ated my complaint. My brother wished us to get along as
well as we could till he could spare the time to visit us; but that time
had not yet arrived.

A few days before my story opens, early in April, I had a letter from
him, saying that he was well established in business for himself, and
that he would certainly come to Torrentville in October, as soon as the
sickly season was over, and take us to New Orleans. He added that he
should be married before that time, and would bring his wife with him.
This was joyful news, but it was a dreary while to wait.

The door suddenly opened, and Mrs. Fishley bounced into the kitchen,
followed by her husband, both of them apparently wrought up to the
highest pitch of anger by my misdeeds.

CHAPTER III.

ON THE DEFENSIVE.

At the approach of Captain Fishley, I felt the shudder that swept
through the feeble frame of Flora, as she stood infolded in my arms. I
gently placed her in the chair again, and released myself from her
clinging embrace; for I realized that, in the brief moment left to me,
it was necessary to prepare for war. I knew the temper of Captain
Fishley; and, though he had never yet struck me, I believed that it was
only because I had been all submission.

I was fully resolved to defend myself, and especially to defend Flora. I
picked up the heavy iron poker which lay on the back of the stove, and
placed myself in front of my trembling sister. The captain was a brute,
and his wife was hardly better than a brute. I feared that she,
supported by her husband, would again lay violent hands upon Flora,
knowing that such a course would sting me deeper than a blow upon my
own head.

I did not flourish the poker, or make any irritating demonstrations with
it; on the contrary, I held it behind me, rather for use in an emergency
than to provoke my tyrants. I was not disposed to make the affair any
worse than the circumstances required, and by this time I was cool and
self-possessed. Perhaps my critical reader may wonder that a boy of my
age should have set so high a value upon controlling his temper, and
preserving the use of his faculties in the time of peril, for it is not
exactly natural for boys to do so. Youth is hot-blooded, and age and
experience are generally required to cool the impetuous current that
courses through its veins.

My father--blessings on his memory--had taught me the lesson. One day, a
fire in the long grass of the prairie threatened the de