gs just as fast as he can go," said Mr.
Jaffrey, with a woful face. "I can't do anything with him."

"He'll come out all right, Mr. Jaffrey. Boys will be boys. I would not
give a snap for a lad without animal spirits."

"But animal spirits," said Mr. Jaffrey sententiously, "should n't saw
off the legs of the piano in Tobias's best parlor. I don't know what
Tobias will say when he finds it out."

"What! has Andy sawed off the legs of the old spinet?" I returned,
laughing. "Worse than that." "Played upon it, then!" "No, sir. He has
lied to me!" "I can't believe that of Andy." "Lied to me, sir," repeated
Mr. Jaffrey, severely. "He pledged me his word of honor that he would
give over his climbing. The way that boy climbs sends a chill down my
spine. This morning, notwithstanding his solemn promise, he shinned
up the lightning-rod attached to the extension, and sat astride the
ridge-pole. I saw him, and he denied it! When a boy you have caressed
and indulged and lavished pocket-money on lies to you and _will_ climb,
then there's nothing more to be said. He's a lost child." "You take too
dark a view of it, Mr. Jaffrey. Training and education are bound to tell
in the end, and he has been well brought up."

"But I did n't bring him up on a lightning-rod, did I? If he is ever
going to know how to behave, he ought to know now. To-morrow he will be
eleven years old."

The reflection came to me that if Andy had not been brought up by the
rod, he had certainly been brought up by the lightning. He was eleven
years old in two weeks!

I essayed, with that perspicacious wisdom which seems to be the peculiar
property of bachelors and elderly maiden ladies, to tranquillize Mr.
Jaffrey's mind, and to give him some practical hints on the management
of youth.

"Spank him," I suggested at last.

"I will!" said the old gentleman.

"And you 'd better do it at once!" I added, as it flashed upon me that
in six months Andy would be a hundred and forty-three years old!--an age
at which parental discipline would have to be relaxed.

The next morning. Sunday, the rain came down as if determined to drive
the quicksilver entirely out of my poor friend. Mr. Jaffrey sat bolt
upright at the breakfast-table, looking as woe-begone as a bust of
Dante, and retired to his chamber the moment the meal was finished. As
the day advanced, the wind veered round to the northeast, and settled
itself down to work. It was not pleasant to think, and I tried n