on. He
professed to be a very religious man, but he rarely occupied himself
about his household duties. His wife was just saying: "When one
thinks that if that little brat of a girl had not been born, we
should inherit all my brother's property," when the man rose from
his chair. "I am going to the prayer-meeting," he said abruptly,
and his puritanical form as suddenly left the room.

"Now, it is time for you to go to bed," said Mrs. Soher to her son,
when her husband was gone.

"I don't want to go yet," replied Tommy.

"But you must go, and you will go now; I'll not listen to your
nonsense; come, do your hear."

"Ah! let me stay a little longer, ma."

"No, not one moment; come along."

"Only one minute," pleaded the spoilt child.

"Bah! what do you want to stay for?" said his mother, re-seating
herself.

The minute passed away, so did many other minutes, but Tom did not
stir.

After again trying in vain the power of her pleadings and commands,
the weak-minded mother took her son by the sleeve of his coat.
"Come," she said, "to bed with you."

Tommy began to cry.

She dragged him out of the room and up the stairs. He screamed and
kicked, but was finally placed in his cot. Mrs. Soher had hardly
stepped into the kitchen, when her son was heard crying.

"I am frightened," he bawled; "the fire--the witches--the book."

"Bah!" said his mother, "he'll go to sleep soon." And so he did.

CHAPTER III.

THE BOARDING-SCHOOL.

Mr. Rougeant had returned early from "the town" on that Saturday
afternoon. He was now perusing the _Gazette Officielle_, the only
newspaper which he ever cast his eyes upon. The servant--a good old
Guernsey soul, who had been in the service of the family for ten
years--was busily engaged in preparing the dinner. Contrary to the
farmer's orders, Adele had been sent by Lizette (the servant) to
fetch the cider.

Unluckily for the little girl, Mr. Rougeant did not care to go to
the expense of buying a tap. In its stead he had a number of small
holes bored in one end of the cask. In these holes, which were
placed vertically, one above the other, tight fitting wooden pegs
had been driven. One of these pegs he drew out when he required some
cider.

When Adele entered the cellar, mug in hand, she examined the cask.
She did not know which peg to take out, neither did she care to
return into the kitchen with an empty vessel. She ventured
cautiously to pull out one of the pins. It fit