know what is for your good. I hope you will be wiser in
time. But here we are at the house. Come right in, and mind you wipe
your feet."

This was Sam's first introduction into the Hopkins' household. He
proved a disturbing element, as we shall presently see.

CHAPTER III.

A HARD CASE.

The first meal to which Sam sat down at the deacon's house was supper.
It was only a plain supper,--tea, bread and butter, and apple-pie; but
to Sam, who was not used to regular meals of any kind, it seemed
luxurious. He despatched slice after slice of bread, eating twice as
much as any one else at the table, and after eating his share of the
pie gazed hungrily at the single slice which remained on the plate,
and asked for that also.

Deacon Hopkins thought it was time to interfere.

"You've had one piece a'ready," he said.

"I know it," said Sam; "but I'm hungry."

"I don't see how you can be. You've eat more than any of us."

"It takes a good deal to fill me up," said Sam, frankly.

"The boy'll eat us out of house and home," said Mrs. Hopkins, in
alarm. "You can't have any more. You've had enough."

Sam withdrew his plate. He did not look abashed, for he was never much
inclined that way, nor did his feelings appear to be hurt, for he was
not sensitive; but he took the matter coolly, and pushing back his
chair from the table was about to leave the room.

"Where are you a-goin?" asked his new guardian.

"Out doors."

"Stop. I've got something for you to do."

The deacon went to the mantel-piece and took therefrom the catechism.

"You aint had no bringin' up, Samuel," he said. "You don't know
nothin' about your moral and religious obligations. It's my dooty to
make you learn how to walk uprightly."

"I can walk straight now," said Sam.

"I don't mean that--I mean in a moral sense. Come here."

Sam unwillingly drew near the deacon.

"Here, I want you to study the first page of the catechism, and recite
it to me before you go to bed."

Sam took the book, and looked at the first page doubtfully.

"What's the good of it?" he demanded, in a discontented voice.

"What's the good of the catechism?" exclaimed the deacon, shocked.
"It'll l'arn you your duties. It'll benefit your immortal soul."

"I don't care if it will," said Sam, perversely. "What do I care about
my soul? It never did me no good."

"Did you ever see such a heathen, Martha?" said the deacon, in
despair, turning to his wife.

"You'll be so