Willy did not think much about himself, and how he would be likely to feel after he had left this dear old home--the home where every knot-hole in the floor was precious. It would not do to brood over that; and besides, there was sullen anger enough in his heart to crowd out every other feeling. There were circles in the wood of the shed-door which he had made with a two-tined fork; and after supper he made some more, while waiting for a chance to pocket a plate of doughnuts. Of course it wasn't wrong to take doughnuts, when it was the last morsel he should ever eat from his mother's cupboard. He had the whole of eighteen cents in his leathern wallet; but that sum might fail before winter, and it was best to take a little food for economy's sake. At quarter of seven he put on his cap, and was leaving the house, when his father said, severely,-- "Where are you going, young man?" Mr. Parlin did not mean to be severe, but he usually called Willy a "young man" when he was displeased with him. "Going to the post-office, sir, just as I always do." Willy spoke respectfully,--he had never done otherwise to his father,--and Mr. Parlin little suspected the tempest that was raging in the child's bosom. "Very well; go! but don't be gone long." "'_Long?_' Don't know what he calls long," thought the little boy. "P'raps I'll be gone two years; p'raps I'll be gone ten. Calls me a 'young man' after he has whipped me. Guess I _will_ be a young man before I get back! Guess there won't be any more horsewhippings then!" And, dizzy with anger, he walked fast to the post office, without turning his head. Fred was there, anxiously waiting for him. The two boys greeted each other with a meaning look, and soon began to move slowly along towards the guide-board at the turn of the road. To the people who happened to be looking that way, it seemed natural enough that Willy and Fred should be walking together. If anybody thought twice about the matter, it was Dr. Hilton; and I dare say he supposed they were swapping jack-knives. As soon as they were fairly out of sight of the village, Fred said, sneeringly,-- "Well, I've been waiting most half an hour--I suppose you know. Began to think you'd sneaked out of it, Bill." There is an insult in the word 'sneak' that no boy of spirit can bear, and Willy was in no mood to be insulted. "Fred Chase," said he, bristling, "I'll give you one minute to take that back." "O, I didn't mean anything, Billy; only you was so awful slow, you know." "Slow, Fred Chase! You needn't call _me_ slow! Bet you I can turn round three times while you're putting out one foot."