ght into a den of bears. He hugged
little Pincher close in his arms, soothing him with pet names; for the
poor dog continued to moan.

"O, dear, dear!" cried Peter, "don't you feel awfully?"

"I don't stop to think of my feelings," replied Horace, shortly.

"Well, I wish we hadn't come--I do."

"So do I, Peter. I won't play 'hookey' again; but I'm not a-goin' to
cry."

"I'll never go anywheres with you any more as long as I live, Horace
Clifford!"

"Nobody wants you to, Pete Grant!"

Then they pushed on in dignified silence till Peter broke forth again
with wailing sobs.

"I dread to get home! O, dear, I'll have to take it, I tell you. I guess
you'd cry if you expected to be whipped."

Horace made no reply. He did not care about telling Peter that he too
had a terrible dread of reaching home, for there was something a great
deal worse than a whipping, and that was, a mother's sorrowful face.

"I shouldn't care if she'd whip me right hard," thought Horace; "but
she'll talk to me about God and the Bible, and O, she'll look so white!"

"Peter, you go on ahead," said he aloud.

"What for?"

"O, I want to rest a minute with Pincher."

It was some moments before Peter would go, and then he went grumbling.
As soon as he was out of sight, Horace threw himself on his knees and
prayed in low tones,--

"O God, I do want to be a good boy; and if I ever get out of this woods
I'll begin! Keep the bears off, please do, O God, and let us find the
way out, and forgive me. Amen."

Horace had never uttered a more sincere prayer in his life. Like many
older people, he waited till he was in sore need before he called upon
God; but when he had once opened his heart to him, it was wonderful how
much lighter it felt.

He rose to his feet and struggled on, saying to Pincher, "Poor fellow,
poor fellow, don't cry: we'll soon be home."

"Hollo there, cap'n!" shouted Peter: "we're comin' to a clearin'."

"Just as I expected," thought Horace: "why didn't I pray to God
before?"

[Illustration: IN THE WOODS.--Page 111.]

CHAPTER VIII.

CAPTAIN CLIFFORD.

When Horace entered the yard, holding the poor dog in his arms, he felt
wretched indeed. At that moment all the sulkiness and self-will were
crushed out of his little heart. It seemed to him that never, never had
there lived upon the earth another boy so wicked as himself.

He forgot the excuses he had been making up about going into the woods
because his grand