"Spoiled your work!" spoke up the father, who had been listening. "That's more of your abominable carelessness!" "Indeed, father; I couldn't help it," said Anna, "one of the girls--" "Hush up, will you! I want none of your lying excuses. I know you! It was done on purpose, I have not the least doubt." Anna caught her breath, like one suddenly deprived of air. Tears rushed to her eyes and commenced falling over her cheeks, while her bosom rose and fell convulsively. "Come, now! None of that!" said the cruel father sternly. "Stop your crying instantly, or I will give you something to cry for! A pretty state of things, indeed, when every word must be answered by a fit of crying!" The poor child choked down her feelings as best she could, turning as she did so from her father; that he might not see the still remaining traces of her grief which it was impossible at once to hide. Not a single dollar had the idle, drunken father earned during the week, that he had not expended in self-indulgence; and yet, in his brutality, he could roughly chide this little girl, yet too young for the taskmaster, because she had lost half a dollar of her week's earnings through an accident, the very nature of which he would not hear explained. So grieved was the poor child at this unkindness, that when supper was on the table she shrunk away from the room. "Come, Anna, to your supper," called the mother. "I don't wish any thing to eat," replied the child, in a faint voice. "Oh, yes; come and get something." "Let her alone!" growls the father. "I never humor sulky children. She doesn't deserve any supper." The mother sighs. While the husband eats greedily, consuming, himself, more than half that is on the table, she takes but a few mouthfuls, and swallows them with difficulty. After supper, Willy, who is just thirteen, and who has already been bound out as an apprentice to a trade, comes home. He has a tale of suffering to tell. For some fault his master has beaten him until the large purple welts lie in meshes across his back from his shoulders to his hips. "How comes all this?" asks Mr. Warren. There is not the smallest sign of sympathy in his voice. Willy relates the cause, and tells it truly. He was something to blame, but his fault needed not the correction of stripes even lightly applied. "Served you right!" said the father, when the story was ended. "No business to have acted so. Do as you are told, and mind your work, and you'll escape flogging. Otherwise, I don't care how often you get it. You've been spoiled at home, and it'll do you good to toe the mark. Did your master know you were coming home to-night?" "No, sir," replied the boy, with trembling lips, and a choking voice. "Then what did you come for? To get pitied? Do right and you'll need no pity." "Oh, James, don't speak so to the child!" said Mrs. Warren, unable to keep silence. This was answered by an angry look.