Mrs. Gainsborough, who was herself an accomplished painter of flowers, opened Tommy's sketch-book, and laid before her husband's eyes the record of the day's outlawry. A whispered consultation followed, then Mr. Gainsborough ascended the stair with a heavy, portentous tread. Tommy, sitting miserably on the side of his bed, heard the measured tramp, tramp along the corridor; and folding his arms he set his teeth grimly and waited for the worst. Mr. Gainsborough entered the room and closed the door behind him. "Thomas," he began in a relentless tone, "you have disgraced yourself and your family by your behavior to-day, but I have decided not to give you a whipping." Tommy leaped from the bed with an exclamation of puzzled relief. "Instead, my son, I shall take away all your pencils and drawing materials for a month, and shall see that you do not have access to any at school." "Oh, father," howled Tommy despairingly, "I'd rather take the whipping--even two of 'em, if you'll give me back my things! Please whip me, father, as you said you would, and let me have my sketch-book!" "At the end of a month, and not one day sooner." Mr. Gainsborough kept his word, and throughout the following weeks Tommy's fingers fairly tingled for the touch of his beloved instruments. Pencils and paper were so costly at that time that it was useless for him to save his pennies in the hope of buying them for himself; and during the weary days of waiting, Tommy decided positively that his pen should never again perform dishonest tricks, plunging him into such trouble. One midsummer morning, weeks after Tommy's pencils had been restored to him, Mrs. Gainsborough appeared at the corner of the garden, where the boy was busily digging worms for fish bait. "Tommy," she inquired in a vexed tone, "have you been gathering my yellow pears?" "No," returned he, pushing his hat back and looking up at the distressed lady. Now Tommy was guilty of so many mischievous doings that when anything went wrong about the place he was always suspected of being in the plot somewhere, though sometimes he was truly innocent, as happened to be the case just now. "No," he repeated, "I haven't touched a single one of the yellow pears. Honor bright!" "Then some one else has," declared Mrs. Gainsborough. "For three days, since they have been ripening so beautifully, I have tried to find enough to fill a fancy basket for the dean; and although each evening I have seen ten or twelve that would be perfect in another day, I have gone the following morning to gather them, and have found only hard and green ones hanging. The other children know nothing about it, so I suppose some one has stolen the pears. It is too provoking!" Mrs. Gainsborough turned away, and her son went on with his digging, giving no further thought to the missing fruit.