She walked over to the table where the boy sat before the untouched
supper that had been saved for him, and dropped upon one knee beside
him. She placed her arm around him and drew him against her gentle
bosom--he suffering her, though not returning the caress.

"Tell _me_, Eddie, darling--tell Mother," she coaxed.

The grey eyes softened, the brow lifted. "There's nothing to tell,
Mother," he gently replied.

Mr. Allan rose from his chair. "I'll give you five minutes in which to
find something to tell," he exclaimed, shaking a trembling finger at the
culprit; then stalked out of the room.

In his absence his wife fell upon the neck of the pale, frowning child,
covering his face and his curly head with kisses, and beseeching him
with honeyed endearments, to be a good boy and obey his father. But the
little figure seemed to have turned to stone in her arms. In less than
the five minutes Mr. Allan was back in the room, trimming a long switch
cut from one of the trees in the garden as he came.

"Are you ready to tell me the truth?" he demanded.

No answer.

Still trimming the switch, he approached the boy