d.

The maiden aunt, fortified in ignorance, gazed with pity and contempt
upon this interest. "Well, now, Emily, how do I know?" she queried.
"Was I goin' to stand over 'im? Of all the worryin' you do about that
child! It's a shame the way you're bringin' up that child."

"Well, he ought to eat somethin'. It won't do fer him to go without
eatin'," the mother retorted, weakly.

Aunt Martha, profoundly scorning the policy of concession which these
words meant, uttered a long, contemptuous sigh.

III

Alone in the kitchen, Horace stared with sombre eyes at the plate of
food. For a long time he betrayed no sign of yielding. His mood was
adamantine. He was resolved not to sell his vengeance for bread, cold
ham, and a pickle, and yet it must be known that the sight of them
affected him powerfully. The pickle in particular was notable for its
seductive charm. He surveyed it darkly.

[Illustration: "Horace Stared with Sombre Eyes at the Plate of Food"]

But at last, unable to longer endure his state, his attitude in the
presence of the pickle, he put out an inquisitive finger and touched
it, and it was cool and green and plump. Then a full conception of the
cruel woe of his situation swept upon him suddenly, and his eyes
filled with tears, which began to move down his cheeks. He sniffled.
His heart was black with hatred. He painted in his mind scenes of
deadly retribution. His mother would be taught that he was not one to
endure persecution meekly, without raising an arm in his defence. And
so his dreams were of a slaughter of feelings, and near the end of
them his mother was pictured as coming, bowed with pain, to his feet.
Weeping, she implored his charity. Would he forgive her? No; his once
tender heart had been turned to stone by her injustice. He could not
forgive her. She must pay the inexorable penalty.

The first item in this horrible plan was the refusal of the food. This
he knew by experience would work havoc in his mother's heart. And so
he grimly waited.

But suddenly it occurred to him that the first part of his revenge was
in danger of failing. The thought struck him that his mother might not
capitulate in the usual way. According to his recollection, the time
was more than due when she should come in, worried, sadly
affectionate, and ask him if he was ill. It had then been his custom
to hint in a resigned voice that he was the victim of secret disease,
but that he preferred to suffer in silence and