with good-natured impatience.

"He said 'twas 'cause I got flung from the horse," muttered Sam. "You
won't let him lick me for that, will you?"

"No; not if you behave yourself," answered Mr. Royden. "What makes you
so lazy? I shall not get this scythe ground to-day."

It seemed such hard work for the boy to turn the grindstone, that the
kind-hearted farmer, taking pity on him, brought the tool to an edge as
soon as possible, and let him go.

"Now, you must be a good boy, and help the women," said he, driving the
wedge which married the scythe to the snath.

"Help the women!" repeated Sam, with an expression of disgust. "I'd
rather go and spread hay."

"But your foot is lame."

"Well, I can't pound clothes half so well as I can spread hay. I have to
walk around the barrel----"

"No more of your nonsense!" said Mr. Royden. "Hepsy!" he cried, seeing
his niece in the doorway of the shed, "you can have Samuel to help you
now."

There was no escape for the unhappy youth. He saw Mr. Royden depart
towards the meadow with dismay. He was left in the hands of one who knew
no mercy. Mrs. Royden was driving business with furious energy. She had
commands for all, and kind words for no one. It was interesting to see
her seize upon Sam. His complaints of being "tired to death" were like
chaff sown upon the wind. The tempest of her temper scattered them;
inexorable fate controlled the hour; and Sam hopped from the grindstone
to the "pounding-barrel" with despair and discontent in his soul.

He worked pretty well, however, until Mrs. Royden was called to see to
the children, who were about starting for school. The moment she was out
of sight, he began to swing lazily upon the "pounder," and make fun of
Sarah, at work over the wash-tub close by.

"You'll get your pay for this," said the young lady, rubbing away,
industriously. "Mother will be back in a minute."

"S'posin' Mr. Kerchey should pop in, jest now!" retorted Sam, grinning.
"I'd like to have him ketch you over the wash-tub!"

"I would not care if he did; I am not ashamed of it," replied Sarah.
"I'd rather do anything than wash clothes; but when I am about it, I'm
not lazy."

She looked beautiful, with her rosy cheeks, brown hair, and fair, full
brow, shaded by the plain hood thrown loosely upon her head; her white
arms bare, and her hands all covered with the thick, snowy foam of the
suds. Sam made some saucy rejoinder, and, laughing, she stepped up to
him qui