od dog!"

Squire Eliot looked keenly at the boys, every one of whom he knew.

"Solomon's methods are out of fashion," he said, "and if I send you boys
home the chances are that your fathers won't whip you as you deserve to
be whipped, so I'll do the job myself. Fortunate thing I happened to
change my plans and come home for the summer, instead of going away as I
expected. I heard there was a plan of this sort on foot, but I didn't
believe it till I overheard the whole thing talked of in the village
this afternoon. Well, boys, I'll settle with you once for all, and then
I'll forgive you, but you've got to pay the penalty first. Frank, hold
out your hand."

But just then there was an interruption. Lights appeared in the windows
and a dainty little lady came upon the scene. The boys knew Grandmother
Eliot, who wore her seventy years with right queenly grace, and never
failed to have a kind word for man, woman and child in the old home.

"Eugene," she called to the Squire, imperatively, "I can't allow this,
my son. The boys have been punished enough. Their fault was in not
seeing that you cannot do evil that good may come. Let every one of
these young gentlemen come here to me. I want to talk with them."

Now it is probable that most of the boys would have preferred a sharp
blow or two from the Squire's cane to a reproof from his gentle old
mother, whose creed led her to heap coals of fire on the heads of those
who did wrong. But they had no choice. There was no help for it. They
had to go up, shears, baskets and all, and let old Lady Eliot talk to
them; and then, as they were going away, who should come out but a
white-capped maid, with cake and lemonade, to treat the young
depredators to refreshments.

"There's only one fellow in our class who deserves cake and lemonade,"
exclaimed Frank, "and he isn't here. We've all treated him meaner than
dirt. We've been horrid to him, because he wouldn't join us in this. Now
he's out of this scrape and we're in."

"Harry Pemberton," said Squire Eliot, who had locked up his cane, and
was quite calm, "Harry Pemberton, that's Lida Scott's boy, mother. Lida
would bring him up well, I'm sure. Well, he shall have a lot of roses
to-morrow to lay on Colonel Pemberton's grave. Isn't that fair, boys?"

"Yes, yes," assented they all, with eagerness.

"And as you have by your own admission treated Harry rather badly,
suppose you make it up to him by coming here in the morning, carrying