keep
his little brother quiet. The string would then be twitched again for
his own private edification; and it was sometime before the trick was
discovered. My brother Henry had at one time several little chickens, of
which he became very fond. Day after day he fed, admired, and caressed
them; and Fred, who never could bear to see others happy long, began to
revolve in his own mind certain plans respecting the chickens. One by
one they disappeared, until the number decreased alarmingly; but no
traces of them could be found. We were questioned, but, as all denied
the charge, the culprit remained undiscovered, although strong
suspicions rested on Fred. At last the indignant owner came upon him one
day, as he stood quietly watching the struggles of two little chickens
in a tub of water. Henry bitterly exclaimed against this cruelty, but
Fred innocently replied that "he had no hand in the matter; he had
thought, for some time, how much prettier they would look swimming like
ducks, and therefore tried to teach them--but the foolish things
persisted in walking along with their eyes shut, and so got drowned."

But one of Fred's grand _coup-d'oeils_ was the affair of the
cherry-pie. In those days ladies attended more to their household
affairs than they do at present; and my mother, an excellent
housekeeper, was celebrated for her pastry--cherry-pies in particular.
It was the Fourth of July; the boys were released from school, and
roaming about in quest of mischief as boys always are--and, as a rare
thing, we had no company that day, except my aunt, who had come from a
distance on a visit to my mother, while my father had gone to return one
of the numerous visits paid him. Cherry-pie was a standing dish at our
house with which to celebrate the Declaration of Independence. The
servants had all gone out for a holiday, no dinner was cooked, and the
sole dependence was on the cherry-pie.

They sat down to dinner, and I heard my mother say: "Now, sister Berthy,
I really hope you will enjoy this pie, for I bestowed extra pains upon
it, and placed it up in the bed-room pantry out of the boys' reach, who
are very apt to nibble off the edge of the crust. This time, I see, they
have not meddled with it."

The pie was cut; but alas! for the hollowness of human triumphs; the
knife met a wilderness of crust and vacancy, but no cherries. The
bed-room pantry had a window opening on a shed, and into that window
Fred, the scape-grace, had a