rs. Ambler. She took the child by her shoulders and
drew her toward her. "Betty, did you set fire to the Major's woodpile?" she
questioned sternly.

Betty was sobbing aloud, but she stopped long enough to gasp out an answer.

"We were playin' Injuns, mamma, an' we couldn't make believe 'twas real,"
she said, "an' it isn't any fun unless you can make believe, so I lit the
woodpile and pretended it was a fort, an' Big Abel, he was an Injun with
the axe for a tomahawk; but the woodpile blazed right up, an' the Major
came runnin' out. He asked Dan who did it, an' Dan wouldn't say 'twas
me,--an' I wouldn't say, either,--so he took Dan in to whip him. Oh, I wish
I'd told! I wish I'd told!"

"Hush, Betty," said Mrs. Ambler, and she called to the Governor in the
hall, "Mr. Ambler, Betty has set fire to the Major's woodpile!" Her voice
was hopeless, and she looked up blankly at her husband as he entered.

"Set fire to the woodpile!" whistled the Governor. "Why, bless my soul, we
aren't safe in our beds!"

"He whipped Dan," wailed Betty.

"We aren't safe in our beds," repeated the Governor, indignantly. "Julia,
this is really too much."

"Well, you will have to ride right over there," said his wife, decisively.
"Petunia, run down and tell Hosea to saddle his master's horse. Betty, I
hope this will be a lesson to you. You shan't have any preserves for supper
for a week."

"I don't want any preserves," sobbed Betty, her apron to her eyes.

"Then you mustn't go fishing for two weeks. Mr. Ambler, you'd better be
starting at once, and don't forget to tell the Major that Betty is in great
distress--you are, aren't you, Betty?"

"Yes, ma'am," wept Betty.

The Governor went out into the hall and took down his hat and riding-whip.

"The sins of the children are visited upon the fathers," he remarked
gloomily as he mounted his horse and rode away from his supper.

V

THE SCHOOL FOR GENTLEMEN

The Governor rode up too late to avert the punishment. Dan had taken his
whipping and was sitting on a footstool in the library, facing the Major
and a couple of the Major's cronies. His face wore an expression in which
there was more resentment than resignation; for, though he took blows
doggedly, he bore the memory of them long after the smart had ceased--long,
indeed, after light-handed justice, in the Major's person, had forgotten
alike the sin and the expiation. For the Major's hand was not steady at the
rod, and he had