" said Mr. Badger sternly, "I hear you have made a savage
and brutal attack on Andrew Jackson. Now, what have you to say for
yourself, sir?"

"He struck me twice with a whip, Mr. Badger, and I got mad. I didn't
mean to hurt him."

"You might have killed him!" broke in Mrs. Badger.

"No, I wouldn't, ma'am."

"Contradicting me again! If there was ever a boy looked like a young
fiend, you did when I came out to save my boy from your brutal temper.
Oh, you'll swing on the gallows some day, sir! I'm sure of that."

To an unprejudiced observer all this would have been very ridiculous.
The delicate, refined-looking boy, whose face showed unmistakable
gentleness and mildness, almost carried to an extreme, was about the
last boy to whom such words could suitably have been addressed.

"Andrew Jackson, did you strike Bill with a whip?" asked Mr. Badger,
turning to his son.

"No, I didn't," answered Andrew without a blush.

"How can you tell such a lie?" said Bill indignantly.

"Mr. Badger, will you allow this young ruffian to accuse your own son of
falsehood?" cried the mother.

"Did you have a whip in your hand, Andrew?" asked his father.

Andrew hesitated a moment, but finally thought it best to say he did.

"Did you strike Bill with it?"

"No."

"You see how candid the poor boy is," said his mother. "He tells you
that he had a whip in his hand, though many boys would have denied it.
But my Andrew was always truthful."

Even Andrew felt a little embarrassed at this undeserved tribute to a
virtue in which he knew that he was very deficient.

"Bill Benton," said Mr. Badger sternly, "it appears that you have not
only made an atrocious assault on my son, but lied deliberately about
it. You shall have neither dinner nor supper, and tonight I will give
you a flogging. Now, go back to your work!"

"Ho, ho! You'll hit me again, will you?" said Andrew triumphantly as the
poor boy slowly retraced his way to the field.

As the bound boy walked wearily back to the field he felt that he had
little to live for. Hard work--too hard for his slender
strength--accompanied by poor fare and cruel treatment, constituted his
only prospect. But there seemed no alternative. He must keep on working
and suffering--so far he could foresee.

He worked an hour and then he began to feel faint. He had eaten but
little breakfast and he needed a fresh supply of food to restore his
strength. How he could hold out till evening he could not