ges we need at home," added Mrs. Burke.

"Now, what do you think of that?" whimpered Danny, as he was led away.
"I'm to be licked fer doin' what he does. Why don't he teach himself the
same, an' stop others from doin' what he talks?"

"Danny," said the commiserating captain, "you're to be licked for
learning your lesson too well, and that's the truth."

But that did not make the situation any the less painful for Danny.

SIMON STARTS IN THE WORLD

BY J.J. HOOPER

Until Simon entered his seventeenth year he lived with his father, an
old "hard-shell" Baptist preacher, who, though very pious and remarkably
austere, was very avaricious. The old man reared his boy--or endeavored
to do so--according to the strictest requisitions of the moral law. But
he lived, at the time to which we refer, in Middle Georgia, which was
then newly settled; and Simon, whose wits were always too sharp for his
father's, contrived to contract all the coarse vices incident to such a
region. He stole his mother's roosters to fight them at Bob Smith's
grocery, and his father's plow-horses to enter them in "quarter" matches
at the same place. He pitched dollars with Bob Smith himself, and could
"beat him into doll rags" whenever it came to a measurement. To crown
his accomplishments, Simon was tip-top at the game of "old sledge,"
which was the fashionable game of that era, and was early initiated in
the mysteries of "stocking the papers." The vicious habits of Simon
were, of course, a sore trouble to his father, Elder Jedediah. He
reasoned, he counseled, he remonstrated, and he lashed; but Simon was an
incorrigible, irreclaimable devil. One day the simple-minded old man
returned rather unexpectedly to the field, where he had left Simon and
Ben and a negro boy named Bill at work. Ben was still following his
plow, but Simon and Bill were in a fence corner, very earnestly engaged
at "seven up." Of course the game was instantly suspended as soon as
they spied the old man, sixty or seventy yards off, striding towards
them.

It was evidently a "gone case" with Simon and Bill; but our hero
determined to make the best of it. Putting the cards into one pocket, he
coolly picked up the small coins which constituted the stake, and fobbed
them in the other, remarking, "Well, Bill, this game's blocked; we'd as
well quit."

"But, Mass Simon," remarked the boy, "half dat money's mine. Ain't you
gwine to lemme hab 'em?"

"Oh, never mind the money, B