o perform for a few minutes
every afternoon when he returned from school. The wind screamed and
shouted at the loose boards, and there was a rift of snow on the floor
to leeward of a crack.

Here the idea of starting for California on such a night departed from
his mind, leaving him ruminating miserably upon his martyrdom. He saw
nothing for it but to sleep all night in the wood-shed and start for
California in the morning bright and early. Thinking of his bed, he
kicked over the floor and found that the innumerable chips were all
frozen tightly, bedded in ice.

Later he viewed with joy some signs of excitement in the house. The
flare of a lamp moved rapidly from window to window. Then the kitchen
door slammed loudly and a shawled figure sped towards the gate. At
last he was making them feel his power. The shivering child's face was
lit with saturnine glee as in the darkness of the wood-shed he gloated
over the evidences of consternation in his home. The shawled figure
had been his Aunt Martha dashing with the alarm to the neighbors.

The cold of the wood-shed was tormenting him. He endured only because
of the terror he was causing. But then it occurred to him that, if
they instituted a search for him, they would probably examine the
wood-shed. He knew that it would not be manful to be caught so soon.
He was not positive now that he was going to remain away forever, but
at any rate he was bound to inflict some more damage before allowing
himself to be captured. If he merely succeeded in making his mother
angry, she would thrash him on sight. He must prolong the time in
order to be safe. If he held out properly, he was sure of a welcome of
love, even though he should drip with crimes.

Evidently the storm had increased, for when he went out it swung him
violently with its rough and merciless strength. Panting, stung, half
blinded with the driving flakes, he was now a waif, exiled,
friendless, and poor. With a bursting heart, he thought of his home
and his mother. To his forlorn vision they were as far away as heaven.

IV

Horace was undergoing changes of feeling so rapidly that he was merely
moved hither and then thither like a kite. He was now aghast at the
merciless ferocity of his mother. It was she who had thrust him into
this wild storm, and she was perfectly indifferent to his fate,
perfectly indifferent. The forlorn wanderer could no longer weep. The
strong sobs caught at his throat, making his breath c