"I wouldn't go off and leave mother; 'twould be real mean: but sometimes I don't like father one bit,--now, that's a fact," burst forth Willy, with a heaving breast. "I told him I didn't like your cider, and didn't take but two mugfuls; but he didn't believe a word I said." "You're a fool to stand it, Billy." "I won't stand it again--so there!" "There, that's real Injun grit," said Fred, approvingly; "stick to it." "Father thinks children are foolish; he hates to hear 'em talk," pursued Willy; "and then, when you don't talk, he says you're sulky." "Well, if you go off he won't get a chance to say it again." "O, but you see, Fred--" "Pshaw! you _darsn't_!" "Now, _you're_ not the one to call me a coward, Fred Chase." "Well, if you _dars_, then come on." Willy did not answer. He was deliberating; and I wish you to understand that in a case like this "the child that deliberates is lost." Without listening to any more of the boys' conversation, we will go right on to the next chapter, and see what comes of it. CHAPTER X. GOING TO SEA. Seven o'clock was the time appointed to meet, and Willy watched the tall clock in the front entry with a dreadful sinking at the heart. His mother was not at the supper-table and he was glad of that. Ever since muster she had staid in her room, suffering from a bad toothache. As her face was tied up, and she could not talk, Willy was not quite sure how she felt. "How can I tell whether she has been crying or not? Her eyes are swelled, any way. Perhaps she doesn't care much. She used to love me, but she thinks I act so bad now that it's no use doing anything with me. I can't make her understand it at all." It was a pity he thought of his mother just then, for it was hard enough, before that, swallowing his biscuit. "She said to me, out in the orchard, one day,--says she, 'Willy, if a boy wants to do wrong, he'll find some way to do it;' and I s'pose she was thinking about me when she said it. S'pose she thinks I'm going to be bad--mother does. Well, then, I ought to go off out of the way; she doesn't want me here; what does she want of a bad boy? She'll be glad to get rid of me; so'll Love." You see what a hopeless tangle Willy's mind was in. What ailed his biscuit he could not imagine, but it tasted as dry as ashes. "Why, sonny," said Stephen, "what are you staring at your plate so for? That's honey. Ever see any before?" "This is the last chance Steve will have to pester me," thought the child; and he almost pitied him. "Guess he'll feel sorry he's been so hard on a little fellow like me." As for grown-up Seth, it was certain that _his_ conscience would prick, and on the whole Willy was rather glad of it, for Seth had no right to correct him so much. "Only eighteen, and not my father either!"