th good-natured, silly mischief.

Willy ran home whistling; but when he saw his father standing in the
front entry, his tune grew a little slower, and then stopped. Mr. Parlin
was rather stern with his children, and did not like to have them make
much noise in the house.

"Well, my son, so you have brought home the medal again. That's
right,--that's right."

Willy took off his hat when his father spoke to him, and answered, "Yes,
sir," with a respectful bow.

There were two or three men standing in the doorway which led into the
bar-room.

"How d'ye do, my fine little lad?" said one of the men; "and what is
your name?"

Now, this was a question which Deacon Turner had asked over and over
again, and Willy was rather tired of answering it. He thought the deacon
might remember after being told so many times.

"My name is just the same as it was the other day when you asked me,
sir," said he.

This pert speech called forth a laugh from all but Mr. Parlin, who
frowned at the child, and exclaimed,--

"You are an ill-mannered little boy, sir. Go to your mother, and don't
let me see you here again till you can come back with a civil tongue in
your head."

Tears sprang to Willy's eyes. He really had not intended any rudeness,
and was ashamed of being reproved before strangers. He walked off quite
stiffly, wishing he was "a growed-up man, so there wouldn't anybody dare
send him out to his mother."

But when he reached the kitchen, he found it so attractive there that he
soon forgot his disgrace. A roast of beef was sizzling before the fire
on a string, and Siller Noonin was taking a steaming plum pudding out of
the Dutch oven, while Mrs. Parlin stood near the "broad dresser," as it
was called, cutting bread.

"O, mother, mother! the mistress told me to tell you she asked Mrs.
Lyman what you asked her to, and she told _her_ to ask _me_ to tell
_you_ it was too true.--Now, _what_ is too true, mother?"

"It is too true that you are right in my way, you dear little plague,"
said Mrs. Parlin, stopping, in the very act of cutting bread, to hug the
rosy-cheeked boy. She was a "business woman," and had many cares on her
mind, but always found time to kiss and pet her children more than most
people did, and much more than Siller Noonin thought was really
necessary.

"But, then," as Siller said, "their father never makes anything of them
at all; so I suppose their mother feels obliged to do more than her part
of the kis