"Did you hear me say that you were not to touch the flowers? Yes, you certainly did. And I said that if you did, I should whip you soundly." "If we did any mischief, you said, grandma," answered Frank. "And what do you call that?" pointing to the flowers in Fred's hand. "And what do you suppose Mr. Ross, the gardener, will say when he misses them? And the beds all trampled on, I suppose?" "No, indeed, grandma, we never went on the beds at all. We did no mischief—flowers don't mind being picked." "Don't you stand arguing there, sir; you were always one for arguing. It was all your fault, for Fred's only a baby, so I shall let him off this time." And seizing Frank, she proceeded to lay him across her knees, and gave him a smart whipping. Then she set him on his feet, all flushed and giddy. The first thing he saw was the row of windows that overlooked the garden, and I think that the shame of having possibly been seen undergoing such disgrace was worse than the whipping. Fred, hitherto staring, open-mouthed and terrified, now began to whimper. "Oh, Fwank, was it for the f'owers? You said she'd be angwy. Beat me too, you bad woman. 'Twas me took 'em; Fwank begged me not." Mrs. Rayburn was quite willing. Many a time at Hemsborough had her fingers itched to whip one or the other, or both, for she had scant patience with children, and Janet had perhaps too much. But as she put forth a hand to take hold of Fred, Frank pushed in between them, keeping the child behind him, and crying, as he faced her like a little lion— "No, you've whipped me, and that's enough. If you touch Fred, I'll—I'll push you into the water! We'll run away and be lost; you shan't—you shan't touch Fred." "Here's a row," said Mrs. Rayburn, half frightened at the violence of the usually gentle child, and the angry spark in his eyes. "I told you," she continued, "that I'd let him off this time, and I will, though he'd provoke a saint. But if you're to stay here, you must obey me, and I just mean to let you see that at once. There, now, come to dinner, and let me hear no more nonsense." They followed her, a sad, quenched little couple as ever you saw. Frank could eat no dinner; the remembrance of that terrible scene was too much for him; and Fred, seeing this, shook his wee white fist at grandma—when her back was turned. Dinner over, Mrs. Rayburn seated herself in her easy-chair, and took from her pocket Janet's list of the boys' belongings. "What picture of your father is this on your list?" she asked. "It is not among your clothes. You'd best give it to me to keep for you." "Muddie said I was to keep it, and show it to Fred every day, for fear we'd forget him. He's been so long away, you see." "Well, show it to me." Reluctantly, Frank drew from his pocket a little square brown case, and, opening it, showed the handsome, pleasant face of his father.