m so deeply as George's quiet words. He was
used to being scolded for his laziness. He never paid any attention to
that; but to have his "Rev'und Gawge" regard him as dishonest as Mr.
Boden hurt him more than words could express.

Another wagon came rattling up in a cloud of dust. Without waiting to
see the newcomer, he dodged around the corner of the house and ran down
to the barn. A pair of puppies came frisking out ready for a romp, and
an old Maltese cat, stretched out in the sun, stood up and arched its
back at his approach. He took no notice of them, but crawling up into
the hay, threw himself down in a dark corner with his face hidden in his
arms.

Mars' Nat came home after awhile. John Jay could hear Ned putting the
horse into the stall, and throwing the corn into the feed-box. Then
everything was still for a long time. The sun stole through the cracks
of the barn in wide shining streaks, with little motes of dust dancing
up and down in the golden light, but John Jay did not see them. A shadow
darkened the doorway. He did not see that, for his face was still
hidden. There was a step on the barn floor, and a rustling in the hay
beside him; then George's hand rested lightly on his head, and his voice
said, soothingly, "There, there! I wouldn't cry about it."

"Oh, I nevah thought about things that way befo'!" sobbed John Jay.
"I'll nevah sneak out of the work again. I'll tote the wood and watah
'thout waitin' to be asked, an' I'll nevah lick out my tongue at her
behine her back as long as I live!"

George bit his lips to keep from laughing, although he was touched by
the little penitent's distress.

"Do you know why I said such hard things to you?" he asked. "It was to
open your eyes. I want to make a man of you, John Jay. Let me tell you
some things about your grandmother that you have never heard. Her whole
life has been a struggle, and such a very sad one."

John Jay rubbed his shirt sleeve across his eyes and gave a final
snuffle. Some people never have the awakening that came to him that
afternoon. Some people go along all their days with no other thought in
life than to burrow through their own mole-hills. There in the hay, with
the shining dust of the sunbeams falling athwart the old barn floor, the
boy lay and listened. Thoughts that he had no words for, ambitions that
he could not express, yet that filled him with vague longing, seemed to
vibrate along the earnest voice, and tremble from the fulness