ounced Jake gloomily, as he watched
Joey tumbling about the grass with Joshua, the dog. "Spankin' kids
ain't a man's work, anyhow," he added, glancing meaningly at his wife.

"Oh, Jake!" she cried tremulously, "you wouldn't think o' makin' me do
it? I--jist couldn't!"

"Well, somebody's got to," said Jake, setting his teeth, "'cordin' to
Susan an' the Dook. What does an old maid like her know about bringin'
up kids, anyhow?" he added rebelliously.

A scrambling noise, and the sound of smothered giggles, floated from
the back yard.

"That's them!" cried Jake in a terrified voice. "You go and order them
to come 'round here, Hannah," he added, with the air of one who is
putting off the day of execution, "an' I'll get the gad."

Hannah arose and slowly passed out to the back door. The three truants
were trying to make themselves invisible behind the pump.

"Come on 'round to the front, children!" called their foster-mother, in
a voice that trembled. "You've been awful bad children, so you have!"

With this bold statement Hannah's courage vanished. She turned and
fled indoors to find refuge with Jake. But, alas for the poor wife!
In the most trying ordeal of her life her husband had basely deserted
her. Neither Jake nor Joey was to be seen. The instrument of
execution, a small, twig-like branch from the lilac bush, was lying
upon the doorstep. Mrs. Sawyer took it up with a Spartan air. If Jake
could so meanly fly from his duty then she must so much the more face
hers.

"Yous youngsters has been awful bad," she reiterated, returning to the
back door, and shaking the innocent-looking branch menacingly, "an'
you've jist got to be--to be--whipped," she ended up faintly.

The orphans stared at her for a moment in open-mouthed amazement; then,
with shrieks of hysterical laughter, the twins bounded off the veranda
and scrambled up to the safe sanctuary of the woodpile.

Tim alone stood his ground. He surveyed the meager weapon in the
woman's hand, contempt in his wise old eyes. "Ye kin lick me, if ye
like, for the hull o' them," he said, with weary indifference. "I
don't care. I'm used to it."

At this pathetic confession, Mrs. Sawyer threw down the disciplining
rod and sank upon the doorstep. She buried her face in her apron and
burst into sobs. At the sight of her grief, so inexplicable, so
terrifying, the twins pitched themselves off the woodpile and flung
themselves upon her. They wound their arm