Crockery is brittle stuff; it could not stand every thing, any more than Mrs. Cutter's temper could. To see the look of horror she cast upon the dripping head of her husband, and then at the broken pieces of her pitcher, the very last thing in the house 'her mother gin' her,' as she often said; with her long arms and bony fingers stretched out in the air, was rather frightful: The moment the old man could recover himself sufficiently to realize what he had done, and what he had to expect, he exclaimed, very significantly, 'Oh dear!' and rose up as hastily as he could, designing to retreat to his shop, his usual refuge from a storm. '_Oh dear!_ you may well say so--of _all things_. Well, Cutter, now you see what you've done. I've told you it would be so; the very last thing my mother gin' me--slam it right down on the harth--isn't that purty? you've been breakin' and breakin' all your life; and now you've broke the pitcher.' He said not a word in reply, but taking hold of Sam Oakum pulled him along towards the shop. Finding that her husband was fast retreating from the sound of her voice, she turned the battery upon her two boys, who were eyeing the broken crockery with no very equivocal looks, 'And _you_, you villains! comin' and settin' your father crazy with your lies--_out_ of the house with you, this instant.' And she made a push for the broomstick. They understood her kind intentions right well, having had large experience in that way, and did not wait for any further instructions; but made after their father with all speed. Once in the shop, the old man felt safe. He had kept fast hold of Sam, and sitting down on his usual block, held him off at arms-length with one hand, while with the other, and the aid of an old handkerchief, he wiped down his bald head, and round, good-natured countenance. 'Oh dear! it was unlucky about that pitcher, I shall never hear the last on it. Tell me now, Sam, what is all this? It ain't true--is it? that old varmint ain't put your father in jail, has he? Don't cry now, but just tell me the whole on it.' Sam told his story as well as he could, but it was hard work. He could command his feelings very well, when only thinking about it; but when compelled to speak his father's name, his lip trembled, and the words came out with great difficulty. Mr. Cutter had a very tender heart of his own, and Sam's story and appearance worked upon him more and more; so that he kept the old handkerchief wiping away long after the cider shower had dried off. 'And why didn't you come to me, and tell me about it? Ain't I known your father from a boy, and your mother too--bless her good soul; and do you think I would have let such doings as these gone on? That old varmint--is that the way he is goin' to serve folks? Send 'em to jail, to lay there with them dreadful rapscallions? Oh dear!--jist to think on it! And you was comin' here to tell me about it this morning; wasn't you, Sam?' 'No, sir, I was going home.'