od.

"Willy!" called his mother's voice from the sitting-room; but the little
fellow, was too excited to hear.

"Do you mean my father's money, Caleb, that he keeps in his drawer?"

"Yes, yes, child; laid inside of a book," replied Caleb, carelessly.

"What! and you want it?--my father's money?"

"Yes, yes," laughed Caleb; "off to bed, child. Don't you hear your
mother calling?"

Willy slipped down from the man's knee, and walked out of the room in
deep thought. Why Caleb should want his father's money, and say he had
a right to it, was more than he could understand; and he went to sleep
with his little brain in a whirl.

Very soon tired and chilly teamsters began to pour into the bar-room,
and rub their hands before the roaring fire. Caleb, who had quite
forgotten his unlucky conversation with Master Willy, put fresh wood on
the andirons, and brushed the hearth with a strip broom. Presently Mr.
Parlin himself appeared in the doorway, bearing a huge pitcher of cider,
which sparkled in a jolly way, as if it were glad to leave its hogshead
prison in the dark cellar, and come up into such lively company.

"Well, neighbors, this is a cold evening," said Mr. Parlin, setting the
pitcher down on the counter, and looking round with a hospitable smile.
"Caleb, fetch out the loggerhead."

Caleb drew from the left ear of the fireplace a long iron bar, and
thrust it into the hot coals. That was the loggerhead, and you will soon
see what it was used for.

While it was still heating, Dr. Hilton took from one corner of the room
a child's arm-chair, and set it down at a comfortable distance from the
fireplace.

"We'll have it all ready for Bubby, when he makes us his visit," said
he, laughing.

Some one always placed the chair there for Willy, and it was usually Dr.
Hilton.

When the loggerhead was red hot, Caleb drew it out of the coals, and
plunged it into the cold cider, which immediately began to bubble and
hiss. Then he poured the sparkling liquid into mugs for the thirsty
teamsters to drink; and while he was still holding the pitcher high in
air, that the cider might come down with a good "bead," the door slowly
opened, and in glided Willy, in his yellow flannel night-dress.

The men smiled and nodded at one another, but said nothing, as the child
crossed the floor, seated himself in the little red chair, and began to
rock. He rocked with such careless grace, and held his little feet
before the blaze so naturall