so near the very tipping-over edge of total depravity
that I have often wondered since--in fact, wondered at the time--that it
did not require a more tremendous putting-through than sliding up and
down, between earth and moon, for developing such a hard case of a boy
into an honest man. Perhaps, the man in the moon, while the rogue was up
there, lent us a helping hand, not suffering him to come down to earth
again, excepting on condition that he would thenceforth keep his shadow,
as much as possible, in the sunshine; as little as possible in the
moonshine; sow no more wild oats, plant no more wild beans."

Meanwhile, the subject of this moral confab remained comfortably seated
upon his charger's back. The matter and the manner of the confab smacked
so much of the kind he was used to, that he was beginning to feel
himself quite at home, and fancied that he could have little to fear for
life or limb, so long as he found himself in the company of people, with
feeling so home-like in their hearts, and with words so home-like on
their lips. Therefore, the more home-like grew the moralizers, the more
Sprigg-like grew the subject. But, bearing in mind how sensitive he was
to ridicule, you can well imagine how he winced to hear himself compared
to a "spit-thief dog;" and how he squirmed to find his secret designs on
young Ben Logan and little Bertha Bryant, which he had not openly owned
to himself, thus come popping out into the tell-tale light of
Will-o'-the-Wisp. The wispy lamp was now not only burning as a living
flame, but twinkling like a living eye, which winked or blinked or
stared at the boy, as were it perfectly cognizant of all that was
passing among them. But if it was all a dream, as Sprigg by this time
was half persuaded it must be, what mattered it, though Will-o'-the-Wisp
did snuff his lamp into a tell-tale brightness, for Meg of the Hills to
show a "spit-thief dog" in, or for Nick of the Woods to hold up a
bug-bear lie in? It was only a dream, which, coming soon to an end,
should be wondered over for a moment, then forgotten. Yes, and in the
like sense, so is life.

"Then, dear Nick," answered Meg at length, after they had shaken their
heads for some moments in silence, "as Sprigg's case is not so bad as
Jack Bean-Stalk's, it is not yet too late to bring the poor, stray cub
back to his milk again. But he must first be made, not only to see, but
to feel and acknowledge the error of his ways before we can hope to