"She won't stir," said Taddy, shrinking away again.

   "Come here!" And Ducklow grasped him by the collar.

   "What have you been doin'? Look at that!"

   "'Twan't me!" beginning to whimper and ram his fists into his eyes.

   "Don't tell me 'twan't you!" Ducklow shook him till his teeth chattered. "What was you pullin' up the carpet for?"

   "Lost a marble!" sniveled Taddy.

   "Lost a marble! Ye didn't lose it under the carpet, did ye? Look at all that straw pulled out!" shaking him again.

   "Didn't know but it might 'a' got under the carpet, marbles roll so," explained Taddy, as soon as he could get his breath.

   "Wal, sir,"—Ducklow administered a resounding box

   on his ear,—"don't you do such a thing again, if you lose a million marbles!"

   "Hain't got a million!" Taddy wept, rubbing his cheek. "Hain't got but four! Won't ye buy me some to-day?"

   "Go to that mare, and don't you leave her again till I come, or I'll

    marble

   ye in a way you won't like."

   Understanding, by this somewhat equivocal form of expression, that flagellation was threatened, Taddy obeyed, still feeling his smarting and burning ear.

   Ducklow was in trouble. What should he do with the bonds? The floor was no place for them after what had happened; and he remembered too well the experience of yesterday to think for a moment of carrying them about his person. With unreasonable impatience, his mind reverted to Mrs. Ducklow.

   "Why ain't she to home? These women are forever a-gaddin'! I wish Reuben's trunk was in Jericho!"

   Thinking of the trunk reminded him of one in the garret, filled with old papers of all sorts,—newspapers, letters, bills of sale, children's writing-books,—accumulations of the past quarter of a century. 

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