“Oh, she cried, and she said she was sorry it had to be done. Did he whip you hard, Joe?” “Pretty hard, but it’s the last time. He’ll never whip me again, Jennie.” “Are you going to be a better boy?” “No, a worse one.” Jennie stood for a moment silent and wondering at this paradoxical statement. Then an idea flashed into her mind. “Joe!” she cried, “you--you’re not going to run away?” “That’s just what I am going to do. I’ve stood it here as long as I can.” “O Joe! what’ll Father say?” “It don’t make much difference what he says. I’m goin’ to--say, Jennie! don’t you go and tell now, ’fore I get started. You wouldn’t do as mean a thing as that, would you, Jen? Promise now!” “I--I--maybe if Father knew you’d made up your mind to go, he’d treat you better.” “No, he wouldn’t. Look here, Jen! if you say anything about it I’ll--say now, you won’t, will you?” “N--no, not if you don’t want me to, but I’m awful scared about it. What’ll Mother say?” asked the girl, wiping from her eyes the fast-falling tears. “That’s where the trouble is, Jen,” replied the boy, leaning on the handle of his hoe, and gazing reflectively off to the hills. “I hate to leave Mother, she’s good to me; but Father and I can’t get along together after what’s happened to-day, that’s plain.” “And won’t you ever come back again?” asked Jennie, plaintively. “Not for seven years,” answered Joe; “then I’ll be twenty-one, an’ my own boss, and I can go fishing whenever I feel like it.” “O Joe!” Jennie’s tears fell still faster. “Joe! I’m afraid--what--made you--tell me?” “You asked me!” “But I didn’t--didn’t want you to tell me anything--anything so dreadful!” From the direction of the house came the sound of the supper-bell. Joe shouldered his hoe again; Jennie rose from her seat on a rock, and together they walked slowly home. On the way Joe exacted from Jennie a faithful promise that she would tell nothing about his plan. At the supper-table Joe was silent and moody, and ate little. After doing the portion of the chores that fell to his lot, he went at once to his room. His back still smarted and ached from the whipping; his mind was still troubled, and indignation and rebellion still ruled in his breast. Before he slept, his mother came to see that he was safely in bed, and to tuck him in for the night. She knew that this had been a very bitter day for him, and although she feared he had deserved his punishment, she grieved for him, and suffered with him from the bottom of her heart. It was with more than the customary tenderness that she tucked the bed-clothing around him, and kissed him good-night. “Good-night, Mother!” he said, looking up through the dim light of the room into her face; “good-night!” He did not let go of her hand; and when he tried to say something more, he broke down and burst into tears.