wing a
quick breath.

"Ready for what, dear?"

"Well, he is going to whip me, I suppose, and I want it over with."

"And how do you feel about it, my son? Don't you think you deserve to be
whipped?"

"Yes'm, I do," replied Willy, with a sudden burst of candor; "I don't
see how anybody can help whipping a boy that's acted the way I have."

"That's nobly said, my child," exclaimed Mr. Parlin, stepping out of the
large clothes-press. "I happened to be in there over-hauling the trunk
that has my Freemason clothes in it, and I couldn't but overhear what
you've been saying."

Willy buried his face in the pillow. He was willing his mother should
know his inmost thoughts, but he had always been afraid of his father.

"And, Willy, since you take so kindly to the idea of another whipping, I
don't know but I shall let you off this time."

Willy opened his eyes very wide.

"I'll tell you why," went on Mr. Parlin. "You didn't deserve the last
whipping you had; so that will go to offset this one, which you do
deserve."

Willy's eyes sparkled with delight; still there was a look in them of
question and surprise. The idea of his ever having a whipping that his
father thought he didn't deserve!

"You were in a shameful state that night, Willy; I can't call it
anything else but _drunk_; but I know now how it happened; there was
brandy in the cider."

"Brandy, papa?"

"Yes. Dr. Potter and I examined the barrel yesterday, and the mixture in
it was at least one third brandy."

"O, papa, was that why it tasted so bad? I drank one mugful, and didn't
like it; and then by and by I drank another mugful; but that was all."

"Yes, Willy; so you told me when I talked with you; and I didn't believe
you then; but I believe you now."

"O, father, I'm so glad!" cried Willy, with a look such as he had never
before given his father--a beaming look of gratitude and love. I think
he was happier at that moment to know that his father trusted him, than
to know he would not be punished.

He little thought then that he should never have another whipping as
long as he lived; but so it proved. Not that Mr. Parlin ever changed his
mind about the good effects of the rod; but when he saw that Willy was
really trying to be a better boy, he had more patience with him.

And Willy was trying. He continued to be rather hasty and headstrong,
but the "Indian sulks" gradually melted out of his disposition like ice
in a summer river. This exploit of