"O, we live up yonder," said Fred, pointing with his finger. "We live two miles beyond Harlow, and we were down to Cross Lots to aunt Nancy's, you see, and they sent for us to come home,--mother did. Our father's dreadful sick: they don't expect he'll get well." "You don't say so! Poor little creeturs! And here you are out doors, sleeping on the rough boards. Come right along into the house with me, and get warm. What's the matter with your father?" "Some kind of a fever; and he don't know anything; he's awful sick," replied Fred, running his sleeve across his eyes. The good farmer's heart was touched. He thought of his own little boys, no older than these, and how sad it would be if they should be left fatherless. "Come in and get warm," said he. "It's four o'clock, and you shall sleep in a good bed till six, and then I'll wake you up, and give you some breakfast." "O, I don't know as we can; we ought to be going," said Fred, wiping his eyes; "father may be dead." "Yes, but you shall come in," persisted the farmer; "you're all but froze. If 'twas my little boys, I should take it kindly in anybody that made 'em go in and get warm. Besides, you can travel as fast again if you start off kind of comfortable." A good bed was so refreshing to think of that the boys did not need much urging; but Willy entered the house with downcast eyes and feelings of shame, whereas Fred could look their new friend in the face, and answer all his questions without wincing. Mr. Johonnet thought himself a shrewd man, but he could not see into the hearts of these young children. He liked the appearance of "Johnny Quirk," an "open-hearted, pretty-spoken little chap, that any father might be proud of;" but "Sammy" did not please him as well; he was not so frank, or so respectful,--seemed really to be a little sulky. There are some boys who pass off finely before strangers, because they are not in the least bashful, and have a knack of putting on any manner they choose; and Fred was one of these. Willy, a far nobler boy, was naturally timid before his betters; but even if he had been as bold as Fred, his conscience would never have let him say and do such untrue things. Willy suffered. Although he had told no lies himself, he had stood by and heard them told without correcting them. How much better was that? Still it seemed as if, as things were, he could not very well have helped himself. So much for falling into bad company. "Eggs should not dance with stones." "Well; I never'd have come with Fred Chase if father hadn't whipped me 'most to death." And, soothed with this flimsy excuse, Willy was soon asleep again.