ch the cask in question, and then left the room.

Mrs. Weaver scolded her first-born roundly, told him he was "a very
naughty boy," and ended by taking from behind the clock a small and
brittle switch--an auxiliary that she had made haste to provide herself
with before she had been on the premises an hour, and without which she
felt that her family government would be but sounding brass and a
tinkling cymbal--and striking "Dodd" one or two slight strokes over his
hips.

This was Mrs. Weaver's way of "training" her children. From "Dodd's"
earliest infancy he had been used to this sort of thing. His mother
believed in the maxim, "spare the rod and spoil the child," and this
was her method of endeavoring to fulfill both the spirit and the letter
of the precept. There was always a small, brittle switch behind the
clock, and it was taken down numberless times each day, only to make a
child bawl for a minute, as he was threatened or struck lightly with
the harmless stick.

The usual result was that he went ahead and did the very thing he was
forbidden to do.

"Dodd" yelled lustily while his mother laid on, though in truth he
scarcely felt the blows, and then sulked for the rest of the day,
teasing the other children and making life a burden to everybody and
everything he came near.

It was the next day, about two o'clock, that the boy once more got into
the yard and made straight for his coveted seat. The fact is he had
never given up his purpose to return at the first opportunity.

He fastened the bridle to the spigot and mounted in hot haste, kicking
his little heels into the bleached staves, and plying the riding whip
like a young fury. The horse acted badly ("Dodd's" horses always acted
badly), and he jerked smartly on the bridle rein to subdue him. It was
rare sport, and the lad fairly reveled in it, in his little heart
defying those who had forbidden him this pleasure, and glorying in his
triumph.

But "the way of sinners is as darkness, they know not at what they
stumble," and "Dodd" was destined to "take a header" forthwith. The
jerks on the reins drew the spigot from its place, and the first he
knew it was dangling in the air over the end of the barrel. He leaned
over, fully to observe this fact, and saw the cider shooting out in an
amber stream and flooding all the ground.

"Hurray," he yelled, "that's a bully waterfall!" and he thrust his whip
into the stream to see it spatter, hopping about meant