“Joe,” she said, in an awe-stricken voice, “did Father whip you?”

“What makes you think he whipped me?” asked Joe.

“Because, I—I heard him tell Mother so.”

“What did Mother say?”

“Oh, she cried, and she said she was sorry it had to be done. Did he whip you hard, Joe?”

“Pretty hard, but it’s the last time. He’ll never whip me again, Jennie.”

“Are you going to be a better boy?”

“No, a worse one.”

Jennie stood for a moment silent and[13] wondering at this paradoxical statement. Then an idea flashed into her mind.

“Joe!” she cried, “you—you’re not going to run away?”

“That’s just what I am going to do. I’ve stood it here as long as I can.”

“O Joe! what’ll Father say?”

“It don’t make much difference what he says. I’m goin’ to—say, Jennie! don’t you go and tell now, ’fore I get started. You wouldn’t do as mean a thing as that, would you, Jen? Promise now!”

“I—I—maybe if Father knew you’d made up your mind to go, he’d treat you better.”

“No, he wouldn’t. Look here, Jen! if you say anything about it I’ll—say now, you won’t, will you?”

“N—no, not if you don’t want me to, but I’m awful scared about it. What’ll Mother say?” asked the girl, wiping from her eyes the fast-falling tears.

“That’s where the trouble is, Jen,” replied the boy, leaning on the handle of