“La! Mr. Morton, you are such a man!--there’s no resisting your ways! You know how to come over me, don’t you?” And Mrs. Morton smiled benignly, as she escaped from his conjugal arms and smoothed her cap. Peace thus restored, Mr. Morton refilled his pipe, and the good lady, after a pause, resumed, in a very mild, conciliatory tone: “I’ll tell you what it is, Roger, that vexes me with that there child. He is so deceitful, and he does tell such fibs!” “Fibs! that is a very bad fault,” said Mr. Morton, gravely. “That must be corrected.” “It was but the other day that I saw him break a pane of glass in the shop; and when I taxed him with it, he denied it;--and with such a face! I can’t abide storytelling.” “Let me know the next story he tells; I’ll cure him,” said Mr. Morton, sternly. “You now how I broke Tom of it. Spare the rod, and spoil the child. And where I promised to be kind to the boy, of course I did not mean that I was not to take care of his morals, and see that he grew up an honest man. Tell truth and shame the devil--that’s my motto.” “Spoke like yourself, Roger,” said Mrs. Morton, with great animation. “But you see he has not had the advantage of such a father as you. I wonder your sister don’t write to you. Some people make a great fuss about their feelings; but out of sight out of mind.” “I hope she is not ill. Poor Catherine! she looked in a very bad way when she was here,” said Morton; and he turned uneasily to the fireplace and sighed. Here the servant entered with the supper-tray, and the conversation fell upon other topics. Mrs. Roger Morton’s charge against Sidney was, alas! too true. He had acquired, under that roof, a terrible habit of telling stories. He had never incurred that vice with his mother, because then and there he had nothing to fear; now, he had everything to fear;--the grim aunt--even the quiet, kind, cold, austere uncle--the apprentices--the strange servants--and, oh! more than all, those hardeyed, loud-laughing tormentors, the boys of his own age! Naturally timid, severity made him actually a coward; and when the nerves tremble, a lie sounds as surely as, when I vibrate that wire, the bell at the end of it will ring. Beware of the man who has been roughly treated as a child.