“Bill knocked you down with a hoe?” she repeated. “You don’t mean it?” “Yes, I do. Ask him if he didn’t.” “Bill Benton,” said Mrs. Badger in an awful voice, “did you strike Andrew with a hoe?” “Yes, ma’am, and I’m sorry for it, but he struck me with a whip first.” “No doubt he had a good reason for doing it. And so you tried to murder him, you young ruffian?” “No, I didn’t, Mrs. Badger. He had no right to whip me, and I defended myself. But I’m sorry----” Andrew set up another howl, though he no longer felt any pain, and his mother’s wrath increased. “You’ll end your life on the gallows, you young brute!” she exclaimed, glaring wrathfully at the poor boy. “Some night you’ll try to murder us all in our beds. The only place for you is in jail! When Mr. Badger comes home, I will report the case to him. Now, go to work.” Poor Bill was glad to get away from the infuriated woman. Andrew was taken into the house and fed on preserves and sweetmeats by his doting mother, while the poor bound boy was toiling in the hot sun, dreading the return of his stern master. Nathan Badger was not far away. He had driven to the village in the buggy, not that he had any particular business there, but at present there was no farm work of a pressing nature except what the bound boy could do, and Mr. Badger did not love work for its own sake. In spite of his parsimony, he generally indulged himself in a glass of bitters, of which he was very fond, whenever he went to the village. His parsimony stood him in good stead in one respect, at least, for it prevented his becoming a drunkard. I have said that Mr. Badger had no particular business at the village, but this is not strictly true. He had business at the post office. Some time since he had written to Mr. Waldo, asking for a money allowance for the care of Bill Benton. He knew very well that he was not entitled to it. He was at no expense for the boy’s clothes, and certainly Bill richly earned the very frugal fare, of which he partook sparingly, and the privilege of a hard bed in the attic. But it had struck him as possible that Mr. Waldo, not knowing the falsehood of his representations, would comply with his request. “If I can get a dollar or a dollar ‘n’ a half for the boy’s keep,” Mr. Badger soliloquized, “I can make a good thing out’n him. A dollar a week will come to fifty-two dollars a year, and I can’t put a cent into the savings bank. A dollar ‘n’ a half will come to--lemme see--to seventy-eight dollars a year! That, in five years, would be three hundred and ninety dollars, without counting the interest.” Mr. Badger’s eyes glistened and his heart was elated as he took in the magnificent idea. But, alas! he was counting chickens that were not likely to be hatched. When sufficient time had elapsed for an answer to be due, he went to the post office every day, but there had been unusual delay. At last an answer had been received that very morning.