cold
chicken's wing, and upset a plate full of biscuit and butter, apple,
honey, and pie, in his lap; he blew his tea long after it was cool, and
blew hot and cold drops into Mrs. Fabens' face; and mixed everything
together as he ate. And then he ate but little; his throat was so dry
he found it difficult to swallow.

After supper they returned to the barn, and there Fabens told him in
private what he thought of his crime. He talked very frankly. He used
neither oil nor honey with his words. He warned him against the
wickedness of crime, and against its awful punishments. He cited a few
warnings of the Scriptures against the wicked and the sinner. Yet he
spoke kindly, and admonished him as a friend and brother.

Troffater went into convulsions of agony. Streams of fire seemed
surging through all his arteries, burning up his heart, and covering
his head and face with blisters. He hung his head, and knocked his
knees together. He gasped, and hemmed, and groaned. Tears at last
came to his relief, and he wept like a child. Fabens assured him, if
he would promise upon honor, that he would, from that time, abandon
criminal desires and acts, he would always treat him kindly, and never
expose him. A pledge was given with more soul in its declarations than
had ever before been extorted from the mischief.

Troffater, however, still begged for one mitigation of his
punishment--a single one. He begged to empty the bag of wheat into the
granary, and go home without a quart. But Fabens was inexorable.
Troffater said it would choke him to eat the flour, after what had
happened. But Fabens expressed no fear or pity. Troffater said he
would give up trapping and hunting, and go right to work and earn some
wheat. Fabens advised him to do it; but said he must take home that
bag full, to keep them in bread till he could earn more. Troffater
replied that they had enough for two or three bakings, and asked if he
might not let the bag stand, and come to-morrow, and work till he had
earned it, and then take it home. But Fabens was still inexorable. If
Troffater would come to-morrow and help him three or four days, he
would pay him in wheat; but that bag-full he was welcome to, and he
must take it home that night.

"I ken not carry it," cried Tilly; "there's three bushels and a haff;
and it'll break my back, if I try to tuck it hum."

"I did not think of that. It will be too heavy for one load; but I
will tell you how