ere Jack's heart smote him, and he cried aloud, partly
from grief, but more from the reproaches of his own conscience, for
he found by computing the hours, that had he come straight on, he
should have been in time to receive his mother's blessing.

The farmer now came from within, "I hear Smiler's step. Is Jack
come?" "Yes, father," said Jack, in a low voice. "Then," cried the
farmer, "run every man and boy of you and take care of the mare.
Tom, do thou go and rub her down; Jem, run and get her a good feed
of corn. Be sure walk her about that she may not catch cold." Young
Brown came in. "Are you not an undutiful dog?" said the father; "you
might have been here twelve hours ago. Your mother could not die in
peace without seeing you. She said it was cruel return for all her
fondness, that you could not make a little haste to see her; but it
was always so, for she had wronged her other children to help you,
and this was her reward." Brown sobbed out a few words, but his
father replied, "Never cry, Jack, for the boy told me that it was
out of regard for Smiler, that you were not here as soon as he was,
and if 'twas your over care of her, why there's no great harm done.
You could not have saved your poor mother, and you might have hurt
the mare." Here Jack's double guilt flew into his face. He knew that
his father was very covetous, and had lived on bad terms with his
wife; and also that his own unkindness to her had been forgiven him
out of love to the horse; but to break to him how he had lost that
horse through his own folly and want of feeling, was more than Jack
had courage to do. The old man, however, soon got at the truth, and
no words can describe his fury. Forgetting that his wife lay dead
above stairs, he abused his son in a way not fit to be repeated; and
though his covetousness had just before found an excuse for a
favorite son neglecting to visit a dying parent, yet he now vented
his rage against Jack as an unnatural brute, whom he would cut off
with a shilling, and bade him never see his face again.

Jack was not allowed to attend his mother's funeral, which was a
real grief to him; nor would his father advance even the little
money, which was needful to redeem his things at the Star. He had
now no fond mother to assist him, and he set out on his return home
on his borrowed hack, full of grief. He had the added mortification
of knowing that he had also lost by his folly a little hoard of
money which his moth