m! But precept, admonition, and
punishment, all seem, thrown away. Even my daily prayers for him
remain unanswered. They rise no higher than my head. What more can I
do than I am now doing? I have tried in every way to break his
stubborn will, but all is of no avail."

While Mr. Howland mused thus, Andrew, oppressed by the sphere of his
father's house, was passing out at the street door, although
expressly forbidden to go away from home after his return from
school. For some time he stood leaning against the railing, with a
pressure of unhappiness on his heart. While standing thus, a lad who
was passing by said to him--

"Come, Andy! there's a company of soldiers around in the Square.
Hark! Don't you hear the music? Come! I'm going."

This was a strong temptation, for Andrew loved music and was fond of
sight-seeing. It would be useless, he knew, to ask the permission of
his father, who usually said "No," to almost every request for a
little liberty or privilege. Especially at the present moment would
the request of this kind be useless.

"Come, Andy! come!" urged the boy, for Andrew, restraining the first
impulse to bound away at the word soldiers, was debating the
question whether to go or not.

Just then the air thrilled with a wave of music, and Andrew, unable
longer to control himself, sprung away with his companion. For half
an hour he enjoyed the music and military evolutions, and then
returned home.

"Where have you been, sir?" was the sharp question that greeted him
as he came in.

"Around in the Square, to see the soldiers," replied Andrew.

"Who gave you permission to go?"

"No one, sir. I heard the music, and thought I'd just go and look at
them a little while. I've not been doing anything wrong, sir."

"Wrong! Isn't disobedience wrong? Haven't I forbidden you, over and
over again, to leave the house after school without my permission?
Say! You don't care what you do! That's it! Go off up stairs with
you, to your own room, and you'll get nothing but bread and water
until to-morrow morning! I'll teach you to mind what I say!"

The boy went sadly up to his room. It had been a day of severer
trial than usual--of greater wrong and outrage upon him as a child.
For the time his spirit was broken, and he wept bitterly when alone
in his silent chamber, that was to be his prison-house until the
dawn of another day.

"Where is Andrew?" asked Mrs. Howland, as her little family gathered
at the supper tab