"If you strike me or that boy I'll take my children and we will leave your roof this hateful day never to return." "Hain't I to be master in my own house?" said the husband sullenly. "You are not to be a brute in your own house. I know you've struck me before, but I endured it and said nothing about it because you were drunk, but you are not drunk now, and if you lay a finger on me or my son to-day, I will never darken your doors again." The unnatural father saw that he had gone too far. He had not expected such an issue. He had long been accustomed to follow the lead of his brutal passions, but had now reached a point where he felt he must stop, as his wife said. Turning on his heel, he sullenly took his place at the table, muttering: "It's a pretty pass when there's mutiny in a man's own house." Then to his son, "You won't get a d--n cent out of me for your college business, mind that." Rose, the daughter, who had been crying and wringing her hands on the door-step, now came timidly in, and at a sign from her mother she and her brother went into another room. The man ate for a while in dogged silence, but at last in a tone that was meant to be somewhat conciliatory said: "What the devil did you mean by putting the boy up to such foolishness?" "Hush!" said his wife imperiously, "I'm in no mood to talk with you now." "Oh, ah, indeed, a man can't even speak in his own house, eh? I guess I'll take myself off to where I can have a little more liberty," and he went out, harnessed his old white horse, and started for his favorite groggery in the village. His father had no sooner gone than Arden came out and said passionately: "It's no use, mother, I can't stand it; I must leave home to-day. I guess I can make a living; at any rate I'd rather starve than pass through such scenes." The poor, overwrought woman threw herself down in a low chair and sobbed, rocking herself back and forth. "Wait till I die, Arden, wait till I die. I feel it won't be long. What have I to live for but you and Rosy? And if you, my pride and joy, go away after what has happened, it will be worse than death," and a tempest of grief shook her gaunt frame. Arden was deeply moved. Boylike he had been thinking only of himself, but now as never before he realized her hard lot, and in his warm, impulsive heart there came a yearning tenderness for her such as he had never felt before. He took her in his arms and kissed and comforted her, till even her sore heart felt the healing balm of love and ceased its bitter aching. At last she dried her eyes and said with a faint smile: "With such a boy to pet me, the world isn't all flint and thorns yet." And Rosy came and kissed her too, for she was an affectionate child, though a little inclined to be giddy and vain. "Don't worry, mother," said Arden. "I will stay and take such good care of you that you will have many years yet, and happier ones, too, I hope," and he resolved to keep this promise, cost what it might.