“Both laughed, for how could liquid thing Within a basket stay? But yet, the jest unanswering, The Indian went his way. “When next from rest the farmers sprung So very cold the morn, The icicles like diamonds hung On every eping and thorn. “The brook that babbled by his door Was deep, and clear, and strong, And yet unfettered by the frost, Leaped merrily along. “The self-same Indian by this brook The astonished farmer sees; He laid his basket in the stream, Then hung it up to freeze. “And by this process oft renewed, The basket soon became A well-glazed vessel, tight and good, Of most capacious frame. “The door he entered speedily, And claimed the promised boon; The farmer laughed heartily, Fulfilled his promise soon. “Up to the basket’s brim he saw The sparkling cider rise, And to rejoice his absent squaw, He bore away the prize. “Long lived the good man at the farm, The house is standing still, And still leaps merrily along The much diminished rill. “And his descendants still remain, And tell to those who ask it, The story they have often heard About the Indian’s basket.” A wonderful reformation seemed to come over Peter. He began to stay at home, and go to bed very early, often as early as seven o’clock,—or at least he seemed to do these sober things. Aunt Prudence had gone to the door of his room once or twice after his early retiring, but had found it locked, and she had been unable to awake him, he “slept so sound.” “Boys do,” she said. “Peter,” she said one morning, “tell me the truth, now; didn’t you hear me when I pounded and pounded on the door last night?” “No, Aunt Prudence, true as preachin’ I did not.” And he did not. The truth was that poor Peter had fallen from his integrity, even in these times of the great revivals. He had discovered that the great hall window was as handy as a door, and that he had only to leave it unfastened to return to the house at any time of the night without disturbing the sound slumbers of good Aunt Prudence. He was careful in taking this liberty to first lock his own room. These were wicked ways, it is true, and very bold ones for a quiet youth, and quite inconsistent with meeting-going habits. But the meetings at this period were wonderfully dramatic; everybody talked about them, and Peter’s curiosity quite overcame his moral sense.